Author: Garrison Kammer

Fiction

Catching Fever

Robert Fever awoke on cold cement feeling like he had been run over by a car. He winced as he sat up. By the shifting light of the naked bulb that swayed above him, Robert saw that he was down in his own basement. Dusty, uninviting workout machines provided the room’s only furniture. Several campaign posters that read “CATCH THE FEVER!” in red white and blue were stacked in a corner.

Fiction

You Alone

A pane of glass separated us. You were out on the street and I was in a hotel lobby. You were walking by like an ivory tower on heels. Your dark brown hair fell lightly on your shoulders, your bosom bounced subtly, your hips swayed. And then you did something I never expected; you looked at me directly in the eyes, and your face lit up.

Fiction

Jerry and his New Shoes

Heel-toe, heel-toe, thought Jerry as he walked down the sidewalk. His new shoes felt like cinder blocks tied to his feet. They were were shiny and black and rather handsome looking, but it wasn’t until Jerry had gotten home from buying them that he saw the soles were extremely thick–nearly three inches. Good lord, thought Jerry, I’m over six feet tall now with these shoes. He was sure that the people around him were smirking at his overcompensating footwear.

Fiction

Birth of a Solipsist

I was on my lunch break one cold afternoon when I had life-changing realization. It hit me like a spoon that cracks an egg, and my yolk seemed to spill and fill up the world–indeed, become the world. I would apologize to you if you found my words confusing, but I don’t find them confusing myself, and in a moment you’ll see why I have no worries about being misunderstood.