Trapped Inside of My Head

By Jason Wallace

11 short stories from my twisted mind. All of them are my own strange ideas and span a variety of genres: the strangest of macabre, dealings with the afterlife, the torment of unrequited love, revolution against imperial might, strange humor, and more. Don't let me be all alone in my madness. Please share it with me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jason Wallace
• Release date: May 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311123374

Jason Wallace

Make sure to check out my other poetry at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/jasonwallacepoetry. There are books on Amazon that are not shown here because they are offered through Kindle Unlimited. There are also books shown here that are not available on Amazon because they are free at all times. http://www.amazon.com/Jason-Wallace/e/B00JG37PVO/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1399103321&sr=8-1 Jason Wallace is an Indie author from the Midwest, aspiring to bring his works to the masses and through this, bring joy into their lives. He has been writing for more than 20 years, mostly poetry, but since 2011, he has been writing novels and short stories, in various genres. Come check out my new page and see what's going on. https://www.facebook.com/thepageofauthorjasonwallace

Book preview

Trapped Inside of My Head: Some of My Shortest Short Stories

By Jason Wallace

Smashwords Edition

Published by Jason Wallace on Smashwords

Trapped Inside of My Head: Some of My Shortest Short Stories

Copyright © 2015 by Jason Wallace

This is a copyrighted work. The entirety hereof may not be copied or transferred without the express written permission of the author; however, portions hereof may be copied for purposes other than those involving personal gain to the copier. Any likenesses to actual people is purely coincidental and is, in no way, intentional.

Table of Contents

The Ring

Torment Moon

The Hard Price of Freedom

Nueva España and the Pueblo People

From Caribbean Slave to Adopted Revolutionary

The Veil

THEY

The Legend of Arthur Tanner and Johnny Red

To My Human: A Letter from Your Queen

A Letter from a Worn-out Husband

Fairytale Awakening

Let’s Make This Believable

The Ring

An aged and very wrinkled man with thinly-sparse gray hair knelt in his garden, tending his tomatoes, an almost daily routine that he had maintained for many years during the warmer weather. Suddenly, he struggled to his feet, nearly toppling as he went, startled by the appearance of a young man, seeming to come from out of nowhere. Nuni! Nuni, shouted the old man as he awaited the gravely younger man to approach. Nuni! Nuni!

Sir, asked the other man, confused by the outburst of the elderly gardener, throwing his jacket over his shoulder as he peered through the blistering hot rays of sunlight piercing his eyes as he stared downward.

Oh. I guess I thought you was somebody else. You look just like a fella I knew back in Dubya Dubya Two. Nunzio Calabrisi was his name. Can I help you with somethin', Son?

Well, Sir, that's exactly why I'm here. I want to ask you about Nunzio Calabrisi. My name is also Nunzio Calabrisi. The Nunzio you knew during the war was my father's uncle. I was named for him. Would you mind if I stay a while and ask you some questions about my uncle?

I suppose that'd be alright, Son. But you might not like what I have to say. Sit. Sit. Pick ya a spot of ground there by the cabbages. The old man waved his hand to direct the other to the grass beyond the garden.

First, Sir, what happened to Nunzio? Nobody ever saw him again after 1943, and there's no record of him being killed in the war. You were his best friend, weren't you? What can you tell me? The young man helped the recipient of his verbal intercourse to his feet, seeing that he struggled so as he made countless fruitless attempts.

You really wanna know about Nunzio Calabrisi, huh? Let's go inside. Pryin' neighbors and all. The two men sauntered into the house, the elderly of the two bringing two glasses of sweetened lemonade into the living room. I'll tell you what you wanna know, but it probably ain't much ya wanna hear. Nunzio was my friend, my best friend. He was closer to me than any brother ever could've been, and I killed him.

Wait, the young man, Nunzio, screamed, choking on his lemonade, You killed my uncle?! What the...

Son, I don't mean I killed him like you think. I mean I got him killed.

