POMSILv2 A Collection of Short Stories

By Sheldon Charles

An anthology of stories selected to provide you with a brief escape from where you find yourself right now. Each will allow you to leave this reality and take a quick trip into some place completely different. Have no fear. It's a nice place, and whether in the past or another world, it's okay, they know you there.

The stories

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valkyrie Spirit Publishing
• Release date: Aug 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781733958882

Sheldon Charles

Sheldon Charles is a decorated Air Force veteran, whose career has taken him around the globe, and given his writing a unique international flair. He is the author of "Three Paperclips & a Grey Scarf", "Blood Upon the Sands" and "From Within the Firebird’s Nest". His last book ("From Within the Firebird’s Nest", the third book in the Evan Davis Trilogy) held the Number One Bestseller spot for Russian Historical Fiction, and was in the Top Ten for War Fiction, for 2018. Sheldon currently resides in Michigan, where he is a member of Michigan Writers.

Book preview

POMSILv2

A Collection of Short Fiction

By

Sheldon Charles

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, 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.

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POMSILv2 by Sheldon Charles, Published by Valkyrie Spirit Publishing, PO Box 4357, Battle Creek, MI 49016-4357. http://www.valkyriespirit.com

© 2020-22 Sheldon Charles, 1st Edition, 1st Printing

Cover Art/Design © 2019-22 Sheldon Charles

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests contact: Valkyrie Spirit Publishing, PO Box 4357, Battle Creek, MI 49016-4357.

ISBN (ePub) 978-1-7339588-8-2

Available in ePub & Audiobook

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

This anthology is dedicated to the nurses who battled COVID-19 in 2020-21. Humanity was saved through their selfless dedication, compassion, and professionalism.

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Thank you for your service.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Foreword

I Only Slow Dance

Beyond AM Radio

DD603

It’s Said Destiny Awaits

About the Author

From the Author

Acknowledgments

My appreciation goes to Jose Gomez of the Cadillac & LaSalle Club for helping me with technical specifications and guidance on the intricacies of the 1947 Cadillac Series 62.

My Editor Marni MacRae was indispensable. Her input and support turned my stories into the polished collection you are about to read. It is a collaboration I appreciate more with every project we work on together. YOU ROCK!

Akira007, who created an imaginative and artful cover based on my vague concepts and story information.

My puppy MacBeth was always there when I needed a distraction, helping me find my Satori. Seeking true Zen? Get a dog.

Finally, thank you, Constance, for your love, support, words of encouragement, advice, and putting up with me during this journey.

Foreword

You may be asking yourself, "What the heck is a POMSILv2, some kind of cosmic space weapon?" I can assure you it isn’t, nor a dozen other things it may sound like. Simply, it is an acronym for the full title of this book: Pimping Out My Sister-In-Law* Volume 2- * A Collection of Short Fiction That Has Absolutely Nothing to Do with the Title or Cover Art. Since, I see you still scratching your head, allow me to explain.

In December 2020, volume one of this three-volume opus was released under the full title. It was immediately questioned by publishers who feared the title but didn’t bother reading the subtitle. After an explanation and performing a requested reading of the book, all of them published it. The reviews were all favorable, but some called the title clickbait or labeled it purely for the author’s self-indulgence. Like all authors, I use titles to entice people to take a moment and check out my work, but I expect the work to be good enough to stand on its own beyond that. Rather than go through that again, I choose to use an acronym versus words and hope curiosity (plus a kicking cover designed by Akira007) will rule the day.

The explanation offered in volume one’s foreword also applies here: This collection’s title comes from the answer I’d give people when asked what my next book title would be. It became a running gag over the past few years, and when I decided to put this collection together, I could think of no better title to use. I can guarantee you that none of these stories have anything to do with pimping anybody. What follows is a collection of short fiction from fantasy, science fiction, romance, and tragedy.

Short fiction is challenging for an author. A writer must quickly lure the reader into empathizing with the story’s characters and, at the same time, push a plot forward that is always just a page or two from the end. Yet, simultaneously, it gives an author enough freedom to write a framework that will allow the reader to fill in the blanks and expand a few words into thousands.

Unlike my novels, I chose to serialize this collection into three volumes, to be released over the next year. The volumes can be read in any order, just like the stories within each book. After all the volumes are released, they will be combined into a single tome and released in paperback.

I hope these stories provide you with a brief escape from where you find yourself at this moment. Each will allow you to leave this reality and take a quick trip into a different one. Have no fear. It’s a nice place. Even better, they know you there.

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Michigan, July 2021

I Only Slow Dance

The lushly carpeted hallway went on for miles, or maybe it just seemed that way because the long walk gave me extra time to ponder my early arrival. As I made the trek from the front door of the country club to the Sooner Ballroom, my mind split into multiple trains of thought.

The school I’d transferred from held a dance every month, not so for Thomson Junior High School. Tonight’s event would be the first dance to be held in almost ten years. The school had given a begrudging endorsement for the event but would not allow it on school property. Indirectly, that decision led to me standing in front of the ballroom’s main door, waiting for forty-five minutes to pass and the dance to begin. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, trying to focus. Maybe coming was a mistake.

Last year, I had attended Central, the school attended by fellow military brats living on the nearby base. During my two years of junior high there, I’d gotten used to the environment, made friends, and felt like I belonged. Then, over the summer, my father decided to move the family off base, and because of the move, I ended up at Thomson.

