Over 1160 very short stories

 Over 1160 very short stories

THAT NUMBER GROWS EVERY DAY.
Are you a lover of stories who is always looking for something to take you away from reality, but the stories are sometimes too long to read in a single sitting? I believe I have that answer.
Over the past years, I have tapped into my creative side and written over 1,000  very short stories on my blog, mikeoconnorauthor.blogspot.com. Unlike most, which have dozens of paragraphs, mine contain only a few that cover many different life memories from days past.
Go back in time and relive the memories, the friendships, love, and sorrow. and many more topics. Discover times in your life that you've forgotten but can now bring back through my very short stories. With so many different topics, I believe everyone will find something that takes them back in time and evokes memories of long-forgotten people, places, and times we thought were lost forever.
Take a minute to visit my blogs and see why so many readers have chosen my very short stories over lengthy ones. When, after reading a few paragraphs, your memories kick in and leave you wanting to read more.
Thank you to all of you who have commented on my work, telling me how, after reading certain stories, you traveled back in time, reliving times in your life you thought were gone forever. Please leave me your comments, as each story I've written was written with you in mind.

Mike 2026  mikeoconnorauthor.blogspot.com 

The long road

 I sat on the front porch of the house my great-grandad built over 100 years ago. As a kid, I had to leave the house an hour before the bus arrived because the dirt road to the stop was over a mile from the house. I often wondered why there was so much distance from the house to the county road, and my dad told me that Granddad wasn't very fond of people in general, so he built the house as far back as his property would allow.

On either side of the long road were row upon row of corn that my dad said were grown during the Great War to feed the troops, and to this day still produce corn for worldwide hunger programs. Granddad may not have cared for people, but he cared for his country.

When I sit in silence on the porch, I do hear nature like the songs of birds and croaks of frogs. I hear the cows mooing and chickens cackling, and my dog barking at the wind. Unlike today, when granddad tilled the earth, he used mules and manpower, quite a lot of manpower,  and the only sounds were him giving commands to the mules and the occasional curse words when they didn't listen to him.
Today, I spend hours on a tractor or combine, noisy machines that would have granddad rolling over in his grave and covering his ears. But when my day is done, and the machines go silent, the peaceful moments return to me, sitting on the porch granddad built, and I understand why that road is so long.

Mike 2026                                                             

                                               

A lifestyle

 He was shy as a boy, tall and lanky with a heart of gold, his mom would say. His dad was strict but fair and always had the last word. His hair was cut by a barber, not a stylist, and his clothes were only replaced when a growth spurt seemed to happen overnight. His Mom would buy him blue jeans that had plenty of room to be rolled down as he grew. Little did she know that rolled-up jeans were all the rage. He remembered the day he went into school wearing what was called a Dickey. He saw it in a magazine and thought how cool it would be to be the first one in school to have one, but that wasn't the case. Dozens of boys began wearing them in all kinds of colors. Just another fad that diminished over time.

