Short Fiction - as P.J. Sambeaux

Display of Affection

Published in Unidentified Funny Objects - Volume 6

Guy shuddered silently and his heart dropped as the slight grip his mother’s frail hand had on his own lessened and then disappeared. The machines suddenly stopped whirring and beeping, and an unnatural quiet descended upon the room. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes as he looked away from his mother and down at the drooping bunch of lilies in the upcycled vase whose sickly scent filled the room. He wouldn’t have brought them, but they were his mother’s favorite. A rainbow of uneaten food cubes sat on a tray that had been pushed away with disinterest. He was given one nanosecond to grieve before her body was sucked down the pneumatic tube to the upcycling/recycling/repurposing facility.

Love in the Time of Apocalypse

Published in Typehouse Literary Magazine

“It is literally raining men,” I say, pulling the curtain back and looking up into the sky in wonder and awe.
Kara walks over and peeks over my shoulder. “Hallelujah,” she says softly.
Then we watch one come down on the sidewalk in front of our building and recoil in disgust.
“Well, at least the alligators will have something to eat,” she says after a moment – she being the practical one of the two of us.
“I suppose,” I reply in a hollow voice. I’ve been in a funk since the whole apocalypse began – not really depressed, but more like ‘what’s the point of it all’? I mean you spend your entire life honing skills that are completely useless in an apocalyptic situation – like how long did it take me to learn Excel? Who is going to need me to make a spreadsheet now? And how many hands of solitaire did I actually play when I was pretending to be working? I cringe when I remember how much of my life was spent wasting time and/or minimally entertaining myself. How many things could I have learned in that time to better prepare myself? Those survivalist guys we all laughed at with their crazy beards and vast array of weaponry are probably dominating right now. Probably, but we’re not positive because there’s no TV or internet anymore.

The Wheel of Misfortune

Published in Abstract Jam - Volume 2

Adam nervously fixed his tie in the green room mirror, trying to keep his legs from shaking and his lunch from coming back up. He caught Ínez out of the corner of his eye, glaring at him. He had gone for the ‘cute office guy’ look as recommended by one of the producers. Ínez had gone for a rustic look: homemade dress, which had been skillfully rolled in mud, and bare feet. They had spent an hour in hair and makeup giving her what the stylist called a ‘dusty pueblo” look.

One of the production assistants, a perky red head with freckles, poked her head in the room.

“Ok guys – you’re on in five minutes!” She started to leave before remembering something and pulled a bag out of her back pocket. “Oh, Ínez, here are the flies you wanted to swat out of your face.”

Living with Regret

Published in Maudlin House

“I don’t really know what to say... I don’t talk too good in front of people…I’m not used to…”
“Why don’t start by introducing yourself?” Ronald, the group counselor, suggested. He wore a striped tie and took notes on a clip board, which gave him the air of really being in charge.
“Oh, ok. Hi everybody, my name is Marty,” he said, giving a little wave to the group seated in folding chairs around him.
Everybody intoned ‘hi Marty’ at the same time.
“So, I don’t know what else to say,” Marty said, looking around from face to face, not quite sure what he was really doing there. “I guess I could say I come from a bad family, you know? The kind that doesn’t support you or stand by you when things get rough. The kind that doesn’t believe in you. The kind that looks at you funny when you tell them that something’s bound to turn up. The kind of family who would kill you just to get a little bit of insurance money or something.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Ronald said gently. “I’m sure they loved you very much.”
“No, I mean that’s why I’m here. They – my pop and my brother Tony – we was all living together in the house we grew up in. I never knew it or anything, but I guess they took a life insurance policy out on me, and then they killed me.”

Reception

Appeared in No Extra Words, Episode 19: Improving on the Truth

What kind of person am I? The kind of person who has her own sister rendered unconscious and quietly escorted out of her wedding reception. What kind of person is my sister? The kind of person who gets drunk and then tries to run her fat mouth off about things she shouldn’t in front of my new husband and in-laws. What kind of people are my new husband and in-laws? The kind of warm, generous, kind-hearted people who do not need to know anything about my life or my activities prior to my engagement – at least that was how my best friend put it. What kind of person is my best friend? The kind of person who not only packs a tazer in a special garter holster to a wedding reception (because “you just never know when family and a free bar collide”) but can also understand, by gestures and meaningful looks, the fact that I need a drunken relative brought down, real fast.
What kind of person am I for inviting my sister in the first place? The kind of person who is, at times, too susceptible to passive aggressiveness to say ‘no’ to a persistent family member who, after being banned from the wedding ceremony, elbows their way into the wedding reception.
What kind of wedding reception did I end up having? The kind of wedding reception that is a gathering of loved ones, and just a celebration of who we are as a couple.

