Alex Bergland
Stories (5)
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You Don't Know Where You're Going
“Like I actually have a fucking clue. I don’t know, I’ve got a decent paying job at Sam’ Club. I might just keep working there for a while.” I breathe out the chest full of the smoke I was holding in. “$11 and hour is pretty good for not much work,” I pass the half burned joint to Tom, to my right.
By Alex Bergland4 years ago in Fiction
Hyacinths
He walks in the double doors at the entrance to the school, laden backpack slung over his right shoulder, right hand dripping the strap with pale knuckles. A young man with a troubled past making him regret ever having the nerve to be born. Regret, over the years, has been forged by drunk fists into white hot veins of anger. Evident in the classroom and no stranger to the principles office, he has been learning how to use his fists as hammers, trying to forge those around him. Now that he is across the threshold, apprehension grows with every step and a cold sweat breaks over his brow. He walks through a sea of faces, seeing friendly eyes in none of them. His bag is heavy and grows in weight as he nears the cafeteria.
By Alex Bergland4 years ago in Fiction
In the Blink of an Eye
Pt. 1 Nothing. Nothing at all beneath my feet except empty air. This isn’t real. Either I’m imagining this or it’s happening to someone else. Not me. I’m still reaching out for her to be some sort of safety net, or for anything at all that might save at least one of us. This can’t be real, but what is real? This morning I had breakfast. Warm, perfectly browned French toast with vanilla bourbon maple syrup and spicy breakfast potatoes that soaked up the excess syrup, fluffy golden scrambled eggs with fresh basil, and French pressed dark coffee. That was real. I know that was real because I could taste and smell it. I know I’m awake right now, but this slow-motion descent feels like special effects in an action movie where you’re not sure if the main character is going to live or die. The gravity that’s pulling me down can’t be real. This mountain can’t be real. I must have fallen asleep and can’t remember it. The ground is moving towards me.
By Alex Bergland4 years ago in Fiction
On the Run
On the Run The light in the car stayed lit for a few seconds after Will closed the door of his pickup. He had everything he needed for the night unpacked and was ready for a fire. Will was five years older than he was the last time he was in this campground, and he felt his age as he bent down to put a spark in the bundle of old man’s beard clumped beneath small sticks. A thin grey tendril of smoke rose from the tinder, and a small flame came alive on the end of a stick.
By Alex Bergland4 years ago in Fiction
