John Anthony
Bio
Began writing out of a strange impulse while working as a cashier. Inspired at first by lyrics then spread my spotlight to include anything profound and human.
Stories (23)
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The Rovings' Family
On an early evening in late October, the Rovings family home had been delivered of its stale air by the matriarch of the family, Mrs. Olivia “Liv” Rovings, with the strategic opening of certain windows that permitted a fresh breeze to channel through. Other windows didn’t seem to have the same “breath” which the home needed and which, whether consciously or not to the other residents, had an enlivened effect. Not that this was a daily routine or even a “it’s just absolutely gorgeous out” ceremony but was an action that one could equate to the disposal of worked in sweaty socks. Liv would tire of the stuffiness and simply proceed to open the veins that circulate the house.
By John Anthonyabout a year ago in Fiction
In The Name Of
In The Name Of Security They’ve always called me too sensitive, always ready to take everything personally. And what of it? They are right, of course, but need they proclaim it to me as a sin, as failing some test? They say it to be insulting, as a way for me to “man up”, and quite naturally when they called me thin-skinned I would take offense, somewhat because of the sudden pride that swelled in their minds for having discerned my character or from placing me below them on the totem pole of human reasoning.
By John Anthony2 years ago in Fiction
One Night
The room was full of smoke, cigarettes tightly pinched were brought to mouth with squinted eyes, and a laconic haze sat on the bar not unlike the fog on the morning hillside of Browntown Rd, next to the cemetery. The brume drifting would fold around moving drunkards and often, as when you’d just so be happening to notice, they’d half-turn to see you, (catch you if you were feeling honest) and taking a deep drag with studied and probing eyes, return coolly to face their destination, emanating the greatest cigarette in the bar, or the entire world.
By John Anthony2 years ago in Fiction
And Maybe You'll Think
She didn’t even need to knock. She had arrived at the door and wasn’t looking at him and he stood there stiffly dazed, at once thrilled at her presence yet discouraged immediately by her crestfallen posture. Her eyes flicked up to read him and then, taking liberties from his astonishment, entered, with sad messenger steps. He took a swinging side step backward as she came in, sensing a tidal wave of sorts, the sorts which in premeditations cause the mind and body to brace itself.
By John Anthony3 years ago in Fiction