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Full Circle Home

Published in Space Squid

Dan despaired.
He had just watched a depressing French movie about an elderly guy forced to provide medical care as best he could for his wife, who had been ravaged by a stroke.
The subject of old people and their care punched a bruise in Dan’s brain. He had one living parent: an alcoholic, dysfunctional mess of a man who seemed to be going through the stages of mummification, though still breathing.
Not only had Dan’s father been a drinker, but he had also been a beater. He had beaten his wife when they were newlyweds. He had beaten her through Dan’s entire childhood. He had beaten her through cancer. Then the Punch Happy Prick had surprised everyone by outliving his wife by thirty years and counting.
He would never die, Dan often thought while cradling himself to sleep, because evil like that does not die.

A Departure

Published in Flash Fiction Magazine

“Oh, I’m going to mace you,” she said, gently caressing his face as he held her in a loving embrace.
He smiled for a moment, his breath coming out as vapor in the cold air, but then a cloud of worry passed over the sunshine of his mood.
“Wait, did you just say you were going to miss me or mace me?”

The Santa Suit

Published in The Broken City

Plaintiff’s Counsel: May we have your name for the record?

Hermey: Hermey.

Plaintiff’s Counsel: Last name?

Hermey: I don’t have a last name. Our race is typically used as what you would think of

as our surnames.

Plaintiff’s Counsel: So, you are Hermey...

Hermey: Hermey the Elf. Yes. That’s right.

Twittercide

Published in Apocrypha and Abstractions

Rodney: She tweeted he was too immature for a relationship, and he tweeted: bitch cheated. So she tweeted: not true, and he tweeted: #lyingskankswhoneedalife. So she tweeted: for the record, he’s the one who cheated, and he tweeted: not what my buddy says #brosbeforehos. So she tweeted: my mother always says you can never go wrong staying classy and rising above, and he tweeted: somebody should shut that bitch-ass-ho up.
Interviewer: So you did?
Rodney: I did.

The Beginning of the End of the World in 24 Easy Steps

Published in Alliterati

So my boss comes up to me and hands me this vial and he’s like Jennifer, this is an extremely deadly virus. I want you to keep it in a safe place. And then he walks away.
I think of an awesomely great place and put the virus there.
I’m one of those people who are famous for thinking of awesomely great places to put things and then being absolutely unable to recall where the awesomely great places were. To keep myself from doing that – again – I start to write the awesomely great place on a Post-it as a reminder, but then I get interrupted by the phone ringing.
It’s Agnes from Supply Chain on the phone. She wants to confirm the change of phone number on our business cards for like the fifth time. So I’m like yes that is correct. And she’s like are you sure? And I’m like that’s the number you just dialed me on. And she’s like oh, I guess that means it’s right. And we hang up. But I’m still aggravated by the ‘I guess that means it’s right’ comment. What does that even mean? I guess that means it’s right. Like it can’t just be right because I said so or because it’s actually right. I hate passive aggressive people. Because that’s what I think she is. Passive aggressive. I am completely paralyzed with irritation for a good three minutes. Argh. Agnes.
I am unable to remember what I was doing before the aggravating phone call, but it gnaws at me so much that I feel I shouldn’t move on to the next project and forget all about it. So, instead I check my Facebook because I’m sure the break will jog my memory.

The Genesis of Steve

Published in A Thousand and One Stories

“Mom, what have you done?” Ellie whispered testily.
“I don’t know, honey,” her mother answered, her voice laden with fear and dismay. “I just don’t know.” She reached out to lay a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder, but was irritably shrugged off.
It looked out at them from under the laundry basket in the corner.
“I do wish you’d both stop staring at me.”