Snapshots: Random Short Stories

By Paula L. Jones

What do an indecisive groom, a girl who's just escaped from a cult, a futuristic space-traveling interpreter, and a recently diagnosed type one diabetic have in common?

 

Not much.

 

That's why this book of short stories is completely random. Each story is a snapshot from a key moment in a random character's life. These slice of life tales were written to make you think and to make you smile.  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paula L. Jones
• Release date: Apr 11, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224295357

Book preview

Snapshots

Random Short Stories

Paula L. Jones

Copyright © 2024 by Paula L. Jones

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Quote

1.The Groom

2.The Hot Mess

3.The Interpreter

4.The Diabetic

A Note

About the author

Also by Paula L. Jones

An excerpt from The Bake Off!

We think we're in love, when what we are is lonely.

We believe we're alone when what we are is loved.

Why the conundrum?

We are often far too hormonal to see life clearly.

The Groom

I can see Kristy in my mind’s eye.

She’s walking down the aisle in the white, egg-shaped dress that her strange best friend, Apple, convinced her would be a trendsetter.

Apple was wrong. The dress is a misfire.

Kristy’s long dark hair is swept up beneath the veil my mother wore on her own wedding day thirty years ago. Her face rests somewhere underneath a layer of makeup so thick it’s nearly a mask.

Despite this, I see Kristy Hargrove more clearly than I ever have, and I love her.

But I can't possibly marry her.

My screensaver of a smile remains in place as I try to wrap my head around the fact that Kristy is walking down the aisle towards me.

With every step she takes, the more challenging it becomes to maintain my smile.

All at once, it’s impossible.

My heart trips over a beat, feels as though it's wiggling out of its protective chamber between my ribs, and in one abrupt motion, hurling itself into my stomach. I pass out, the crowd gasps, and an ambulance is summoned.

That moment has not happened yet. But I have a feeling it’s my fate, and I’m going to have to face it in approximately ten minutes.

As I stare at myself in the full-length mirror of the groom’s dressing room at South Lake Gardens Reception Hall, I can see it all unfolding in my mind’s eye. There I am falling to the floor at the altar, pale and trembling while my heart unalives itself.

I can’t even blame my heart for making such a decision. What’s the point of its existence when its owner ignores it completely? My poor heart is bearing the brunt of my stupidity.

Fourteen months ago, when I asked Kristy to marry me, my heart whispered, But you’re not in love with her.

I ignored this, even though I knew it was correct. I knew because I literally imagine things for a living, it's my bread and butter. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine a forever with Kristy.

Despite this, I continued to disregard my heart’s whispers. A week later, when we invited my parents over and broke the news of our engagement, I spent the evening perfecting my screensaver smile. While my father toasted to our future happiness, I raised my glass and tried not to visibly panic.

Months later, Kristy and I sat together, whittling our guest list of 278 down to 150 and I was suddenly in so much pain that Kristy was worried. I blamed indigestion for the palpitations that kept reverberating in my chest.

But I’ve never had indigestion issues. These were warnings from my heart, trying to shake some sense into me.

Days later, I was at work, on the set of the sitcom I write for. We were on a break because one of our lead actors was off set with a medic. This was a regular occurrence with him. His bouts of exhaustion were code for too high to remember his lines.

I sat down beside the director, who was on a heated phone call with a producer. With nothing better to do, I took a look at my phone and lazily scrolled through my Instagram feed. I stopped scrolling and froze at a picture Kristy’s weird friend Apple had just posted.

It was a shot of Kristy, in her wedding dress.

My heart lurched.

The director cursed under her breath as she hung up, They’re not agreeing to fire the douche because America supposedly loves him. Even though he’s a constant liability. God, I hate this show.

I stared at the photo while bile rose in my throat.

The director glanced at me, Sorry, Mark. No offense. I didn’t mean… dude, are you alright?

I wasn’t. Moments later, I’d joined the douche off set with the medic.

Even then, I didn’t trust my heart.

It’s funny, the juxtaposition of knowing that something is a fact, and choosing not to believe it. I knew I wasn’t in love with Kristy, but I believed that somehow, our connection would improve. I told myself every groom struggled with uncertainty in the months leading up to his wedding. I convinced myself it was perfectly normal to feel like a trapped wild animal with no choice but to surrender gracefully.

Right now, I realize how wrong I was.

Mark?

Startled, I turn to my little sister, Mabel.

She’s snapping her fingers in my face and frowning as she looks at me with concern. She stops snapping her fingers and softens her tone, Are you okay?

Mabel is my best man. A weird choice on my part, but I have my reasons. The biggest reason is guilt. Mabel was born when I was fifteen. She looks up to me and I… well, to be honest, sometimes I forget she exists, which is pretty terrible. The least I can do is give her a solid role in my wedding.

Mark? she repeats my name. What’s wrong?

All of it. Everything, I blurt without thinking.

Mabel blinks back at me and then slowly says, I’m going to need you to say more.

We look at each