The Glass Was Half Empty: A Collection of Short Stories

By Zachary Casciato

The book is a collection of dark short stories ranging from science fiction to literary fiction. The stories provide social commentary on the times we live in and the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504986212

Zachary Casciato

Zachary M. Casciato was born in San Francisco, California, and currently resides in Oakland, California. He published his first book, The Real Adjustment Bureau, in 2014 and has been published in various magazines. Mainly known for his political writings, Zachary has transitioned to fiction but maintains his revolutionary attitude. And ambitions to be the voice of his generation.

Book preview

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 Zachary Casciato. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse    03/18/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-8620-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-8621-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

What A Shaam

The Reluctant Subject

The Ambulance Driver

The Constant Requiem

Fear of Failure

The Garbageman

A Rose By Any Other Name

A Nazi Soldier in South America

A World Without No Weed

Introduction

There was once a time I was a bright eyed youth with high ambitions and unrealistic goals. I thought if one shoots for the moon, they land in the stars. And I was going to be a star, I was going to be famous and I was going to change the world. People were going to remember me long after I was dead and I was convinced of these things. In my mind, they were stone cold facts.

Somewhere along the line I became slightly more realistic. Maybe I wasn’t going to step up to the podium and change the world or write the next great American novel. But I knew I wasn’t just typical either. Maybe a more subtle approach.

So I distanced myself from the world for a while and came back with a different attitude. I’ve had my setbacks, but they haven’t yet stopped me from moving forward, which is difficult. Because we live in dark times and in a dark world. The people I interact with on a daily basis disgust me for the most part. There are very few people I can stand to be around and talk to. I feel as though there are no more standards and no one will hesitate to throw another person under the bus. Most people are out for themselves and not for anyone else. They are unwilling to lend a helping hand and subsequently many people are left behind.

There are drug overdoses, suicides, homicides, robberies, assaults and other horrible things happening all over the world everyday. Hardly anyone does anything to stop it, nobody can do anything to stop it, it’s hopeless. Our lives have been corrupted by money and politics. We have to hold down a job, pay rent, put food on the table and take care of our pets. We are controlled in most of what we do.

People claim to love it when one thinks outside the box, but really they are just looking for conformity. The status quo is fine with most human beings nowadays and nobody seems to want or need to strive for a better existence. This is where I have a crisis of identity. An existential dilemma. I see that the world needs change, but I can’t change it, not even with an army behind me. So do I do nothing? Do I waste my time doing something and acting like it makes a difference? Do I claim I can stop gentrification, save the economy and provide a good future for the millennials?

No, no I don’t. If this generation wants a voice, that voice will be found. The main object of what I do now, is to make you, the reader, think about stuff you wouldn’t normally think about. Make the reader feel emotions they would not normally allow themselves to feel. If one person changes their mind about one thing in this messed up world, that’s a victory. Unfortunately, that’s how low we’ve set the bar, but a victory nonetheless.

Love me or hate me, read me writing or don’t. Just make sure you think for yourself! Don’t let your tv, your laptop or your phone do the thinking for you. Have an original idea here and there, maybe things will change eventually. Who knows. Just think about it…

What A Shaam

I started the fight and I’m going to lose, thought Shaam.

Shaam had started the fight, the battle, but Shaam hadn’t started the war. The war had been going on for some time now. In fact, the guy Shaam hit hadn’t started the war either, but he had gotten himself involved and that was good enough for Shaam.

He could hear it come crashing down around him and on him, but Shaam couldn’t see or feel it at that point. The last fight hadn’t been a fair one either. Here he was, outnumbered again and by a lot. If only the stupid kid hadn’t run to get all his fucking friends after Shaam had hit him. What a pussy. Shaam still blamed himself though.

He definitely wouldn’t be telling anybody that he had started this fight he was now going to lose. It was lucky that nobody else had seen how the beginning of the altercation had gone down. It was also lucky that everybody around was so drunk. Shaam had always been lucky, in an unlucky sort of way. Regardless, he would lie about how this fight had started and everybody will believe him. Somehow, nobody seemed to realize he is a liar.

All of this went through Shaam’s head as God-knows-how-many people beat the hell out of him.

Shaam, we’re getting the fuck out of here! A familiar voice yelled over the din of the fight. Shaam was suddenly pulled hard be his shoulder as his friend Aziz attempted to rescue him from his ass-whooping. They got out of the fray and ran, well briskly walked away, Shaam being pulled by Aziz. Though Shaam was badly beaten and bleeding from his forehead, his adrenaline was rushing and he was still conscious and ready to fight. That was the way Shaam had always been anyway, always ready for a fight.

Shaam could hear the steady ebb and flow of the crowd and he could smell the fires burning in the streets. The smell of melting plastic mixed in with smoke and hot garbage. Car horns were honking and people were cheering, Shaam thought he heard firecrackers in the distance. Not the kind of firecrackers the Chinese kids set off during their New Year’s parade in Chinatown, but M-80’s and Mortars. Maybe a couple of bottle rockets or maybe it was all gunfire. Shaam didn’t know, but he wouldn’t be surprised if people had begun killing each other during the celebration.

C’mon man, we a block away, Aziz was now saying. A block away from what? Shaam had no idea. Shaam realized he didn’t know how far they had walked, where they were nor where they were going.

I gotta sell Bode a bag, he’s in the alleyway by 17th Street, Aziz said. So, that’s where they were headed. Cash rules all. Shaam was grateful his friend had saved him, it could have been a lot worse.

There was a ton of blood.

In the paper the next day it said that 5 people had been killed the night before. One was stabbed, three were shot and one person had been thrown from a fourth story balcony downtown. Some party at