“Missed” by Vincent Marshall, a FREE short story
Hello all, and welcome to the first ever TOTALLY FREE to read short story in the Weaver’s Deep Thoughts newsletter. Typically, the newsletter has been nonfiction writing, in an almost blog format. But today I’m adding a new choice for reading which is short stories. The aim is that they’ll be between 500-1,000 words, so they should make for some quick reading. I aim to grow this to a rather diverse group of authors and genres.
You can read the story below or download it from the store — both are freely accessible. The download is in an ebook format and DRM free (which means you can copy it between your devices without restriction).
Meet Vincent Marshall
Our first author is Vincent Marshall, a crime author who resides with his family in Arkansas. He’s a reporter by day for a small newspaper and he’s diving into fiction outside of that. On his newsletter and blog, you can find a collection of free short stories he’s already written — be sure to subscribe to his newsletter if you want to read more stories from Vincent. He’s currently working on his first novel, so let’s show him some love and encourage him on his road to book publication.
You can find Vincent Marshall elsewhere:
When you’ve finished reading Vincent’s story, please come back here and let him know what you thought of it in the comments. You can also buy him a coffee here.
Is Anthony Ward the best player in college basketball? You bet. And he's about to take the big shot in the tournament final.
Rated PG: Contains addiction.
What you get: An epub file that is DRM free and should work on most PCs, eReaders, and mobile devices.
After you've finished reading, please come back and leave a comment for Vincent below.
Use the “Add to Cart” button and checkout to receive ebook file download link.
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Copyright © 2024 by Vincent Marshall.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted by Artificial Intelligence (AI) or used in the training of AI, for either commercial or non-commercial purposes. For permission requests, write to the author, with subject “Missed” at the following email address: VincentMarshall93@hotmail.com.
“Missed”
A Short Story by Vincent Marshall
I.
The crowd rushed the basketball court in a frenzy. As soon as the ball clinked off the side of the rim, the buzzer had called the game.
Fans and game officials hustled to the side of the winning team. A set of TV reporters followed.
Another set of reporters and officials made their way to the other side. The side of the defeated.
Anthony Ward held his head low during his slow walk down the tunnel towards the locker room. The echo of the victors in his rear view, the eerie silence of defeat up ahead. Several reporters crowded the senior standout. The projected No. 1 overall pick in the upcoming draft had a game for the ages to be talked about for decades. Not the fact he dropped forty-five in a final along with twelve rebounds and four assists and three blocks, but the final shot that sealed his fate. The shot he hit ninety-six percent of the time during the regular season and ninety-two percent of the time during the madness of the tournament.
Ward lined up for the first free throw like he’d done thousands, more likely millions of times in his lifetime. He spread his fingers like his coach showed him in high school. He flicked his wrist on his way up, using the power of his legs to guarantee the swish of the net.
But the second attempt? Clank.
The sophomore forward on the opposing side snagged the rebound. Shock displayed across his eyes. He must’ve felt like the game would be headed to overtime. His eyes widened. His jaw dropped as he came down with the ball in his hands. A lasting image burned into the memory of Anthony Ward. An entire nation along with him.
“Anthony, a moment.”
“Anthony, can we get a comment?”
The reporters swarmed him like vultures on an armadillo carcass in the Arkansas summer.
Anthony ignored the requests. He kept his head down. The security guards in the cheap suits gathered around him to shield him against the angst of having to explain how he missed the final shot of his college career.
The locker room was dead silent. The champagne and tournament champion t-shirt bins had been wheeled out as the final buzzer rang out. The drinks were sent over to the side of the winners while the shirts geared up to be exported to a third world country.
Coach Gordon hovered over Anthony. He tried his best to hold in his tears, the feeling of rejection grew stronger as his coach leaned down on him.
“You’re one of the greatest players I ever coached,” Gordon whispered to him. “Let that be the thing you leave here with. I love you, son.”
The levee broke and Anthony broke down. Gordon pulled the six-foot-eight behemoth up with ease and held onto his waist. How a person so small could comfort someone of Anthony’s size was not lost on him. His tears falling on top of Gordon’s head. No shoulder available to blow his snot into.
The bus ride back to the hotel stayed as quiet as the locker room. Anthony sat in the back of the bus alone. No one next to him and no one in the aisle across him. The jovial nature of his teammates that hummed and hollered in the lead up to the game was a distant memory. His coach may have consoled him, but his teammates did not. The wave of disappointment was thick in the air as the bus pulled away and headed down the road.
Anthony knew better to do it, but he wanted to punish himself more. He picked up his phone out of his bag and pulled up the social media apps.
#Choked.
#ChokeArtist.
#Unbelievable.
The top three trends across the internet spoke of failure and not in a nice way. The internet had been like that since its inception. Highlighting your biggest failure from behind a keyboard. No one writing those posts probably knew how to dribble, let alone drop forty-five on one of the top teams in the country.
The team shuffled off the bus and headed into the hotel.
Anthony opted for the stairs to be alone. He wanted to avoid the sensation of fiery eyeballs on the back of his head had he crammed into the elevator with the rest of the boys.
Anthony swiped the key fob to his room. How he beat his roommate he’d never know but it gave him more time to be alone.
He dropped his game bag to the floor at the foot of his bed where another bag laid. He reached into the second bag and pulled out another phone.
He turned it on and checked the internet connection. He made sure to connect to the VPN he downloaded months ago to ensure his privacy.
His screen came to life. A blank blue sheen like waves glowed back at him. He swiped a few times to get to the apps on the back four of his screens and clicked on the calculator app.
The screen lit up to a Swiss banking account. The required credentials to access the account were far longer to type in than a bank in the states.
Anthony typed with as much fury as the fans that stormed the court after the game. He looked over his shoulder. He made sure he didn’t hear his roommate at the door as he hit the login button.
The evil buffering icon popped up. Anthony didn’t know if the sweat of the ascension of the walk up the stairs took over or the paranoia. Either way sweat dripped on the phone. As he wiped it away with his thumb, the screen landed on the top page.
The account showed him a balance of two thousand dollars. Anthony’s heart dropped. He hit refresh for what felt like a thousand times. Finally, the account changed. One-hundred and fifty million dollars had hit the account.
Anthony sighed in relief.
THE END
Please sound off in the comments to let Vincent know what you thought of his story. And as always, keep it respectful. I’d also like to hear what you think of this new addition to the newsletter and what kinds of genres you’d like to read next.