Time passed, and the lifestyle changed in many ways, including the rise of bell-bottom jeans and fringed shirts. Tye dyed everything, and peace signs were everywhere you looked. Book covers were plastered with stickers, and long hair for boys and girls was seen on almost everybody. His Dad strongly opposed the hair, but somehow Mom convinced him to let it go, saying he'd outgrown that fad, too. Eventually, it did pass as I was sworn into the Navy after high school and stood in line as ten Navy barbers made quick work shaving my head so short I looked like Mr. Clean.
More time passed, and I was discharged from the Navy, returning home to decide what was next for me. It was 1974, and the hippy lifestyle was still very much alive, something I had wanted to experience since getting a taste of it before my enlistment. With money I had saved in the Navy, I bought a van and tricked it out with a bed and a small fridge. It had a black light, posters everywhere, and a sound system that shook the windows. That first year, I traveled to places I had read about but never seen, like the mountains of Montana, with stars so bright you could read from their brightness.
I'd come upon others like myself in clusters, often joining them around a campfire where guitars filled the night air with song and joints were passed around until daylight broke through the darkness, and most were fast asleep until being woken by someone yelling the cops were coming up the mountain. It was a mad dash to gather your belongings and hit the road as quickly as possible. On one such occasion, I wasn't fast enough and was blocked in by the police and arrested for having weed in my van. They laughed among themselves at the ways we dressed and our long, sometimes braided hair done by a stranger around the campfire. And I didn't do myself any favors by calling them pigs and other choice names. I spent three days in jail and was released after the judge said it was my one and only time, and that he better not ever see me in his courtroom again. I was escorted to the county line by the oinkers and headed down the road to my next stop.
1977 and still on the road. I passed through dozens of small towns where the lifestyle remained a part of the culture, meeting many new friends along the way. I met a girl hitching and picked her up, asking where she was headed. She said her grandma had passed away and left he a cottage in the woods where she planned on living the simple life. I told her I'd love to see her cottage and offered to take her the five hundred miles to get there. We took our time, stopping along the road at places worth seeing, like giant waterfalls and redwood trees. Occasionally, other free spirits who lived in small towns and villages were more than happy to share a meal or a song.
We arrived at the cottage, set on several acres with woods and a small pond, and the peace and quiet we both loved so much. It needed some tlc but I was handy and offered to stay for a while and help her get the place in order. A while turned out to be six months, with a special closeness our hearts felt for one another. I took on carpentry work, and she sold herbs and spices to tourists passing through town. We were happy, and in time, we had a child we named Arrow. When we were target shooting with a bow and arrow, she went into labor, and we delivered baby Arrow in the bathtub, where the warm water soothed both him and his mom.
Many years passed, and the three of us made a good life together. We held on to our free-spirited way of doing things and taught our son the ways of the land and all who inhabited it. The old van finally pooped out and now serves as a modified chicken coupe, providing us with many eggs that we sometimes sell in town or trade for rock candy. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that happiness is a daily emotion we never take for granted. Love is forever, and freedom of choice is so much more than a lifestyle; it's who you are, and that's what's important.

Mike  2026                                                     

Joys of simplicity

 Only those of us who lived this far can truly understand the happiness of simplicity, or the joy of lifelong friendships that weren't solicited on some chat room. We grew up in a post-war society when family was everything and friendship was earned. Manners were expected, as was discipline when a wrong must be made right.

Men walked on the outside of a lady just in case a passing car hit a puddle, and always held her car door open, while tipping their hats was a show of friendliness and nothing more. Cat's calls and whistles were all in good fun, as the construction workers just wanted her to know she was a looker.
Don't mistake me: there are a lot of beautiful women today who go to great lengths to look amazing through surgery, but back then, natural beauty was in the lady herself. The way she carried herself and the confidence she had in her clothing choices. Like June Cleaver on the Leave It to Beaver television show, always wearing a simple dress, high heels, an apron, and a stylish hairdo.

It was a time when Saturday night meant dancing at a large dance hall with a live band that played all the day's hits. No screaming guitars or fireworks, just couples in love, others looking for it. It was always crowded as a slow dance brought couples closer and the smell of perfume and aftershave collided in mid-air.
Those days of courting a girl and asking her father for permission to marry her made more than one guy gulp his words as he came face-to-face with a father's stern warning: have her home by eleven, not one minute later.

Friday nights at the drive-in movies meant some heavy kissing, but no meant no, and stop meant stop as she fixed her lipstick and brushed her hair, asking him to get her some popcorn and a Coke. which he did, talking under his breath as he walked away, knowing even first base wasn't going to happen.

Back then, after the war, men who served came home to offers of new jobs in many factories that had been converted to the war effort, now producing steel, paper, and dozens of other things the country needed to rebuild. Others dressed in business attire searched for jobs in the business sector, where many succeeded. New houses sprang up like tulips on a late spring day, creating row after row of cookie-cutter houses nestled together in what was named subdivisions.