Tell me then, Mr. Tucker, please. Can I call you Mr. Tucker?

Marion is fine. I met Nunzio in the Navy in 1942. We did everything together. I loved that man. I loved him as much as a person can love another, maybe, in some ways, more than I ever loved my wife.

So, you two had a homosexual relationship, the second Nunzio asked, vehemently protesting the possibility that his great-uncle was, in actuality, homosexual.

No. What the hell is wrong with your generation? Two men can love each other without it being that way. Do you wanna hear this or not?

Yes. Please. Continue, Nunzio begged, sipping his lemonade more carefully.

Your uncle, Nunzio, he was a great man. Some people didn't care for him because he was I-talian. I think maybe I loved him all the more because he was I-talian. He could make anybody laugh. He had a wonderful air about him. He could sing like you would not believe. You'd think you were hearin' an angel! We were on leave in the summer of 1943. We drove up to my hometown of Somerset, Virginia. I promised Nunzio I'd introduce him to a beautiful Southern gal. We went out drinkin' when we arrived. We were walkin' along, and Nunzio said that he needed to relive himself. I waited back and kept sippin' on my whiskey I was carryin'. I turned just in time to see Nunzio disappear.

Disappear?

Yes. I saw the tree he was leanin' against open up and swallow him. I saw it plain as day, though it was night. I know you don't believe me. I wouldn't believe me, but I know what I saw. Two dark hands came out from the tree, grabbed Nunzio, and pulled him inside. That was the last I ever saw of the man. The old man, Marion, hung his head, a tear strolling down his left cheek as he finished his words.

Wh.. huh.. Hands took him? Tree swallowed? What? This makes no sense!

I know what I saw. He disappeared that night. Marion took a long pause, and after gulping deeply, decided to continue where he left off, He... He went into that tree, and I could see what looked like a really bright light.

Did you try to get him out?!

I tried, but there was nothin' I could do. I chopped at that tree for an hour with my pocket knife, but to no avail. I went to the Sheriff and told him what I saw, and he just said I'd been drinkin' too much and needed to cut back. I may have been a bit inebriated, but I saw what I saw. I went back to that tree with an axe I took from my daddy's shed. I hacked and cut and chopped at that tree until I could split it open. It took me much of the night.

What was.. was inside of it? Nunzio still doubted that he should believe Marion's words, but something told him that he was not being toyed with, that he should trust the old man.

You know what it was I found inside that tree? A finger. One finger. That was all. I knew it was Nunzio's finger because it had that ring on it that his father gave him, just like that ring you got on right there, that exact one. Marion pointed anxiously at Nunzio's right hand, at the ring draped around his ring finger.

I'll believe you if you... if you can tell me what is inscribed inside.

With a deep chortle, the old man sought to oblige the request. Ok. Let me see if I can remember. Chi si volta... Wait. Yes. Chi si volta, e chi si gira, sempre a casa va finire. I don't remember exactly what it means, but it is something about that no matter how far you go, you always come home.

Wh... yes. How...?

Nunzio showed me that ring almost every day. His father gave it to him. He was so proud of his son, the first generation of the family in America serving it so faithfully. Nunzio enlisted, against the will of his mother. His father didn't like it at first but came around to the idea and had that ring made. Well, actually, he had one made for Nunzio's brother, too. I suppose that's the one you have on your finger right now.

Y.. yes. Ok, Mr. Tucker. Let's say I'm starting to believe you. How do you explain this?!

I can't. I think maybe that tree or that place is cursed, maybe a gateway to some other dimension. Maybe Nunzio lived out his life somewhere far away, in some other world neither you nor I can imagine. The few I've gotten to believe the story say that it must have been a gate to Hell. I don't know about all that, but I know he is gone, never to return. Nunzio would never have lost all contact with his family or with me. The old man's lower lip began to curl, his misty eyes displaying all of his belief in the event and of never again seeing his only true friend