tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61221315055000621222011-04-21T21:35:34.157-06:00exactly as it is writtenF. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.comBlogger141100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-2919277354944858092008-04-08T23:25:00.002-06:002008-04-08T22:34:07.709-06:00

ad pedum litterae. latin. literally, 'to the foot of the letter'. transliterally, 'exactly as written'.This is the place where I'm posting my literary work. I tend to be a very listless writer, often starting projects without even the faintest hope of completing them. I'm trying to change that, by working on several short stories which I hope to have published collectively. There are currently 10

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-8570094870798381562008-04-08T10:00:00.001-06:002008-04-08T22:31:32.625-06:00

Writing Project -Mike and I have both been feeling pretty stagnant of late, so we've decided to work on a new project based on random plots generated on a website. We've got a long list of potential stories, and we trade off picking one and and setting a deadline of a few days to write something.The rules are that it has to be at least 500 words, and must fit the plot that we're given, and we

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-32850252631563033742008-04-07T22:47:00.000-06:002008-04-08T21:56:40.440-06:00

Snow fell in huge sticky flakes, blanketing the world in white. It had been a mild winter. Rather than the typical Midwestern snow cover there had been, so far, only a light dusting here, and a freezing rain there. Prior to this morning the world had been a dim, bland, palette of browns. Rene was ok with that. He wasn’t a big winter person, unlike most of his mid-20’s friends. He really wasn’t

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-57508358604235917852008-04-04T20:30:00.001-06:002008-04-08T21:54:45.300-06:00

William Esther sat alone on the bed of his apartment, buried under the blankets and pillows. The headphones of his iPod crammed deep into his ears, the volume up so loud that people in neighboring units could hear the grating death metal with perfect clarity. He wanted to think about a lot of things, but his own thoughts were almost completely lost to him. What he could think, when he could grab

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-67976823429529707232008-04-02T21:26:00.001-06:002008-04-08T21:55:06.200-06:00

William Esther sat alone on the bed of his apartment, buried under the blankets and pillows. The headphones of his iPod crammed deep into his ears, the volume up so loud that people in neighboring units could hear the grating death metal with perfect clarity. He wanted to think about a lot of things, but his own thoughts were almost completely lost to him. What he could think, when he could grab

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-78191343808634777802008-03-29T23:50:00.000-06:002008-04-08T21:51:20.551-06:00

“The United States Government does not take chances. Not anymore, anyway.” These words echoed through her head as she sat, uncomfortably, many hours into the 16 hour Trans-Atlantic flight in the back of the C130. "The C130J Super Hercules Troop Transport," the Lieutenant said, "Is one of the most uncomfortable vehicles ever created. The word troop was only added as a lure to try and

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-41303604295171513692008-03-23T22:00:00.000-06:002008-04-08T21:49:18.839-06:00

He hated planes. It wasn't an unusual thing, he thought, being trapped inside an enormous steel tube, filled with highly explosive liquids and hurtling through the sky at ungodly speeds just didn't make him comfortable. He knew he wasn't alone with this fear, but even as he handed over the boarding pass to the young woman with the curly blonde hair, wearing a smart blue skirt and blue airline

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-71627382992904036792007-04-29T22:30:00.000-06:002007-04-29T22:18:02.073-06:00

He awakes with a start, the dream having been so vivid that he could have sworn it was a memory. Sweat pouring down his face, dripping from his nose and making a small pool in the crotch of his silk boxers, he tries to catch his breath which is trying to escape in gulping gasps."You Ok Ben?" She asks. Her normally rich voice is hoarse from sleep. She doesn't stir; she probably hasn't even

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-73660777534841677532007-03-20T23:30:00.000-06:002007-03-20T22:59:02.428-06:00

"You can't be serious!" Her green eyes sparkle in the afternoon sunlight, complimenting a grin that could easily be called ear-to-ear."Oh yes I am, dead serious," the old man's eyes hold almost the same spark and glimmer, but dimmer, they are eyes that have been seeing 50-years longer than hers, but it doesn't matter, smiling eyes are always brightest.She giggles, "So, you caught them fooling

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-7400520629853767402007-03-11T18:36:00.000-06:002007-03-11T18:38:09.652-06:00

A crushing blow, cracking bone, a searing pain like a white hot blade digging into his skull. His vision blurs, his right eye stings from the warm blood trickling down. The fresh gash across his brow gushes down the side of his face. It's not going to be enough, he thinks, not tonight. He uses his shirt sleeve to wipe the sweat and blood from his face, his lips pulling up into a wicked sneer as

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-82929226343945249262007-03-07T23:20:00.000-06:002007-03-08T00:09:44.250-06:00

If you’re reading this… well, likely you know what became of me. Telling the story of my life is something I’d always wanted to do, although, I never figured that it would take something like this to bring it to fruition. Understand that I came to this cabin to get away from it all. No phone, no television, no computers –it’s sad that checking my email tugs at me like I’ve given up an

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-69076446938454074402007-03-07T23:15:00.001-06:002007-03-07T23:39:07.339-06:00

My body quivers. Tingles shooting up and down every part of me as our lips meet and everything about me melts away for a moment. Then I feel her hand on my thigh. She squeezes my leg, hard, as I touch her body. And we're kissing, hard. Passion, I’m pressing myself against her, and she's pressing herself against me. I hurt from so much want, and her soft moans send waves through me. I've never

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-79545783004938162542007-03-07T21:08:00.000-06:002007-03-07T23:37:42.695-06:00

I have lived a life unlike any other, a life I am opposed to understanding, the details of which, however, I will gladly share. But this story isn’t really about me. When I was younger, in high school, my sophomore or junior year, I knew a girl. I slept with her; I slept with her a lot, so I’d say that I knew her pretty well. I'm almost certain that I was in love with her, probably

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6122131505500062122.post-43108634426235625272006-12-30T01:12:00.001-06:002006-12-30T01:12:57.323-06:00

It all started, one morning, with a billboard. It was simple, and unassuming, but it was the most inspirational thing I'd ever seen. On a field of pure black, in large white typeface were 8 of the most incredible words I could remember reading in a long time: something amazing is about to happen to you.The road passed noisily under the tires of a car that should have been taken to a field and

F. Stephen Kirschbaumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09804916918275490938noreply@blogger.com0