On Baseball

In honor of spring training and the weather being nicer, I’m posting a short story on baseball, titled: On Baseball. This is shorter than usual, so I might post something a little later on in the day. Stay tuned!

On Baseball

No one has enough time
To sit and watch
A newly installed clock
Behind home plate counts
It’s time to go.

The Disused Train

Sorry I already choked with this goal of writing everyday! I skipped a day two days ago, and actually wrote this yesterday with the intentions of writing another story, but I didn’t get around to posting it here. I wrote this in Starbucks and it’s based off a picture my girlfriend chose off Flickr. The picture I’m posting on here is obviously not mine, but you definitely need to see it in order to understand what’s going on. I am going to try to have one or two more stories for you today. I’m going back and forth between this and reading before my semester starts on Monday. I know if I don’t get it done now, I’m going to have to put it off until school’s over. Enjoy!

Alright, I can’t upload the picture for whatever reason, so here’s the link instead: Disused Train

Disused Train

Winter storm clouds slowly roll over the mountains into the valley where a lonely train waits to leave the empty station. Every day, people with cameras pass by to take pictures, but never stop to see what’s wrong, why the train hasn’t moved in years. Even the station itself has been abandoned to the harsh elements.

The train looks at the storm, envious of its ability to pass through the mountains. A tunnel was made just for this train. So much work was put into it, so many hours, lives even, going to waste. Where did everyone go? How did they leave without using the train? The roads haven’t been paved in years. The tracks are still in good condition. But they’ll soon be covered by the snow. And so will the train. The last thing it wants is to be forgotten, again.



The Fog

Fresh haircut yesterday, clean-shaved today. I’m feeling good. Things are going in the right direction again. Exception to this is that I’ve had a bad cough for over a month which isn’t getting better. The doctor thinks it’s either bronchitis or asthma. If it’s asthma, I’d be really upset about that. I’m such an active person–always have been, too–and I hate the idea of having something like that constantly looming over my head. Hopefully, everything will be alright, and it all goes away as soon as possible.

So, to take my mind off all that stuff, I found a pretty cool prompt: write about not being able to see in front of you. This will be inspired by a true story.

The Fog

The weather said there would only be a small chance of rain, but if it hit us, it would hit us hard. Most storms get blown out to sea around here, so we took the chance.

“The sun wants to come out,” my cousin would say, pointing to the small white orb barely glowing through the dark gray clouds.

“It looks like it,” I replied, a little suspect.

“We’ll be fine,” said our uncle.

And for the most part, we were. Soon after we got on the water, we forgot about the weather. We talked about movies we saw recently, sports, the economy, everything. Every once in a while, we even caught some fish. Sea robin, mostly, but also some fluke. Nothing we could keep, though; not with the ridiculous limits in place thanks to overfishing.  But even with the odds stacked against us, we went out anyways and had a good time.

We were only in the bay, but the inlet to the Atlantic Ocean was in sight. You tell what’s ocean and what’s not by the roughness of the waves. An invisible wall seems to separate the two.

After about five, six hours on the water, we decide to head back in. The sky was looking darker than usual. A few minutes later, it started to drizzle. Fog rolled in right after. We’ve fished in the bay a couple of times and had a decent sense of how to get back, so we didn’t worry too much. But the fog kept getting worse, to the point where we can’t see more than five feet in front of us in every direction.

“Take out the compass,” my uncle said to me.

It was an old compass he used when he was my age. I remember being surprised it still worked. The issue was that me being a millennial, I had no idea how it worked. I felt worthless, that I would be the reason we get lost, or end up in the ocean, which would be a disaster. Our skiff wouldn’t last a minute. I didn’t want to admit I didn’t know how to use it, but that would be our one-way ticket to the bottom of the ocean.

“Where are we headed?” asked my cousin.


“Are you sure?”


He takes the compass from me and shows me how to use it properly. Not as embarrassing as I thought.

“West,” I yelled to my uncle. The right direction.

Soon after, Gary, the guy that runs the boat dock, found us. He tells us to follow him back. At that point, the rain was pouring. We were all miserable even though we were being rescued. No fish, soaking wet, we felt so small on the water. The experience was eye-opening, and one we hope to never experience again.