JT EVERGREEN SHORT STORIES

The Very Reverend FREDERICK MATHEW MONAHAN* May 1, 1876 – April 15, 1912 Father Frederick gazed into the clear brilliant midnight sky. The distress rockets had finally stopped. Then the lights of the dying ship flickered and went out. Their absence accentuated the beauty of the night sky encompassing Father Frederick as he opened his heart and soul, embracing the beauty of God's creation. He had done everything possible to help others escape the unfolding tragedy. Now it was time for him to reach out and embrace the God to whom he had dedicated his life. The screams of the dying passengers became softer to his ears. There was nothing he could do except wait. He no longer wondered how or why this nightmare was happening. Soon it would end and he would be gone from this vale-of-tears. Father Frederick was not afraid. He knew he was safe within the everlasting loving arms of the God he had grown to know, understand, and love with every fiber of his being. The ...

Mike O’Houlihan stepped into the elevator on floor 32 and pressed the lobby button on the flight panel. To his astonishment, the elevator began ascending rather than descending, “What the . . .?” As the numbers on the floor indicator changed rapidly, he frantically pressed all the buttons on the flight panel hoping to stop it. The elevator continued to rise. When it reached floor 64, the numbers on the indicator stopped, but the elevator did not. “Holy shit!” Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the elevator stopped with a sudden jolt. Mike grabbed the handrail to keep from falling. The door to the elevator sounded like it had come off of its rollers as it opened and clanged to a stop. To Mike’s utter and profound amazement, the prospect contained nothing but white fluffy clouds. A few wisps of white stuff floated past the elevator door. He stood still for a moment wondering what he should do.  He pressed the ‘close door’ button. Nothing happened except a loud a...

My name is Eoghan MacAuliffe. Friends play it safe and call me Mac. It’s amazing how alone one can feel, especially in a city the size of New York. Folks spilling out of skyscrapers and emerging from subways stations, running in every direction imaginable … and, effortlessly ignoring one another. Christmas was approaching and the feeling of aloneness was becoming more and more acute with each passing day. I had enough friends to keep me busy but, as the lyrics of the tune, Blue Moon, kept reminding me ,  I was  without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own. I was not looking forward to the holidays. And, since I no longer believed in Santa Claus, things were looking pretty bleak. Being of British descent, I kept a stiff-upper-lip, hoping no one suspected how unhappy I was. It was a beautiful December Saturday morning as I walked the 65th Street Traverse from the West Side through Central Park to Fifth Avenue, on my way to do some Christmas shopping for kith ...

  My name is Eoghan MacAuliffe. Friends play it safe and call me Mac. It’s amazing how alone one can feel, especially in a city the size of New York. Folks spilling out of skyscrapers and emerging from subways stations, running in every direction imaginable … and, effortlessly ignoring one another. Christmas was approaching and the feeling of aloneness was becoming more and more acute with each passing day. I had enough friends to keep me busy but, as the lyrics of the tune, Blue Moon, kept reminding me , I was without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own. I was not looking forward to the holidays. And, since I no longer believed in Santa Claus, things were looking pretty bleak. Being of British descent, I kept a stiff-upper-lip, hoping no one suspected how unhappy I was. It was a beautiful December Saturday morning as I walked the 65th Street Traverse from the West Side through Central Park to Fifth Avenue, to do Christmas shopping for kith and kin back ...