David Dubrow

Author

Appalling Stories 2 Excerpt: Her Bodies, Her Choice

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Appalling Stories 2, sequel to Appalling Stories: 13 Tales of Social Injustice, will be released in December of 2018. What follows is a sneak peek at the short story Her Bodies, Her Choice.

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Hey, it’s me. Don’t turn it off! Just…just hear me out.

My notes are written on legal pads and spiral notebooks. I did everything offline. I’ll let you know where I hid the original copies at the end of this video, but don’t just click to the end, okay? Watch the whole thing first. Do this for me. I know you hate me and think I’m a bitch and I don’t blame you, but please. Please. I can’t trust my parents. They’re probably part of this.

It sounds crazy and over-dramatic like…like in a movie, but the only reason you’re watching this is because I’m dead. It means they got me. My former friends and colleagues. If you’d seen my phone…I had writers from The Atlantic to The New York Times who’d take my calls on the first ring. Me. Not even 27 years old and people with bylines in The Daily Beast and The New Yorker knew my name. I was kind of a big shot. But one of them ratted me out for bringing them the story of the century. The millennium. Probably all of them did.

So yeah, I’m dead. It scares the hell out of me, but—

You know what? Forget it. I don’t know if you’re happy I’m dead or what. Maybe you are. I broke your heart, after all. I regret that. Not ending the engagement. Just hurting you. You didn’t deserve that. But I saw your wedding pictures on Instagram like two years after we split up, so I guess you weren’t too, well, broken up about it. She’s pretty. You two look happy.

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I guess if you hadn’t broken things off with me for taking care of our little…indiscretion, I’d’ve split up with you. It makes sense now, but back then I just felt hurt. With a degree in Women’s Studies from Vassar, pretty much the only option I had after graduation was VP of HR at a Nestle subsidiary while you saved the world one hedge fund at a time. But not long after you proposed, my senior adviser introduced me to some friends of hers, who introduced me to some friends of theirs, and, well, I could either follow your plan for us, or my plan for me.

So I went with me. The abortion and your throwing me out of your life over it was just the icing on the cake. But it launched me into my new career.

I started as an intern. Paying my dues. It sucked because I had to keep asking my parents for money to afford rent and food, but I learned a lot that first year. At Planned Parenthood you can’t claim that sexism in the workplace is keeping you from earning a living wage. I think they were monitoring me. Seeing how committed I was, how hard I’d work. After burning my bridges with you I had nothing else to do, so I threw myself into it.

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Stay tuned for more information on Appalling Stories 2: More Appalling Tales of Social Injustice!

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New Story Published: Dear Dad

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My short story Dear Dad was published in Issue 2 of the literary magazine Cinder Quarterly, and you can get it here on Amazon. It’s arguably my strangest work yet, and serves as a prequel to the story The Bitterness of Honey in the anthology Appalling Stories: 13 Tales of Social Injustice. Don’t let the weirdness turn you off; it’s a solid, fun piece of work that stands on its own. Let me prove it with this excerpt:

Dear Dad:

That’s how you’re supposed to start a letter, right? With “dear.” Even though we haven’t been dear to each other since you kicked me out of the house. No, I’m not writing to rehash the same old shit, so you can keep reading. I know you thought you had good reasons for throwing me out. You and Mom. Maybe I’d’ve done the same thing in your position. I don’t know. I mean, I doubt it, because who puts his only son out on the street for flunking out of college? Other than you. Anyway, lately I’ve been doing some real thinking about this, and I get it now. You were testing me. Putting ice down the garbage disposal to sharpen the blades.

Well, guess what? It worked. You and your MAGA hat-wearing buddies bitch and moan all the time about millennials being weak, entitled, and lazy. Not me. Not anymore. Your snowflake millennial son’s responsible for the end of the whole world. How’s that for accomplishment, you asshole?

Sorry. It just slipped out. Amazing how the same cycles of behavior repeat themselves over and over. You harangue me, I call you names, you tell me to get out, I leave. I guess that’s why they’re called cycles of behavior instead of lines of behavior.

I won’t bother going over the old stuff, before I moved out of state. I’ve been Facebook-stalking Mom’s account, so I know that my “friends” were keeping tabs on me, telling her (and you) what I’ve been doing. I can’t let you know where I am now for reasons that’ll become clear soon, but I can say that I moved to Madison, Wisconsin a year and a half ago. Yes, the liberal paradise, where everyone drives a Prius and has tattoos and calls each other “zhe” and “xher.” Or, at least, that’s how you see it. You’d be surprised at how strait-laced it actually is, especially for a college town.

And now, you better be sitting down for this: I was working for…Greenpeace.

Ha! I’ll bet your face went all white. I wasn’t blocking Japanese ships from harpooning whales or anything like that. I was a canvasser. I walked around the suburbs with a clipboard and a partner and a credit card reader, asking for donations from decent people to keep not-decent people like you from fucking up the one planet we have to live on. As it turns out this was not only a gigantic waste of time, but actually contributed to the end of civilization, but I didn’t know that then. Unlike you, I was trying to make a difference, not a profit.

It’s a tasty blend of science fiction, horror, and environmentalism wrapped in a page-turning narrative crust, and you can get it, plus several other stories from some truly talented writers, for less than $2.00!

