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    On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories
    On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories
    On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories

    By Michael Morris

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    About this ebook

    This book contains seven of the most unusual short stories ever written.In On the Road to Exile, a woman travels a thousand miles on her donkey, returning to the family she left a year earlier to find the only thing that has changed is her.In The Accidental Transvestite, a man wants only to get in his ex-girlfriend’s pants but once he has them on, he soon realizes he would do anything to get them off.In How Much Further to Insanity?, a woman boards a train that takes her to the edge of madness, confronted by the strangest circumstances that begin with the insults of an Amish passenger and ends with the deprivations of a simeopath.In She Fell to Sleep, a man ruminates over the question of whether his girlfriend fell asleep or faked it.In Six Kittens, Six Victims, a man and his two children stand outside a grocery store, trying to find homes for their kittens.In This is Your Life, a man’s perfect life turns complicated when his girlfriend finds him sharing a joint with two fatties, who were at his house due to unexplainable reasons.In Ode to a Shitonion, a man wakes from a coma and recalls the circumstances that led to him being charged with “...exhibiting a flagrant disregard for the sanctity of life while satisfying unnatural sexual impulses...” and the brief courtroom drama that follows.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAustin Macauley Publishers
    Release dateMar 28, 2024
    ISBN9781638294184
    On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories
    Author

    Michael Morris

    A fifth-generation native of Perry, Florida, a rural area near Tallahassee, Michael Morris knows southern culture and characters. It is the foundation and inspiration for the stories and novels he writes. Upon graduating from Auburn University, Michael worked for U.S. Senator Bob Graham and then became a sales representative for pharmaceutical companies. As a sales representative, Michael decided to follow a life-long desire and began writing in the evenings. The screenplay he penned during this time is still someplace in the bottom of a desk drawer. It is when Michael accepted a position in government affairs and moved to North Carolina that he began to take writing more seriously. While studying under author Tim McLaurin, Michael started writing the story that would eventually become his first novel, A Place Called Wiregrass. The novel was released in April, 2002 and is currently in its third printing. A Place Called Wiregrass was named a Booksense 76 selection by members of the American Independent Booksellers Association as and is part of the southern literature curriculum at two universities. Michael's latest novel, Slow Way Home, will be released by Harper Collins on September 23 and his work can be seen in the southern anthology Stories From The Blue Moon Café II. Michael and his wife, Melanie, reside in Fairhope, Alabama.

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      Book preview

      On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories - Michael Morris

      About the Author

      The author was a Combat Engineer (1983–1987) and Psychiatric Technician (1992–2019). He graduated from SSU in 1992. He has spent his life straddling the fence between the righteous and the wicked, between poetry and pragmatism, thinking and doing, getting laid and getting serious, going out for a walk and coming back.

      Dedication

      I dedicate this book to Paloma Grrrr. She was my fuzzy white appendage who snarled and snapped at anyone who ventured to near. No one will ever know me as she did.

      Copyright Information ©

      Michael Morris 2024

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

      Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

      Ordering Information

      Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

      Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

      Morris, Michael

      On the Road to Exile and Other Short Stories

      ISBN 9781638292418 (Paperback)

      ISBN 9781638294184 (ePub e-book)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2023916173

      www.austinmacauley.com/us

      First Published 2024

      Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

      40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

      New York, NY 10005

      USA

      [email protected]

      +1 (646) 5125767

      Acknowledgment

      I would like to thank Katherine Bourgerie, Lou Shaw Tim Dennis, Mack Inman, Tod Vidrine, Justin Barnes, John Ahlborn, Bennet Cullison, Peter Hines, Elenore Wehrman, Jeff Capeheart, Melissa Saput, Vanessa Carter, Ingrid Newman, and all the guys at One Eyed Winkys.

      On the Road to Exile

      The Story of a Burro Who Became an Ass

      Someone’s in the backyard, Scott whispered nervously. He was on his knees, in the dining room, peering at me from behind the bookshelf. On the floor beside him were his cigarettes, an ashtray, his binoculars, a stack of girly magazines, dirty dishes, and a dart gun. The air was dank and heavy with the smell of body odor mixed with propane and hot glue. Whatever it was that Scott was doing…he’d been doing it all night.

