John Oakes
Stories (5)
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The Love of Danny Eriks
Danny Eriks loved many things, but at the top of that list were girls. His mother had given birth to two gorgeous baby girls before she had squeezed Danny from her womb, and it only took a year for his father to leave the three squabbling children to their poor mother. Since that moment, Danny had never gotten the hang of making friends with the boys in his classes and resorted to following his two sisters around like a flock of chickens chasing seed. That choice turned habit, and throughout the twenty years that followed, Danny still found himself surrounded by his sisters and their friends.
By John Oakes4 years ago in Fiction
When White Caps Fall
'And remember, no straining yourself, that means no heavy lifting.’ It had been painful when his appendix burst, but the doctor’s constant reminders had become monotonous, and Tyrell Jones began to think about what the next day of work held in store. He didn’t have to think hard, seeing as every day held the same uniform activities as the last, but going through his schedule calmed his dull mind. He woke, and he worked. He went home, and he flicked the TV to the daily news as he sat in his ratty recliner and slowly drifted into sleep while a plate of dinner cooled by his side. Wake up and repeat.
By John Oakes4 years ago in Fiction
A Floral Streaked Room
Danny Simmons sat on the porcelain throne, his hands twisted with excitement as he fiddled with a metal cylinder. He’d been hiding in the bathroom for nearly an hour, but in all truth, he’d been done ten minutes into his trip. The cool blue tiles chilled his bare feet as he gazed around his only sanctuary from the perils outside. He couldn’t think of anything he hated more than his nana’s house.
By John Oakes5 years ago in Fiction
Chaotic Peace
The spelling of the word “chaos” insinuates its meaning better than any definition ever could. The first two letters refuse to follow their rule, ignoring the “ch” sound we expect to hear in words like chicken, challenge, or choice. It's followed by an “a” and an “o,” which creates a hard vowel sound without any hint of an “e." The only player that seems to do its job correctly is the “s."
By John Oakes5 years ago in Journal
A Half-Full Bottle of Rum
The wet red footprints did little to distract from the fiery beauty of the Wednesday sun, which had started to duck below the curved tips of the mountains. It was a magnificent sight, one that filled the heart with a lust to explore wherever the source of the burning light came from, and to Eddie that seemed like a viable quest. At that moment Eddie felt like he could do anything. At that moment Eddie felt the most alive he had ever been. But, at that moment, Eddie also felt the most dead.
By John Oakes5 years ago in Fiction
