J. Otis Haas
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Stories (120)
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Eating Cricketburgers in The Sands with Concrete on the 4th of July . Runner-Up in Arid Challenge.
Payment was expected at the permanent oases. These were bustling places with names like Watertown and Shady Palms, mostly built up with ramshackle structures, but whose precious trees were made into stately homes for the wealthiest inhabitants. Past the gates, vessels, artifacts, and resources could be traded with merchants for hamster-pemmican or hamster oil, which was burned for light in lamps, but nothing in The Sands was more valuable than water. It was always a matter of what you could afford to part with versus how much you could carry versus how thirsty you were. Jack knew he’d have to be pretty desperate to part with his shovel.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
Purrfectionism
Bobby had been dreaming of The Sphinx. Its completion with a human head was seen as heretical by the cat community and had remained a sore spot for millennia, though he could scarcely blame the clumsy, oafish humans, who were obviously jealous of the feline form, and sought perfection through imitation. Bobby loved his human servants and considered himself a benevolent master, but felt it was important to remain cognizant of their foibles and inadequacies. Case in point: he was hungry and they were all still asleep.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
Night Shift at the Fauxfillment Center. Runner-Up in the Under a Spell Challenge. Top Story - October 2023.
“Break the belts, grind the gears, this is what corporate fears. Stop the line for a time, through our will by our design.” It was well past midnight and the candles had burned low when the women assembled in Donna’s living room finished chanting and gazed down collectively at the sheet of paper on the floor. Though the presence that had arrived during the ritual did not remain once the lights were turned on, they all agreed that they felt a sense of fulfillment. Anna pointed out the irony as she poured herself another margarita.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
Fried Zucchini and a Sense of Normalcy . Second Place in Nourished Challenge. Content Warning.
“Don’t talk to Ulf,” I heard someone say as I arrived on the job site, “He was doing shots of NyQuil at the bar last night, and he’s in a bad mood.” I had heard of Ulf through coworkers, who played him up like some kind of indestructible gutter punk, the sort who could be found in cities in the 90’s, but which were a dying breed by that spring day in 2002. Ulf was in New York by way of the circus, by way of south Boston for Fashion Week.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Feast
The Silent Solstice
A vow of silence was the defining characteristic of the group known as The Silent Solstice, and compliance was strictly enforced among the members Jack was sitting in a leather chair that squeaked noticeably as he braced himself by the armrests and looked around the room, which had once been the Abbot’s office, high up on the fourth floor of the former monastery. The space was now the inner sanctum of the Mother Superior of The Silent Solstice. Jack could still see the outline where a crucifix had once hung on the sunlight-bleached wall. The desk in front of him was cluttered with papers and featured a telephone with a greasy handset to the side. These features contrasted with the organization Jack had become accustomed to during his time with the cult.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
Chapter 13 of “The Moth & the Lighthouse: a Memoir”
I know this memoir has been a sad story so far, and you probably don’t like the protagonist very much, but I beg you to press on, Dear Reader. The monstrous cretin inhabiting these pages is about to undergo a transformation. Based on what you know so far, it’s hard to believe that anything could penetrate the shell of miserable, desperate, entitled arrogance he is encased in, I know. However, he is about to have some experiences that evidence if not a higher power, at least a sense of greater purpose, and emerge from the chrysalis a butterf…well, at least a moth, but you may find the changes as astounding as he did.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Chapters
What I Found in a Bookstore
In reflecting on the differences in my life after curing decades of major depression, I look for concrete evidence of real change. In early 2020 I entered a bookstore. While checking out, I saw a flier advertising a writing group that met monthly in the shop after hours. The old me would have wanted to attend, but would certainly have made up excuses and justifications not to, underpinned by low self-esteem and feelings of inadequacy. It would have been just another missed opportunity tossed on the pile of regrets, but the new me took down the details and I promised myself I’d attend the next session.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Writers
Chapter 1 of “Gravel”
Mark was one of those guys who floated through life buoyed by his natural charm and likability. With bleach-blonde hair and steroid-swollen biceps, the overwhelming impression he gave was that of a gym-bro surfer, despite hailing from some small town in north Jersey. Jack had met him after a gig at one of those stately old Midtown hotels that had been the center of the socialite scene a century before, but whose cramped rooms were now full of tourists who hadn’t read the reviews and whose grand ballroom mostly hosted corporate events. They were both freelance cater-waiters who spent their time rushing around the ballroom during fundraising galas and company dinners. The venue kept the lights low to hide the peeling paint and water stains on the ceiling, but peering into the shadows long enough revealed that the hotel’s best days were long behind it.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Fiction
On Forgetting the Lessons of The Hobbit
As part of a nationwide literacy campaign, a pledge was passed out when I was in fifth-grade. It was the mid-eighties and each student was asked to sign an agreement promising to abstain from television for a month in an effort to encourage them to read. I was the only one who refused. My first memory is of being carried into a movie theater, and television provided a similar fix. I liked the after-school cartoons and the slate of classic 70’s shows that ran after them, followed by the “Big Movie at 8,” which, even then, I could feel filling the voids of my mind like water into a glass of rocks. I wasn’t going to give that up without a fight. Later in life, applying to film school, I recognized that these nightly cinematic forays were an education unto themselves, and those films sit on a shelf in my head next to the books I’ve read.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in BookClub
50 Word Critique of Terminator 2: Judgement Day (1991)
Featuring a mother’s enduring love and enemy turned surrogate father, this coming-of-age tale serves as a stark warning about technological hubris that we can no longer ignore. Unprecedented action and cutting-edge special effects underpin the message that there is NO FATE and we can only save ourselves.
By J. Otis Haas2 years ago in Critique
