Viktor Žaltys
Bio
Trying to write one quick short story a week here so I can become a better writer. Thank you for any reading you might do on my page.
Stories (3)
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My Gan's Gloves
My grandmother, despite immigrating to the States from Lithuania in her early twenties, was the definition of a southern belle. Gran was never seen anywhere without her gloves and bonnet. Looking as if she were straight from the 1800s, she was always very confident in her style. At least, that was when she was alive; now that she's passed, her wardrobe lies in my dresser. I imagined this was some weird joke. My entire life, Gran told me I was her favorite, yet it was my cousins who got checks for $100,000 while all I got was the stupid gloves and bonnet.
By Viktor Žaltys2 years ago in Horror
I Hate Moose. Content Warning.
I Hate Moose. In 1993, A woman sat down to eat one of her favorite meals, Moose entrail stew. Her husband had gone hunting the week before so that he would be ready for their 30th anniversary. The first few bits melted into her mouth, it reminded her of their honeymoon when they stayed in this cabin living their rustic dream. Of course, after a few weeks they would have to descend from the Acadian forest back into civilization. This anniversary though marks the beginning of their retirement, so now they can permanently disconnect from the laurels of modern life. Reminiscing while she’s eating the stew, her teeth come into contact with something hard. She takes it out of her mouth and sees it’s a ring. Upon further inspection, she recognized the inscription on the inner part of the ring as her wedding ring that she had lost three years prior while feeding a Moose. She puts it on her ring finger on her right hand. After all, the Moose had bitten off her left.
By Viktor Žaltys2 years ago in Humor
A Solstice Crown
Even though my life was crumbling around me, for whatever reason all I could think about was my Gran and her stories. She always had a way with words, knowing precisely what to say to get a child's imagination turning. She had often told me the story of how she and my grandfather met. It was during the Saint Jonas's festival, a tradition on the summer solstice in which the young women would sing songs and dance, with the end of the festival being marked by putting their handmade, flower crowns into the river. Your crown floated down the river, and the young man that caught it was supposed to be your true love. Gran had difficulties getting hers to cooperate, though. Every time she placed it, it would only float a few meters. That was until it came to my grandfather's feet. He helped her by throwing it into the middle of the river. But the crown had already found its mark, and true love bloomed between the two.
By Viktor Žaltys2 years ago in Fiction
