Short Stories Vol 1

By Mike Swedenberg

0750 – 0850
John Pearson has a riveting war time story. He is a survivor of one of the greatest attacks in US history - or is he?
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Mike’s Diner
A great new reality cooking show hit's the air ways.
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SoHo Suicide
I am Raymond Anderson, a private investigator and a deaf mute. I rely on my senses of observation and smell because it’s all I have. I communicate with the outside world with my assistant, Ms. Julia Moore, via sign language and text messages. "Hey, it’s a living", I’ve convinced myself.
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The Heist
Three small-town rubes pull off the crime of the century - or so they think.
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Juliann and Robert on the Bus
Three small-town rubes pull off the crime of the century - or so they think.
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Dave’s Towing
How boring could this job get?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Swedenberg
• Release date: Oct 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465948571

Mike Swedenberg

Mike Swedenberg saw a need to assemble a study guide to help those persons wishing to immigrate to the United States whose second language is English. This study guide is annotated with the names of current Representatives that all applicants must know. The list is current for State Governors, US Senators and US Congressmen. This list will be updated at each election cycle.Mike has authored two novels, A New York Wedding and the Bully Boss along with books on Advertising Copywriting and Salesmanship.Mike teaches publishing courses at Queensborough Community College in New York, studies classical oil painting at the Long Island Academy of Fine Art and is an avid photographer.Other books by MikeA New York Wedding – a novelBully Boss – a novelThe Road Warrior a sales manualAdvertising Copywriting and the Unique Selling PropositionSam ChinkesSound Advertising, Las Vegas

Book preview

Short Stories

By Mike Swedenberg

Copyright James Michael Swedenberg 2011

Published at Smashwords

All Rights Reserved

Cover design by Mike Swedenberg © 2010 charcoal on paper

No part of this work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, Web distribution or information storage retrieval systems without the written permission of James Michael Swedenberg.

For permission to use material from this product, submit your request to [e-mail]

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Connect with Me Online: http://twitter.com/#!/MikeSwedenberg

Table of Contents

0750 – 0850

Mike’s Diner

SoHo Suicide

The Heist

Juliann and Robert on the Bus

Dave’s Towing

Preface

These short stories are works of fiction. The names, characters, actors, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. This is a work of parody, as defined by the Fair Use Doctrine. Any similarities, without satirical intent, to copyrighted characters, or individuals living or dead, are purely coincidental.

Other Books by the Author

The Sales Rep Survival Guide

Bully Boss the novel

Educational Guides by the Author available on Kindle and Nook

Study Guide for the US Citizenship Test in Spanish and English Annotated

Study Guide for the US Citizenship Test in Polish and English Annotated

0750 – 0850

By Mike Swedenberg

The explosion jarred me and my mates from our sleep and threw us out of our bunks with such force; we came crashing down on the deck. The ship took on a fifteen-degree list sending us sliding and rolling into a corner and she piled us up like cord wood. The noise of more explosions and men screaming all around was deafening.

What the Hell was that? A shipmate yelled out.

I think a boiler blew, another yelled back.

We got rammed, someone behind me said.

How could we get rammed? We’re tied up at berth.

A Lieutenant leaned into the hatch and screamed but the racket drowned him out.

What did he say?

I don’t know but I’m getting the hell out of here while I can.

Swell time to hold general drills, another said.

My forearm was sore from the ship’s tattoo I got yesterday and slamming it against the bulkhead made me see stars. All I was wearing was my skivvies and a tee shirt. Who even knew where my shoes were? The list piled everything up in the corner. At sea, anything loose was stowed away, but while we berthed, the Captain let us leave our belongings below the racks.

The lights flickered off and the emergency lamp came on. Its soft green glow was made eerie by the smoke drifting in through the hatch. It was impossible to find anything. I decided to get out on deck. I looked at my watch; it was 0756.

I made it out of the hatch and that is when I saw my first dead bodies, a headless sailor and a disemboweled officer. I think he was the one who yelled at us. A medical officer was tending to him, but it was obvious the Lieutenant was a goner. I had to lean over to make myself heard, Ensign, the LT gave us orders but we couldn’t hear him.

The Ensign looked at me, his eyes glazed over and hands and arms covered in blood. We’re under attack! This is no drill! Man your battle stations! He said.

With that, I began running towards my assigned station and duties. My bare feet were splashing around in something warm. As I looked down, I saw I was running through a pool of blood deep enough that it covered my feet. I kicked something hard.

It was the sailor’s head. The tilt of the ship caused it to roll along the edge between the deck and bulkhead like a gutter ball at the bowling alley. Its eyes were wide open, the mouth frozen in a scream with the tongue flapping out of the mouth as it rolled along and sprayed blood all over. Not knowing what else to do, I focused on my job and headed toward the ammo locker. My heart was pounding, I was breathing hard and I kept jamming my toes on the sharp corners of the ship’s rigging. I couldn’t tell if the blood on my feet was mine or someone else’s. God, I wished I had my shoes.

During General Quarters, my job was to pass ammo from the locker to the anti aircraft guns, a drill I’ve been through a thousand times. When I got to the ammunition ready box, I saw it was padlocked, Standard Operating Procedure during peacetime. Marines were manning the three-inch guns and were screaming for ammo. I looked around and saw a crescent wrench lying on the deck next to an over turned toolbox. I picked it up and began wailing away at the lock. The wrench just bounced off. A