      What are you doing—I started but Scott instantly raised his finger to his lips and scolded me.

      Shhhhhh, he hissed. I froze instantly and listened as the sound of heavy boots and equipment came lumbering up the driveway, past the main entrance, and continued into the backyard. It was 07:00 am.

      I tip-toed toward the window and with my back against the wall, tried to catch a glimpse of the invaders but all I saw was the cloud of dust that followed in the wake of their passing and the faint outline of a sombrero.

      Who is it, Scott whispered. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, then using both hands I drew the outline of a sombrero and put it on my head.

      SHIT! Scott sounded like a sneezing Chihuahua. SHIT-SHIT-SHIT! He grabbed his binoculars and hobbled toward me. He was still squatting, his butt bouncing off his ankles with each labored step. To retain his balance, he held his hands high above his head, the palms of his hands parallel with the floor. The similarities between himself and a shuffling Orangutan were remarkable. As Scott came ambling across the linoleum, I heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps approaching the house from the direction of the backyard. When Scott realized what was happening, he froze in mid-step, turned ghost white, clasped his hands together beneath his chin, and started babbling nonsense. He was confused, terrified, and started asking a lot of bizarre questions.

      Is it the Mexican—huh? What? Mommy? Cha-Cha? He had the look of a man who was preparing to pound sand up to his ass with a hammer.

      Scott— I whispered forcefully, —SCOTT! There was a long silence. I could hear the secondhand tic toc across the face of a clock hanging from the wall in another room. I could hear the beads of sweat dropping from Scott’s nose onto the kitchen floor, …-plop-plop-plop-… Whoever was outside our back door was standing motionless. The suspense was crippling.

      Boom-Boom… the first steps on the back porch sounded like bombs exploding. It was enough to shake Scott from his catatonic state. He shrieked and galloped, like a lumbering donkey, on his hands and knees, across the hardwood floor, down the hallway to his bedroom in the flash of an instant, sounding like a charging Choo-choo train Shit-Shit-Shit-Shit…

      I remained crouched beneath the window waiting for the Mexican Mafia to burst through the back door and hack us to death with machetes. I was on the verge of making a run for it when I heard a familiar voice on the porch.

      No’o—because you don’t need your raincoat—I don’t care what Rex said, the answer is still NOOOO—

      It was Kathy, the mother of my children. I hadn’t seen her in over a year. I couldn’t believe it. ‘Knock-Knock-Knock’ but before I could answer it, the backdoor burst open and there she stood, in the doorway of my laundry room framed by the morning sun, wearing a sombrero the size of a mushroom cloud.

      What a surprise! I was breathless and relieved. She looked me up and down.

      I just got into town. Her voice was dry as the Arizona desert.

      Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? How long has it been? I gushed while smiling ear to ear, elated that she wasn’t an assassin sent to murder my roommate.

      It’s been over a year and what do you mean you didn’t know I was coming, you invited me? Remember? She had just survived an epic journey across 1000 miles of high desert and congested highways and was in no mood for quaint misunderstandings.

      I’m drawing a blank. When ahh…when was that exactly, I started.

      Last time we spoke on the phone… She was glaring at me.

      That was three months ago! I stated, We never heard back from you, so we figured…you must’ve…changed your mind or something.

      I didn’t change my mind, I got here as soon as I could, she barked while looking at a thick bed of dust that carpeted a network of cobwebs hanging horizontally along the walls and ceiling of the laundry room. She wore the look of a mercy killer.

      You could’ve walked here in three months, I stated with obvious sarcasm, she was not amused. She had taken a cigar out of her breast pocket and nibbled a piece off one end of it. So how did you get here? I asked.

      She took a step backward and then pointed toward my backyard. Rex, was all she said.

      Rex huh? I insinuated, uncertain if I was ready to meet this guy she was traveling

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