I wasn’t in a new state or country, which is the way military orders worked. Instead, I was barely twenty miles from where I had once lived. I had never moved such a short distance. All of my old friends still existed just a short way to the east. Because I knew they were close, my psyche urged me to hang out with Mark, Terri, Ernie, and Penguin since it was possible. It wasn’t going to happen, but because they were so close, it was harder to do what I had done many times before—forget the past, start over, and make the best of it. Brats are good at that.

I usually did okay after moves, making new friends in a minimal amount of time. Minimal, yes, but school started on Monday and now, on Friday, I was forced into a social situation. I was still trying to learn the names of my teachers and the kids who sat around me in class. I knew no one well enough to hang out with at a dance.

The sound of music starting to play in the ballroom broke through my wallowing in self-pity. The school couldn’t afford even the most mediocre garage band for the two-dollar per student entry fee. Instead, they booked a disc jockey from a local radio station to play records for a few hours. Even through the closed doors, the music was oppressively loud. I was peeking through one of the windows in the door when she snuck up behind me.

Hey, are they open yet?

The intrusion startled me, and I turned around, taking a moment to look at her before answering. Instead of the smart-ass answer I might’ve given, ‘Yeah, I just thought the music would sound better from out here,’ I was left speechless and instead shook my head.

We were about the same height. She had long, straight, dishwater blonde hair, parted in the middle. Her eyes might’ve been brown, or maybe they were green, I couldn’t tell which due to the dim lighting in the hallway. Since she spoke while standing behind me, I didn’t know what her smile looked like.

Cool, I didn’t want to miss a minute of this. We’ve been waiting forever for this dance, ya know?

I didn’t. It was one of the many things I didn’t know about my new school. I nodded my head, smiling weakly. For some reason, I again chose nonverbal communication rather than speaking.

Do you like to dance? I do. Aren’t you in my Literature class?

Multiple questions? I shook my head and finally spoke, No, I’m not taking Literature.

Really? How did you get out of it? she frowned, My Mom told me I had to take it—that everybody had to take it. I like reading, but I don’t like being told what to read, ya know? But you got out of it? No fair.

Shrugging my shoulders, I explained that I took Literature in the eighth grade, so I opted to take Speech instead.

For someone who’s taking Speech, you don’t talk a lot.

My face felt hot, I was probably blushing, but I wasn’t sure why I’d be blushing. I did talk a lot—usually. I just needed to know who I was talking to.

That’s okay. My Mom says I talk enough for two people anyway. What you got in your hand?

At some point, I’d taken two one-dollar bills from my pocket and held the folded bills in my clenched fist. As I opened my hand to show her what I was holding, I realized I should have left the money in my pocket as my sweaty hands had soaked the bills. I looked at her, expecting a negative reaction, but instead saw her slowly smile. Looking around, I noticed more people had lined up behind her, and now at least ten or fifteen of us were waiting.

My name is Rafe, recalling some of the basic etiquettes my parents had taught me. When we moved off base, I’d decided to go by my middle name instead of my first and then shortened Raphael to Rafe. It was taking me time to get used to it. Anyone I met in the last week knew me as Rafe, but having only been Rafe for a few days, I still didn’t respond to it when somebody called me.

I’m Renée.

Again, she smiled—she had a cute smile and a dimple on one side. My gradual warming and finding attractive and likable things about her were just part of how I related to the opposite sex. I was so desperate to dive headlong into any kind of romantic relationship, she could’ve looked like an ogre and I would’ve tried to find something attractive about her monobrow and warts.

Are your eyes blue? As she said this, she leaned forward, staring into my eyes while I did my best not to shut them.

Uh, yeah.

Hmm, I like guys with blue eyes. They seem so sincere. I hate my eyes. See, as she said that, she pushed her face toward mine and opened her eyes wide, you can’t even tell if they’re green or brown. My Mom says that’s because they’re hazel. Did you ever see a hazel crayon in the box? No. Of course not. Stupid eyes.

As she backed up, she rolled her eyes. I was learning that she did talk a lot, or at least talked very quickly, saying a lot of different things that seemed to beg for an answer but she never seemed to pause long enough to for me to give one.

Tilting her head, she said, You have nice eyes. This time she didn’t lean close but instead maintained her distance as she looked at me. I’m glad we wound up in line together, Rafe.

I swallowed and finally croaked out, Me too.

Looking over her shoulder, I could see there was now a multitude of people lined up behind us. The dance was going to be crowded. The motion of a redheaded girl weaving her way through the crowd toward us caught my eye. When Renée turned around, she seemed to know this person and immediately started talking with her, completely ignoring me. The new girl was wearing something around her throat called a choker. Whatever it was called, it drew attention to her neck, which was a part of the female anatomy I couldn’t remember ever paying attention to before. I liked it.

The sound of a door crash bar being slammed down caused me jump then turn toward the ballroom entrance as the door was pushed open. Even though our conversation had been pleasant, I was enough of a realist to understand my time with Renée was now over, and it was time to get back to life. I paid my two dollars for admission and walked into the ballroom.

It was dark, and I moved gingerly, letting my eyes adjust as I entered the cavernous ballroom. Thanks to a friend with older brothers, the music was familiar to me. Jethro Tull. Not exactly dance music, but since it was the first song of the evening, it was probably