Short Story Selections

By Asa Montreaux  Left to my lonesome again I sat pleasantly rereading a Passage to India. Good Aziz. I would want to be with you. That came out wrong. So innocent. Though in that moment so foolish. Your displeasure and inattention causing you to err, only placing yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time, not actually doing anything wrong. The white man not seeing this, accused you of highly treasonous activities. Yet young miss Quested only hallucinated, it would seem. Perhaps the rest was coerced. Though when it came to the moment of truth in the courtroom, you could not lie. You came to, and told the truth, miss Quested. And Aziz very gaily went free.  I wondered about Jayden for a moment. There was someone innocent of what he was accused. He as not even a gay man. He was not a homo at all, if that would be what one would call him. And the forces or even just the people who slew him down gave him no due process, there was no court of law, there was no justice. There wa...

By Asa Montreaux  I want more berries, and the coolest number Its so appropriate To be that near, being here In and out of your near solicitude Breathe me in, breathe me out Just let me adore you, honey I’m just thinking out loud I don’t know if I could ever go without Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar high Watermelon sugar high Watermelon sugar high Watermelon sugar high Watermelon sugar Strawberries on a summer evening    Baby come and miel it on     Brush yourself aside                     Lick the sun tongue is in the rays Breathe me in, breathe me out I don’t know if I could ever go without Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar, high Watermelon sugar high You just need my lover, buffering your suffer Ing. Another wouldn’t be the num...

By Asa Montreaux    I woke up the next morning in my own bed, only vaguely remembering sliding my suitcases in zombie-like and then passing out on my stomach on the bed. I got dressed listening to the noises outside my bedroom, listening for the sound of anything unsettling, abject. I heard nothing disconcerting, nothing in particular to do with my father or any other well-known, or potentially well-known serial killer. I gently thumbed open the door and caressed the stairs with near silence descending to the main floor and the kitchen. There was no one in this room or that room, no one sitting in the kitchen, no one at the breakfast table.  Eating, just resting against the kitchen countertop, I paid attention to every sound, in the kitchen, every movement around the kitchen, in the whole house. Once I heard a noise, in another room, near the front of the house, and I could have sworn my Dad would emerge from the door, or maybe I’d miss him coming in, and he might even ra...

By Asa Montreaux  Tape me Tape me Take me in here Lock the door Ignore that, explore my dear Feel here, not safe Avoid, not acknowledge Lose my feeling, not feel yours Lie down, lie awake Don’t listen to me I’ll make noise Don’t trust me  Just Tape me Tape me

By Asa Montreaux  It all started with a little kid trapped in Texas. I wrote my name down on IMDb and I made a resume of some of the things I’ve done and I applied to two roles. I got both, though only one was for credit. It was a TV episode and I was paid five thousand dollars. Though only because it turned out to be five episodes. I was gone for a few months, spending every check on rent and things to eat in LA. Eventually I even got credit for the short. When I came home there was one grand in my account. I felt good thinking the bank had seen it, I think I even heard what I’d had and how that was my salary on tv. I bought a game cube and kept the rest for spending money. I bought books and some clothes that. I suppose I thought were nice. I even gave my father a loan, something that may have been disturbing and something I regret.  When I ran low, seemingly because someone needed a second loan and it was so he could have something to eat, I landed another role and I was re...

By Asa Montreaux                                        A Ghost Not out there In here  In the other room Not scared of I, not scared of anything It waits because it wants to kill A haunted mansion in Georgia A house in nowhere A place in our minds Life, afterlife I suppose I mean death Coexisting Coagulating in abjection

By Asa Montreaux  Arriving home in Vancouver, I veered through everything ay YVR passed customs to baggage claim and I stood there waiting for my luggage to come down the carousel. Waiting for it to start was actually an uncomfortable feeling. I couldn’t wait to get home, oddly enough. I reasoned it had only been a long flight. I was watching the ramp, waiting for the noise to commence and for the suitcases and bags to start flopping down to the belt. I felt my phone vibrate and it was a text. ‘I see you.’ I turned around and saw my Mom. She was walking towards me smiling. She hugged me as she reached me and said, ‘Ah, Aidan, my poor boy.’ ‘How do you feel?’ she asked me. ‘Like I was in a fight with a snow blower.’ ‘Yea’ ‘And it won.’ ‘I see. And how does the snow blower look? ‘Its clearly unscathed, aside from the remnants of my flesh in belt.’ ‘So it won this time. Why is it you were you hobbling?’ ‘Well I had lost.’ ‘These are the wounds of war. A fallen comrade, a...