The stories of Bryan Young

My little brother, Jason, has once again provided some material for the ol' Short Story Corner. This is a short film he wrote, though he doesn't think he wants to film. I don't know why not, I thought it was pretty funny. Expect a short from me next week. And I'll have something special for the anniversary of Kurt Vonnegut's death (the 11th, I believe) so watch out for that. Enjoy: INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT A man and woman are lying in bed, they are in pajamas facing each other having a conversation. Vicky, 20 something typical broad, good looking, she likes having things her way. Kevin, 20 something, a husk filled with quirks. He looks as if he might deserve the broad lying next to him. KEVIN Was it good for you? VICKY Can’t you tell? KEVIN I don’t know, you could always be faking for my sake. VICKY I wouldn’t do that, I would just tell you if there was a problem. Kevin leans over and gives her a kiss on the cheek. KEVIN You don’t mind if I stay the night do you? VICK

The only thing I'm going to say about this next piece is that kids should play outside more, like I did when I was a kid. We spent two weeks gathering supplies to build our raft. After our parents would go to sleep, we would sneak into the garbage and withdraw empty milk-jugs and two-liter soda bottles and store them in our secret stash behind a bright blue tarp, our makeshift fort, strung up between fence poles into a sort of lean-to in the backyard. When a stiff wind would come in from the valley, it would blow up and down in the air and make thick, thunderous sounds that scared the neighbor’s children in the middle of the night, but we didn’t care, we were teenagers now. Once we’d collected an entire garbage bag full of plastic bottles and jugs, we set out to the dollar store with our saved up pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters to purchase six-dollars worth of duct tape and various odds and ends, lengths of rope and the like. Then we raced back home on our bicycles and go

Here's some more verse. Damn Anna for somehow provoking this flood of poetry. I'll have a short story proper in the next few days and I think we'll see another guest story from Jason before the end of the month, so visit back often. I cried myself to sleep. Tears of joy, tears of sorrow. Bitter, yet sweet and wonderful. Being with her, close to her, brings joy; away and apart the bitter. Conflicting emotion is overwhelming, floating on air, elated, but also weighted down with reality. It's wonderful and maddening all at once. The most beautiful thing in the world: to have your heart lift inside your chest, even if it's breaking all at the same time. I love it and hate it. I love her, and she'll be mine... ...always... ...and never...