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Appalling Stories 2: Call for Submissions

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That’s right, shoppers: Obsidian Point is putting together the second volume in the Appalling Stories series, and you can be a part of it!

Do you have a story, or at least the idea of a story that you don’t think the Social Justice Warrior-led publishing industry would want to touch with a ten-foot pole? Do your eyes roll into the back of your skull at the mention of terms like “representation,” “white privilege,” “cultural appropriation,” and “microaggression”? Do you have a ripped-from-the-headlines piece of short fiction that’s just aching to be told?

Now’s your chance to be part of something amazing. Write a non-PC tale for Appalling Stories 2!

Details can be found right here at the link.

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Appalling Stories: Excerpt

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Harrisburg United Against Hate had met with the mayor to ensure there’d be no police presence. Once the media got wind of the agreement, they decided to avoid the event. They hadn’t fared well with HUAH during its previous operations.

The noise of shoes echoing off the pavement mixed with a jumble of shouting and chanting. An unmistakable voice rose above it all. “Violence against hate isn’t violence!”

Movie star Ciara Jacobs was only seven paces ahead in her sleeveless white T-shirt and form-fitting jeans. Haley smiled, pleased that they were similarly-dressed. Of course, her tee and jeans were nothing like Ciara’s. And Ciara wore oversized hiking boots while Haley had on an old pair of cross-trainers. But she didn’t care about the differences: just being close to her gave her a charge.

Ciara’s black hair was up in a bun and she wore sunglasses that must have cost at least four figures. Two bodyguards and a personal assistant filming with a smartphone kept pace with her. The bodyguards made sure Haley couldn’t get any closer than five feet even when she hurried to catch up.

Soon others started chanting, “Violence against hate isn’t violence!” and it became the chant for the remainder of the march.

Haley joined in as Harrisburg United Against Hate reached the first intersection. Some halted and wanted to help stop traffic, but others barreled on through. That emboldened everyone and once they crossed the intersection, they moved off the sidewalk and into the street.

All traffic on North Fourth Street had to stop for the mob that totaled over a hundred people. As they reached the next intersection, still chanting, Haley caught a glimpse of the rally point.

“Hey,” she said to a kid in a black ball cap. “Who’re we going after today, anyway?”

He stopped chanting and told her, “They’re called WBP. I think it stands for We’ve Been Patient.”

“Ever heard of them before?”

“Nah,” he said, shrugging. “But who cares, right? They say they oppose progress on all the important issues. How outrageous is that? I mean, hate is hate and someone has to stop them.”

(Taken from Our Violence Isn’t Violence by Paul Hair.)

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This story, along with twelve other hard-hitting tales of science fiction, satire, horror, and more are available in Appalling Stories: 13 Tales of Social Injustice!

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Appalling Stories: Excerpt

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I’m not any kind of writer. I’m not John Grisham. I don’t even read except for the sports page. So if you don’t like my writing style I don’t give a shit. What I’m going to do when I’m done putting all this down is wrap the notebook in fifty layers of Saran Wrap, stuff it in a bunch of Publix bags, and lock it up in the gun safe. The safe’s supposed to be fireproof.

I don’t have to tell you that. If you’re reading this you must’ve gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to get to it. If there even is a you. My bet is no one will ever see this.

Why am I writing it, then? Something to do before I die. The TV doesn’t work anymore. Nothing does. I don’t have any kids (that I know of, hyuck hyuck) to leave anything to. No close family. A few friends, but I’m sure they’re dead now.

I’m next. I can hear them outside. They’ll find a way in and that’ll be that. You can’t shoot them. I mean, it’s impossible. So when they do get in I’ll put my Colt 1911 to my eyeball and pull the trigger.

I hope it doesn’t hurt.

(Taken from The Bitterness of Honey by David Dubrow.)

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This story, along with twelve other hard-hitting tales of science fiction, satire, horror, and more are available in Appalling Stories: 13 Tales of Social Injustice!

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Appalling Stories: Excerpt

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Kyle’s pulse accelerated. He tapped login and password. A long-awaited message popped up on the screen: Congratulations, KyNe007! You’re approved! Your reservation to The Orishas is being processed!

A thrill snaked up his leg. A daunting task to book a spot! The Orishas was no ordinary resort: adult, erotic, exclusive and secret, catering to special tastes. You submitted a request to attend and you were checked out. Nothing cursory: they dug. Orishas required a lengthy and probing questionnaire, credit check and a checkbox psych and medical evaluation, all done on-line. No poseurs or risk candidates allowed: only a select and completely safe clientele gained admittance.

And now he ranked among those admitted. The Elite, the Chosen.

Of course, it cost a wad and a half with payment in advance. But this proved no obstacle; Kyle transferred the funds from his bank to the The Orishas LLC in the Caymans with a few clicks. AFC, with liberal policies regarding time off, required only firm calendar dates for Kyle’s pre-approved vacation.

Kyle had planned this vacation for a year. Now it came together. Via secure email The Orishas transmitted various contracts, disclaimers and waivers for Kyle to read and sign. He sat down with another icy lager and a plate of celebratory chocolate habanero peppers that set his gums afire.

He exulted: Orisha-bound. Oh for joy!

(Taken from The Orishas by Ray Zacek.)

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This story, along with twelve other hard-hitting tales of science fiction, satire, horror, and more are available in Appalling Stories: 13 Tales of Social Injustice!

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