Backyard swimming pools and Sunday picnics, brand-new automobiles proudly shown off as the men gathered around the owner, explaining every little detail. While inside, a new bride shows off all the modern conveniences, like an electric coffee pot and an automatic ice maker in the freezer. And her most prized possession was the washer and dryer that made her life so much easier.
From there, as the years passed and things began to change, life seemed to get easier, maybe even too easy. More gadgets that saved time and less time with family. Although many of us tried to go along with the changes, we also tried to keep certain traditions alive for the next generations.

Then everything changed at lightning speed as the computer arrived in our world. A magical machine capable of solving complex mathematics and allowing scientists to explore new horizons they never could before. In the scope of things, every home had a computer, making schoolwork much easier and shopping possible without going to a store. Video games were designed, and every kid in America and around the world would soon have handheld controllers in their hands as zombie-like looks replaced backyard games, ushering in the age of obesity.

But I realized in time that if I was going to live in this new age, I'd have to adapt to certain things. My grandson did his best to show me how to send emails, browse, and Google, and even hooked me up with a dating app for seniors looking for love. That backfired when I saw the picture he posted on the site, taken when I was 20 years younger. Needless to say, the first meeting didn't go very well.

I'm 72 years old now and content with living the way I always have. I like the simple life of opening a lady's door, and I always walk on the outside in case of a passing car going through a puddle. On occasion, I put on my best suit, splash on some Aqua Velva, and head to the old dance floor, still standing with a thousand stories. With any luck, I'll ask a lady of my age to have a dance or two.

Mike 2026                                                            

The sky as I see it

 To most, looking at the sky means little. But to me, it's like looking at an artist's renderings of barnhouse animals or a rabbit chasing something. The sky is a gathering place for stars and the ever-changing shades of blue. The sky can be calm, with clouds as soft as a pillow, but it can also become angry, surging over the calm, crushing it with darkness and the roar of thunder. It moves quickly and with a purpose until it runs out of juice and disappears, sometimes leaving behind destruction and heartbreak.

The sky will make you pause as you look upward and see jet trails and flocks of birds.  It gives off a scent as rain begins to fall, sometimes on one side of the street and not the other. It's like a child at times, turning the bathroom faucet on, off, and on again.

At night, when a million stars are visible, we look up and try to understand just how vast the sky really is and how small we are. We make wishes on a shooting star whose lifespan is over, dropping from the heavens in one last ball of fire, soon to be extinguished somewhere around the globe, as it no longer belongs in the sky.

To most, looking at the sky is just something that's there, but to me, it's a place where earth meets sky, and imaginations run wild.

Mike 2026                                                     

Days of Summer

 Lazy days of summer have arrived. Swimming pools are uncovered, and bicycles are out of the garage. The grill master dad has had for years finds its spot in the backyard, and work resumes on the project boat that's been taking up too much space. Fresh coats of paint and storm windows are replaced with screens. Picnic baskets are taken down from the attic, along with a box labeled 'kids' beach stuff'.

Lawnmowers are heard every Saturday, and the aroma of fresh-cut grass is one of your favorite smells. Cars and trucks in the driveway get a good cleaning as girls in their bathing suits get whistled at by boys passing by in a souped-up car. The Fourth of July meant a day at the beach with burgers and dogs cooked on a small grill that Dad brought from home. Endless fun in the lake and the two words that stayed with you for a week, Marco, Polo.

Darkness brought with it fireworks displays and sparklers, you would try to spell out your name with before they burned out. Fire crackers, M80S, mortars, and cherry bombs so loud that small kids cried. The ride back home was quiet as kids fell asleep after a full day of fun in the sun. The car radio played softly as Mom hummed along to one of her favorite songs, while Dad looked through the rearview mirror and smiled at his sleeping angels.

