Sean Rohrer
Bio
Write.
And question everything.
Stories (14)
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The Pear and The Pine
The Summer of 1941 was perhaps the last true period of happiness I had in my life. Gosh. When I see those words put down it doesn't feel like it was that long ago. It was a beautiful, magical time. It was before the war came home and before we lost what innocence we had left to lose.
By Sean Rohrerabout a year ago in Chapters
Patient 434
It was after midnight on December 25th and that meant it was either really early or really late. The sky was overcast and after a long battle with itself began to give its wet, silvery flakes to the ground. The flakes fell together and they fell apart, but they always fell in silence.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
The Adventures of Mr. Moofy and The Mentos King
It was an odd request, but I did as he asked. When you’re ten and the shark commander gives you an order you follow it. I got onto the floor and began crawling under my bed. I had to be sure to remind Mr. Moofy not to forget the flashlight and the Goldfish crackers. We might get hungry and need a snack. Then again, we might run into the hungry, mean sharks and need a distraction. The Jolly Ranchers rattled in their sandwich baggie.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
Babylonian Bedlam
An object loomed in the dark. It was a massive structure and at first resembled a large Victorian style house. It was mostly surrounded by tall fences and garbage. A lot of garbage. There were fires burning but no faces to behold. Numerous were cars spread out amongst the other debris and some were in better condition than others. Some of those were on fire too.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
Bullshit on Your T.V.
She was fingering me, but I still only had five words on my mind. “And the Oscar goes to.” The director yelled cut. My legs shook and it hurt to move. It could have been a dream I suppose. Then again it was Friday night. Friday fucking night in the city that never fucking sleeps.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
Oscar the Creator
One I was in the waiting room. I thought about it for so long it made my brain ache. It made my teeth ache. The constant pondering, well, it hurt my entire head. I thought about it some more. I started and I stopped. I started and stopped many times and for many years. An idea here, an idea there. I was going to be the greatest writer with the greatest story to tell since Kerouac. Since anything Shelly, Marlowe, or Melville.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
Harold
Harold was the mysterious boy that wandered around town. He was mysterious for what he didn't do and he was mysterious for the things that occasionally he actually did. Mostly though Harold never did anything as far as anyone could tell. This pretty much made him a normal young boy. What didn't make him such a normal young boy was that he had a beard of grey. The fact that Harold was also dead probably didn't help his cause for normalcy either.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Horror
Eastern Airlines Flight 1155
In September 1963, at around five in the evening, 149 passengers and crew boarded Eastern Airlines Flight 1155. It was a large crowd for a flight that was usually pretty empty, except for around the holidays. There was a scout convention being held in Los Angeles that weekend and several troops from the Dallas/Ft Worth area were on board, along with the usual business types and miscellaneous travelers. The flight originated in Dallas and was to contain a short layover in Denver. They were scheduled for a final destination of Los Angeles. Their flight was due in late.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
Bird On A Wire
Downstairs the party had been uneventful, but upstairs didn't want for anything, My partner radioed that Hannah was missing. No, not Hannah. Isabelle. They were the twin daughters of the homeowner throwing the party. It was an easy enough mistake to make, confusing the two. Hell, I'd done it myself. It was an easy mistake, but a critical one. I'll have a nice little chat with him later.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
Diary of Margaret
Preface Some of you reading this are probably familiar with the story of Margaret Cloverfield already. For those of you who aren’t, the Maiden of Mystery was born out of wedlock in August, 1909. The exact date is unknown. Her biological father Thomas was lost aboard the Titanic in 1912. Her biological mother remains a mystery.
By Sean Rohrer4 years ago in Fiction
