While most anthologies feature short stories of the same genre, America's Best Short Story Fiction celebrates the diversity of stories that some of America's best writers are creating. In Dad, Do Not Turn On The Stove, Ray Pierce writes about a forgetful older man who decides to rob a bank and meets only kindness in those who remember what he used to be. In Miles of Dunk, Rosalind Perry-McKnight tells of a young boy who wants more than anything to be a great basketball player, but it is only until he finds a magic basketball--or is it real confidence?--that he finally succeeds. In James Wardlaw's The SnowStorm, despite a broken leg, horrible weather, and mountainous terrain, a man must somehow find help for his family, who has slid down a mountainside in a car. In Mark Corcoran's A Decision In Time, a young man traveling in time has the opportunity to save his father's life, but he must face the moral responsibilities of changing the past with what consequence to the future.
America's Best Short Fiction includes Carter by John Ruemmler, winner of Eaton Literary Agency's Short Story Awards Program, 1998; and The Big Yellow Dog, winner of Eaton Literary Agency's Short Story Awards Program, 1999.
These stories and many others entertain, challenge, and reveal the scope of imagination, which proves that quality fiction comes in many guises--and in many genres.
"Highly recommended for those who love to read or write short stories."
Jake Grayson was at the kitchen table in his green plaid pajamas and purple, fleece-lined slippers, studying a cup of weak, lukewarm tea when Sandra came down the hall. She was wearing a blue windbreaker over a light-green sweat suit.
"Are you warm enough? Do you want your robe?"
He looked up at her. She waited patiently as he digested what she had said. "No, I’m fine."
"I’ll be gone about two hours, to the fitness center and to run a couple of errands. Now, Dad, you just had breakfast, so don’t try to cook anything on the stove. All right? You had a bath and shaved so don’t shave again. OK? I’ll be home in plenty of time to fix your lunch. All right?"
"Sure, sure. Go ahead. I won’t burn the house down unless I check the fire insurance first," he said, chuckling.
His daughter-in-law sighed. "That’s good, Dad. I’ll just be gone a little while."
He heard the door close but couldn’t hear the engine start and the car back out of the garage. He sipped a little tea and tried to remember what he was thinking about when Sandra interrupted him.
He had been considering his financial situation, and as near as he could remember he was out of money. He had probably given it all to his three children, but he wasn’t sure. Of course, he didn’t need any money. Sandra and his son, Harry, provided anything he wanted, and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted. And his other son, what was his name? George, yeah, George, and his daughter too, Brandy, they were always giving him stuff he didn’t want or need. Still, he was uneasy not having any real money in his pockets. He had forgotten why he had turned everything over to them, probably because of all the paperwork.
He got up and went to pee. When he opened the door he was mildly surprised to find the room full of pots and pans, cleaning materials, and a vacuum cleaner. He searched and found another door.
As he carefully washed his hands, it occurred to him that he could probably get some money from a bank. Startled by what a good idea that was, he moved as quickly as he could to the kitchen counter and found Sandra’s pencil and pad so he could write down his idea before it slipped away. He tore off the front page which said: "DAD – DO NOT TURN ON THE STOVE!" without reading it. He scribbled "Rob Bank" on the back and tucked it in the breast pocket of his pajamas.
As he wandered through the living room he wondered where he could find a gun. Harry had some guns, including some of Jake’s, that were in a gun cabinet somewhere. He didn’t think he should use a long gun though. He needed a pistol.
"I wonder if that old .45 I stole from the Army is still around somewhere. It might be with my old stuff in the attic. But where’s the attic?"
He walked through the house looking up until he saw the rope pull on the attic ladder in the hallway. He pulled the rope, and the ladder folded down. When he pulled out the bottom section, it flipped down and almost hit him as he staggered back out of the way.
"You trying to kill me you son-of-a-bitch? I find that gun I’ll blow you away!" He smiled at his own foolishness. "I may be old, but I still know how to deal with bad-ass ladders, chairs, and footstools."
When the ladder failed to respond Jake climbed up into the attic and stumbled around in the dark. Finally he ran into a clothespin hanging on the end of a string, pulled it, and was rewarded by the light from the 100-watt bulb hanging from the peak of the attic.
Jake sat on an old footlocker and tried to figure out where he was and why. Looking around for something familiar he, noticed the old black dough box his grandmother had used.