Summer meant iced tea and lemonade, potato salad and ice-cold Cokes. It meant a slip-and-slide in the yard and chasing mom with a garden hose, while dad laughed until it was his turn to be chased. It was warm nights on the porch as crickets sang their songs and countless stars shone in the heavens. But all good things come to an end, and summer's end always came too soon. But the memories stay with you as snow tires are put on the car, and picnic baskets and a box full of beach toys are put in the attic. The pool is covered, and Dad's grill is tucked away in the garage along with bicycles as dreams of summer lull you to sleep.

Mike  2026                                                         

Rich soil and pine

 Since I was seven years old, I have usually spent summer vacation on my grandparents' farm. They were only ten miles away, but to me it seemed like another country. The days leading up to my leaving, Mom washed and packed most of my clothes, even though once I arrived, I changed into my coveralls like granddad wore, except for going to church on Sunday. On the morning I was leaving, Dad pulled me aside as Mom loaded the car, telling me to mind my manners, since Granddad was old-school and sometimes demanded a lot. I assured him that my granddad and I got along just fine, but I said it to myself as I nodded and promised to do as I was told.

The car ride to the farm took only about twenty minutes, but Dad seemed to drive more slowly than usual. I think maybe he didn't want to see me go for the next two months. As we pulled onto a dirt road that led to the farm, I looked out of the window at cows grazing and fields of corn that seemed to go on forever. As we got closer, I saw granddad and grandma standing on the front porch, waving as dad honked the horn to announce our arrival. I jumped out of the car as Lucky, my granddad's dog, jumped up on me, almost knocking me to the ground, and gave me sloppy kisses.
One of my fondest memories of going to the farm was the clean air and the smells of the country, like rich soil and pine. But the best by far was the smell of Grandma's cooking. Don't ever be told there's no difference in the way a country lady cooks than that of a suburban home maker. Mom always said she could never understand why Grandma would go through so much work in the kitchen when all she had to do was go to the supermarket and get everything needed to cook a proper meal.
Mom and Dad left to go home after a nice visit, and I settled into my room. I put on my coveralls, which Grandma had washed and folded on my bed, and headed out the squeaky screen door at a full-on run to catch up with Grandpa, who was climbing onto his tractor on his way to plow for the next crop. Jump on, he said, and next time run faster. Yes, sir, I said, knowing full well he wasn't angry, it was just his way. Fast forward nine years, my 16th year, and my continued vacation on the farm turned into weekends throughout the seasons. Granddad had a mild stroke a few years back and couldn't do some things he took for granted. None of which he admitted to as he climbed on a tractor, spending entire days doing what he loved best, but slower than he once was.
After I graduated from high school, I had the opportunity to attend college and decided to take night classes studying agriculture, so I could learn how to properly run the farm. My folks weren't too happy with my choice, but they supported my decision, and in Dad's eyes, I saw a kind of relief, as I often heard him talking to Mom about what would happen when Granddad could no longer run things. And now in his will, he left everything to me. We'd spend hours on the front porch after a delicious meal, talking about my plans for the farm. Some he agreed would be good, while some things that have proven to be in good working order would be left as is.
I was twenty-six years of age when we buried granddad alongside grandma, who left this earth for a better place. Lucky the dog rested with them, living a full life over the rainbow bridge, where he could chase rabbits as often as he liked. As for me, well, I never did find a wife or have children of my own, but I found a calling by offering kids a place to learn. Several times a month, a school bus would come down the dusty drive to the farm, with Lucky Junior running beside the bus. I'd show them life in the country and all that goes along with it. And wouldn't you know. Some of those kids became farmers, neighbors, and friends.
My days of farming are nearing an end, but the farm lives on through a grant I started so kids from all walks of life can work the ground, plant the crops, and harvest the fruits of their labor. Today, the farm belongs to every kid who wants to learn and, hopefully, become a guy or girl in overalls, with a great love for rich soil and pine.

Mike 2026