Ben Langford
Stories (5)
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A Tree Called Jacob
Third time. They say the third time’s the charm and she got too caught up in that promise to have any doubts. Yet here she was leaving the doctor’s office with swollen eyes for the third time. He tried to console her as they drove home but she insisted on silence. It made her feel selfish but she was owed a little selfishness. The AC blasted on one side of her face as the other side pressed into the window. He tapped on the wheel as if the rhythm would summon her to speak again. When they arrived home she found it colder than she did before. She slept with her head on his lap as he watched a show, what went on in her mind was louder than whatever was on the television. The next morning there were coffee and eggs waiting for her. People came throughout the day with treats and solaces for the two of them. It all felt hollow to her no matter the gesture, the greatest gift she could be offered is the permission to lie in bed all day.
By Ben Langford7 days ago in Earth
The Blueprint
Coffee tastes different when you’re anxious. It takes on a more milky quality, perhaps due to the way your body trembles as it sloshes down your throat. Peter decided to set the coffee aside out of fear his stress would cause him to choke on the drink. He’d been waiting in the cafe for more than an hour. Him and Christie had planned to meet at three in the afternoon but he decided to get there a half hour early. He had been standing around thinking about the meeting since the second he woke up, part of him hoped it would be easier to wait here than his apartment. The suspense was made greater by her constant delays. First five minutes. Then fifteen. Then thirty. Then forty. It was mostly the fault of the public transit system she wasn’t familiar with but with each passing minute the tardiness felt more personal. She had flown in from Denver the night before, the first time he will have seen her in six years.
By Ben Langfordabout a month ago in Fiction
The Burden of Coexisting
Paul stumbles in through the subway train doors, he thinks his foot was caught in the doorway but worries the other passengers think he’s drunk or ill. He catches himself and shamefully walks over to a pole or seat, he hasn’t decided yet. Nobody on the train noticed Paul’s fumble. He takes a moment to choose to sit or stand; his destination was only a few stops but if he sat, he worries he may zone out and miss his stop. He sits anyway, the pole is a little cold in the winter. It didn’t feel too cold beforehand but perhaps being the only passenger on the train without a coat on makes the temperature seem even lower. He quickly realizes he’s also the only solo rider, three other couples surrounding him.
By Ben Langford3 months ago in Humans
By The Oak Tree
1973 Andrew’s hand clutched the fall leaves that he and Marc were atop of, he crunched them between his fist as he finished. Marc got off top of him and leaned against the oak tree they had set as a meeting point. Andrew let out an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion before joining his lover by the wood.
By Ben Langford3 months ago in Humans
Running with Flowers
You don’t expect to get knocked onto pavement by a woman four times your age, particularly at eleven in the morning. While getting back up, some sort of primal need for revenge takes over as your vision clears. Perhaps you will have enough time to push that person that pushed you and you can shake hands now that the playing field has evened. Once back on your feet, some sense of empathy sets back in, the animal you were four feet ago has calmed down, and all you’re left with is the vague sight of the perpetrator. She doesn’t look back at you, or anyone for that matter, for all you know you are one of several people she’s knocked to the ground on her rampant escapade. All you’re left with as you come back to your senses is the vague image of her. A short woman, gray hair, flowery blouse, a big bouquet of flowers carefully nestled between her arms. With how delicately she held them it looked as if she was carrying a baby. As you resume your aimless walk all you have is the thought of where she’s rushing, and who those precious flowers may be for.
By Ben Langford4 months ago in Journal
