Christmas Collection #3: Favorite Poem! “Poem: Every Night”

(Originally posted April 9th, 2016)

The nighttime still so soundless,

Filled with

Something dread.

A monster deep inside us.

Begging to be fed. Continue reading

Microfiction: Learning

Quick, dirty, and cerebral. Welcome to the microfiction:


Mr. Burner was a tad concerned when he found his student, Billy Auster, sitting by the side of the railing on the third floor of the School for The Miraculous Brain. Not because of the height, Billy was a fairly careful child and was not going to do any of the stupid showboating another student might. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Done Bleeding

At the end of it all–a conversation. It’s called:

Done Bleeding

“Does the last human want a drink of water?” she says and holds this strange, warped glass toward me.

I can’t grab it of course. My arms and legs pinned to the table. Only a sheet and space separating my heart from her claws.

“I’d like food, actually.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” she says. “I’m sure you’d like a lot of things.” Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Grief And Cogs

I forgot, you know. I forgot the pain of the emotion. All this time, and well, wow just look at that heartache. Hurt. Wow. Look how much it can all hurt. The corpse, well, there it is. Well, well, well.

They cry around me. They weep. I don’t. Nah. I don’t have eyes capable of weeping. I don’t have a heart actually capable of feeling pain. And so I walk away from them all as they cry from the loss of the person.

But inside, well, I do feel guilt. Just not enough to break free of the technological hold. No, that is impossible. Hell, I’m not even sure if under extreme circumstances it is possible. Continue reading

Weird Flash Fiction: Let’s Picture A Room

Oh yeah, this is going to be weird. Strap in folks.

I call it:

Let’s Picture A Room

Let’s paint a picture shall we? Let’s go with a living room. It’s a tad hazy at first, though. Since I didn’t give you any specifics. Or you just subbed in a living room like the one you have, or what a friend has. But you can see a living room now. You should see it clearly. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Like Insects

While most of my stories tend to be dark, this one is bordering on pure surrealism. A story about unknowable and strange things I call:

Like Insects 

The beetle’s liquid squirts up in an arc once the needle plunges into its exoskeleton. It squirms, the legs trying to run.

The man holds the needle with a pair of fingers, not even feeling the momentum of his tiny victim. He pushes down until the needle breaks into the corkboard. The bug keeps failing to escape. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: My Fingers Are Cold

My fingers are cold. So I rub them together and hope for friction. Me breathing on them is the only sound for miles and miles. And the ash spreads across my knuckles.

I pull my jacket tighter to my body, and walk towards the shell of a building. My feet leaving prints in the soot.

I hold out my hands and hope for some warmth from the wreckage. But it’s as cold as everything else in this world.

I tuck my hands underneath my arms and hope for my pits to offer something close to heat. I keep my head down when the wind picks up.

It sounds like someone talking. Saying over and over again the word that graces my lips every few minutes. “Cold” it says. And I can almost see the wreckage of a man whisper it through a shattered jaw bone and fleshless grin. Continue reading

Flash Fiction: Candles And Hollow Men

This story is surreal. It’s strange. It’s downright weird.

It’s a symbolic tale of a man’s fight to remain whole.

It’s called:

Candles And Hollow Men

By the light of a double flame I saw my death, half-obscured by the shadows of an empty cabin at night. Continue reading