One of my favorite things that we do here at SoBros Network that no one probably knows about is writing short fiction. It’s a passion of mine – one that I don’t nurture nearly enough because I’m writing about the sign language interpreter for “WAP” at Lollapalooza, and trying to keep the steady stream of content on SoBros Network going. I make it a goal of mine to try and write at least four short stories a year, and I share them as a benefit on our Patreon. So, I thought I would share one of if not my favorite story that I’ve written yet as a sort of sneak preview at part of what that Patreon subscription gets you. You can subscribe here if you’re interested. So, here it is – hope you enjoy, and don’t worry – you won’t hurt my feelings with a simple “WTF?” after this one. -Stoney
SoBros Short Fiction: By My Side (2019)
I was beginning to think I’d never fucking make it in this world. When July rolled around, I had been writing for six years. A little bit of sports writing, a little bit of comedy, I was willing to write whatever I had to. But, what I really loved was writing fiction – generating outlines and drafts…filling out stories. My brain was like a faucet, and my fingers were the knobs…always controlling what poured out. I’d throw things against the wall – not literally, I should specify…I’m not doing a very good job of storytelling here…but, rather, I’d send out a million manuscripts to anyone who stood a remote chance of getting my work in front of a publisher.
I never heard back.
Maybe it was all the parody writing – to be fair, it’s hard to imagine a story about Dale Earnhardt joining The Avengers being a huge mainstream commercial success. But, I couldn’t just sit on my work. The world had to read it.
But, it could be pretty demoralizing…to pour yourself into something only for it to be ignored by the world.
Back in June, I wrote a story about an organization of wizards who protect Gatlinburg, TN from those who would seek to banish magic from the entire world. I was very proud of it, and I printed off 32 copies to mail to various publishing agencies. When I was at my lowest point, questioning whether or not I was even doing the right thing with my life, I got the letter.
“Stoney…we dig this…let’s meet.”
The firm was in Los Angeles – while nothing was guaranteed, it was a chance I had to take. I told my girlfriend Sara, “babe – someone finally wrote back.” Right away, she was supportive. “This is great news!” I wrote back and told them I’d be available next week. They agreed, and suddenly, I had a meeting to discuss a potential publishing deal for a book I’d been working on for the last two years of my life.
She’s put up with so much from me over the years, and yet, she’s been my biggest fan, too. I had actually been kicking around the idea of proposing to her for a long time. This is my soulmate, my best friend, the woman I could not live without we’re talking about here. I didn’t have a whole lot of money for a nice vacation this year. And yet, here she was, just completely going with my crazy dream without a single complaint. So, all things considered, I thought she deserved to go with me. We’d go out for the meeting, and then spend a couple of days in southern California. I booked our plane tickets with the last bit of business money I’d earned selling sponsored posts on my website. The starving artist, literally down to his last dime.
The plane ride was a little bumpier than I’d expected, which added to my anxiety. Sara could sense that. On our descent into Los Angeles, she grabbed my sweaty hand – “Stoney, you’re going to get this.” Words aren’t always the most comforting to me – if I can sense that they’re designed specifically to make me feel better, they ring a little hollow…and why shouldn’t they? But, something about the way Sarah said that…she meant it. And, it did ease my mind to have her by my side.
So, when the plane touched down, the reality and the gravity of my situation set in. Here we go. Seat belts unbuckled, the typical murmur of an arriving flight spread throughout the plane. People were rummaging through the overhead bins to find their luggage. Sitting halfway back on the plane, Sarah and I just waited. As the people ahead of us filtered out, I stood up and hoisted my backpack over my shoulders.
Sara grabbed my hand, and pulled me in for a kiss. She didn’t say a word, but it was the type of kiss that spoke to me – “you’re a rock star.” I felt confident with her. Then, she reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a 12 inch kitchen knife, and plunged it right into the center of my stomach.
She smiled glowingly and said, “I love you so much, Stoney,” and then wedged the knife right into my left pectoral muscle. Breath escaped me. Pain was coursing through my entire body as if grenades had just gone off in my chest and stomach. “I know you’ll do just fine,” she said as she grabbed her purse and made for the aisle. I watched her walk off the plane without looking back. Flight attendants shot me piercing gazes, noticing I was holding up the line of people trying to get to their destination.
“Hey, buddy – get your shit together and go,” someone exclaimed from the back of the plane. He was right. No one wants to be inconvenienced when they’re traveling. So, I grabbed my stuff, and took a step towards the door when I slipped in a pool of my own blood. I mentioned that I might need a doctor, but the flight attendants told me they didn’t think one was on board and I should check with someone at the gate.
A tall, older man – with curly gray hair and a black beard that had me wondering why on Earth you’d dye your beard and not your hair – spoke up and asked if I was okay. I told him I was just stabbed, but I can’t let it cause me to miss this meeting. At the same time, I was having trouble finding the strength to grip my backpack.
“Women,” he said, “can’t live with ’em…can’t live without ’em…”
Yeah, I guess so. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and I was beginning to feel a little faint. How was I going to get this story published if I was dead? What would the agency think of me showing up to the meeting with a knife wedged in my chest? This was one of those situations in which you just have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and keep moving. I decided making the meeting was more important than my luggage. It was ruined with blood, anyway. So, I left it.
The old man wished me luck with my meeting, and I slowly but surely made my way up the aisle and out of the plane. Losing what felt like a pint of blood, step by step, along the way. The flight attendants were cheering me on – “you’ve got this, Stoney!” “Almost there!” Blood dripping onto the floor around me, I poked my head around the cockpit and made sure to thank the pilot for a job well done. When I made it to the gate, applause erupted from the travelers behind me. It had taken me nearly 45 minutes to travel 40 feet, and they were beginning to grow restless at the hold-up.
I stepped out into the concourse and collapsed into a nearby chair. An associate approached me, smiling – “excuse me, sir. Weren’t you the one needing medical attention?” “Yes,” I replied, but I don’t think I’ll have time for it anymore. I’m going to miss my meeting if I don’t get up and go.” At this point, blood had soaked through my clothes and I had unfortunately evacuated my bowels.
“Oh,” said the associate, “well, in that case, I will inform the doctor that her services are no longer needed.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I apologize for the inconvenience.” At this point, things were really foggy. People were beginning to look at me. I guess, in hindsight, a man covered in blood with a knife sticking out of his chest in an airport is a bit unusual. But, I was just trying to do what was best for my career, y’know? It’s about the work you leave behind.
So, I was undeterred. I stood up, but what blood I had left in my body vacated my skull. Just like that, I was lightheaded and faint. I fell to the ground, landing knife-first on the floor, and driving it clean through my back.
That one hurt – but, I’ve taken my fair share of licks before. If I wasn’t going to be able to walk to my meeting, then I guess I’d just have to roll. It was difficult with all of the people stepping over me, but I made it two full rotations before I noticed that I wasn’t breathing anymore. A bucktoothed kid stood over me – “mister, are you alright?” But, I couldn’t find the strength to respond. Suddenly, I felt like I needed some rest.
This was the perfect place to lie down for a little bit.
Stoney Keeley is the Editor in Chief of The SoBros Network, and a Dogs Playing Poker on velvet connoisseur. He is a strong supporter of Team GSD, #BeBetter, and ‘Minds right, asses tight.’ “Big Natural” covers the Tennessee Titans, Nashville, Yankee Candle, and a whole wealth of nonsense. Follow on Twitter @StoneyKeeley
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