J. S. Wade
Bio
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
Stories (248)
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Citizen Sam
Oceania, Tis For Thee, Dominic Muldowny, 1984, The Movie The Event Click, snap, pop. The holographic news pundit on the television screen disappeared in tandem with the house's lights, appliances, and HVAC. Silence roared with its tinnitus thrum in the vacuum created in the wink of an eye.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
Red Plaid Shirts
World War Three ended, and a boy found a cabinet buried in a bombed-out settlement. A rare and complete Bible was found intact, with passages bookmarked by pages torn from an outdoorsman catalog. The pages displayed male models wearing red plaid shirts.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
The Midnight Rendezvous
Contentment became me as I awaited my secret lover. Brethren whimpered in the darkness nearby. “Will he come?” Quiet befell the monumental garden as twelve bells pealed the half-moonlit sky. Weeping willows whispered, Sssss...am. Dressed in my finest. I waited. Alone.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
Potholders For Sale. Top Story - April 2023.
"General Manager, needed in the showroom," blared over the intercom. Expecting a customer service complaint, I folded the financial spreadsheets to brace myself mentally to be blindsided by a dissatisfied customer or a roving peddler selling their wares. Rare was the occasion in business that brought a positive moment. Such was the life of managing an automotive dealership.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Humans
Cloud Nine, One, One
Turbines roared as Flight 1107 for Boston nosed into the clear sky and pressed my body into the passenger seat. The rattle of the Boeing 757's retracting gears vibrated beneath my loafers. I cut my eyes to the port window as the elevators rumbled, retracting and reshaping the wing. My ears popped, and I closed my eyes as we jetted toward thirty-five thousand feet.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
The Flight of the Gnome
Amelia unzipped the canvas bag, and a sliver of light caused me to squint. Three pairs of legs came into my purview, one sporting denim, another yoga pants, and the last were bare. I knew the smallest of legs were hers from the freckles on her shin. Whining machinery pierced my Gnome ears, and I covered them with my hands. The piercing sound would require adjustment as high frequencies hurt our kind. The stench of sweaty human feet curled into the bag, and I wrinkled my nose. Such is the curse of standing ten inches tall. Amelia had promised she would take me on the family vacation to Florida but should have mentioned we'd be flying in this human-made machine.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
