SNYDERMANIA: A Short Story by W.Z Snyder

Monday, February 2, 2009

A Short Story by W.Z Snyder

This story appears in Dart Safety and the Purple Bikini and Other Adventures of the Eight-Fingered Criminal's Son. See current posts for information on how to purchase the collection.

You can download The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son for just 5 dollars by clicking on the link below...

http://www.amazon.com/The-Eight-Fingered-Criminals-Son-ebook/dp/B005NWH8L4

4 comments:

Bullshee said...: Gripping narrative.Read it to the last word. Nice one!; February 2, 2009 at 8:35 PM
James West said...: another jem our yours Snyder! someday you will be the biggest and strongest kind in your grade; February 2, 2009 at 8:38 PM
Rick Rivers said...: Great story and real life characters. I grew up with lots of tough dudes like this. Keep on writing! I too had some tough Vatos who looked out for me or else I'd be dead by now!; February 3, 2009 at 4:26 PM
BeFrank said...: Good job,Buzz. Let's get published.; February 4, 2009 at 3:01 AM

NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?