Inside the Mind of a Bibliophile

Short Story Collection


Message In a Bottle

The ocean is more beautiful than I’d imagined when we planned this trip. It was set for spring so the weather wouldn’t be too hot. If I’d had my way, I’d be in Colorado right now fully clothed. At least the weather here is just cool enough in March to enjoy the beach with a T-shirt and shorts on.

The beer’s still shit, but once you get past your fifth DosXX it’s almost drinkable. Once this one’s gone, I’ll have to pack up my towel and walk to that little liquor store I stopped at on my way down. That fat little Mexican will be happy to take more of my money, I’m sure. American dollars are probably what keep this little town alive. Although, I’m sure, just barely.

I still don’t see why we couldn’t have booked a resort like normal people. Oh I’m sorry, they’re not authentic Mexico. They’re just cheaper versions of every mundane beach town found in the United States. Well not all of us are comfortable being practically naked in front of other people in broad daylight. Not all of us spend an hour and a half at the gym three times a week, and some of us are just disgustingly hairy. My first trip to a water park resulted in a six year old girl breaking down with tears of fear the second I removed my shirt. So no, I haven’t spent a lot of time in beach front USA.

He swallowed the last big gulp of his sixth beer and put the empty bottles back in their carrier then picked up his towel. He made his way back up toward the road where he found a trash can to ditch the empty six pack. With his hands in his pockets and the towel draped around his shoulders, he began the walk toward the liquor store he’d stopped at, as it opened, a mere hour ago.  image-Megan Groff Click Here to continue reading


Sand Beach Trail

It was Tuesday morning at eight when my alarm went off and I distinctly remember wondering what I was thinking when I’d decided to move away from all the coke heads I once knew. Yesterday’s travel kicked my ass and I could really use a pick-me-up. I drink coffee like my existence depends on it, so I knew it wasn’t going to do anything for my exhaustion. Still, I went directly into the kitchen to brew a cup.

I changed the cup in my Keurig and pushed the button. While my vanilla bean coffee was brewing I walked into the living room to open the front door. That’s when I noticed a package from Amazon on the ground beneath the mailbox. I always check the mail in the morning because it used to be like Christmas for me. It’s called “Drunk Priming,” and I used to do it often. I deleted the Amazon app months ago to save money when my bills stopped being divided. That’s why I was so confused at this unknown package’s arrival.

I shut the door blindly behind me as I starred at the package and moved towards the kitchen. It looked to be the shape of a book, but I had no clue who’d have sent it to me. This mystery was solved the second I opened the box. I’d preordered this book months ago. It was a sequel to one of the fantasy novels I’d started reading for commonality with my ex Tom. I don’t know why I always did things like that with the men I dated, but I always did. This was the first instance of Dunk Priming that brought me utter disgust, along with all of my previous relationship behaviors. Looking back, this should have happened decades ago, but I wasn’t this person then, so theres no way I could have seen what I see now.image-Megan Groff Click Here to continue reading.


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