Practically Fiction ( A Collection of Unrelated Short Stories)

By Shamara S. Davis

Stories of love, obsession, dreams and childhood memories; Practically Fiction is a books of short stories by Shamara S. Davis that shows some insight into the author's mind. Far from the short stories she usually writes for children some of the stories in this anthology have a deeper meaning for not just the author, but for those that can understand these shorts stories. This ten story anthology has a story for everyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shamara S. Davis
• Release date: Nov 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310913303

Shamara S. Davis

Shamara is the author of "The Adventures of Marco and Carla" series and "What Happened to Kerbie Walobee?" She has a talent for writing stories that either send a chill down your spine or take you on a fantastic adventure. Originally from Port Royal, Jamaica, Shamara draws inspiration from the stories she made up as a child. She reminisces about the adventures she and her brother have been on and adds a touch of fright to make them even more enjoyable for readers. While starting by writing for teens and adults, Shamara now focuses on writing stories that are geared toward creating an exciting reading experience. Two of her recent releases, "The Receptionist" and "Altered Genesis," are currently available on Smashwords and have garnered significant attention. Alongside her writing career, Shamara is also a full-time teacher in New York and is currently working on her latest project.

Book preview

PRACTICALLY FICTION

A COLLECTION OF UNRELATED SHORT STORIES

By

SHAMARA S. DAVIS

COPYRIGHT 2013 Shamara S. Davis

Published on SMASHWORDS by

Shamara S. Davis

Cover Art by BackgroundLabs.com

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Boy and The Bird

Life after Disasters (A Dream of Terror)

One More Mile

Burdened

The Cave

Throw It Back

The Dagger

Stacey the Dick (Case Hastings)

Childhood Memories (Sea-Monster)

The Other Heart (Entry One-By Gabby Patrick)

About Shamara S. Davis

Other Titles by Shamara S. Davis

Connect with Shamara S. Davis

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THE BOY AND THE BIRD

In a dark room sat a boy with his thoughts

He desired her. His thoughts were loving and selfish. Her beauty had no reveal and so he had to have her. He plotted and plotted, giving his every thought on how he would attain her for himself.

That night he crafted a beautiful black cage and adorned it with flowers to hide the ugly truth of it. He knew she liked daisies and would not resist coming close to the dark trap he had set. So he hung his trap and left a little light shining to compel her in.

The beautiful bird was tired and could fly no longer. She knew of a house that was close by so there she went. It was dark inside, except for a little green light that was surrounded by daisies. She flew towards it and found that it was solid; I will sleep here, she thought. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He was standing in the dark watching her. He came out when she slept. He quietly closed the cages door, but the little bird woke to see the young boy staring at her.

You’re mine now, he said. You will stay and sing for me and only me.

But I must return home, the little bird told him.

This is your home now, he said gazing at her beautiful yellow feathers.

But I must..., she started to say.

My heart is not cold, if you sing for me tonight, I will let you go in the morning, he told her.

Thank you, thank you, she sang.

And so the beautiful bird sang her sweet song for the young boy, whose heart was not as cold as you would have thought.

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LIFE AFTER DISASTER (A DREAM OF TERROR)

I was on the train tired and half a wake. I sat there watching the population of the New York transit community spill in and out of the train. As I sat there trying my hardest and failing not to stare at all the odd balls that supposedly rolled in with the normal people I glimpse their weird behavior and automatically add them to my odd ball list. It was late when I got in. My apartment was cloaked in shadow as I fumbled for the light switch, empty, always empty. What else would I expect to find here since I lived alone. Thirty years old and no boyfriend, no husband, no kids, and no prospect of any either.

I went into the kitchen to fix myself something to eat and as usual there was nothing in there but deli sliced turkey and cheese and some old Sunday dinner. I really did have to go shopping one of these days. The food my neighbor Ellen gave me a week back is starting to grow its own population, but I left it where it was not really caring. I made myself the sandwich and thought about the grit and grime that was all over my hands and body. I placed the sandwich on a plate and put it in the fridge. I grabbed my towel and headed towards the bathroom.

I ran the water making sure it was lukewarm. I undressed and stood there in the bathroom looking at myself in the large hanging mirror. No wonder, I thought as I stood there gazing at the image of a woman that was new to me. Lucky the water was warm enough to create a fog and made her disappear. I stepped into the shower and let the water hit my face. I stood there thinking of the lackluster day I had sitting at my desk answering the phones saying the same thing over and over again. I wish I could wash the thoughts of the day away like the dirt, but I can't.

As I stepped out of the shower and walked towards my room I turned on the TV, I got dressed, grabbed my sandwich, and parked myself right in front of it just in time to see the start of the news. I hate watching the news it’s the same thing every day, somebody killing someone and