Microfiction: Mic Dropping

Amidst the violence, when the shady deals were just being struck, and the drugs hitting streams of blood at the rate of a brain burst, he plugged in his instrument and warmed up his other physical one. The microphone crackled against his breath, and he sang a few languid notes. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Angel’s Field

Dreamlike, you know. Harold walked among those stalks of grass and moved them as they whipped at his skin. Dry and somehow sticky—and somehow coating his mind too in that dryness. He was mentally warm, uncomfortable. But he kept going.

Up in front of him, something white and fluttering was there. Something that was the size of a person, but glowing. Pale skin. Bare and nude except for a small patch of fabric across the midriff. Wrapped loosely with jewels.

He should have been embarrassed, or at least aroused—but he was simply drawn forward. Continue reading