“It would be nice to take it all back, don’t you think?” she mused at the stone figure of a woman in a slip-on dress. “I mean—I didn’t quite mean for it to go so far.”
She swiveled her head toward a man with his face in a perpetual scream.
“And, you, I really did not mean for you to die. I was trying to be careful.” Continue reading
I can’t handle the smell.
“Would you please put that thing out?” I asked.
“Wish I could,” he responded, taking another puff of his cigarette. The noxious white fumes floated around in the room and had nowhere to go. I coughed, and my lungs burned.
“You can,” I said. I held out an overused ashtray. “You just stop.”
“That’s not how addiction works,” he said, and softly shook his head. “I figured with how much coffee you suck down you’d get that.” Continue reading
Officer Harriet walked into her house, covered in sweat and something not dust—but easier to call it that. More of such “dust” covered her chairs, her couch, and especially the little worn out bed she had off in her room. Continue reading
(It’s better to give than to receive, right? Well, since it’s Christmas and all–have one more re-post on me. My favorite Christmas story I’ve ever written. Originally posted December 10th, 2016.)
It’s getting cold even here in Florida, so I thought I’d write something a little joyful and a little warm.
I call it:
Being Happy In The Morning
Too early to do this, Charles concluded. Too early in the morning. But Charles would not have it any other way. Continue reading
(Originally April 8th, 2015.)
Writers create people.
People they control.
But sometimes, those people rebel.
A story about stories called:
Jimmy Twostep was a good man; he paid his bills when he could, and loved his wife and child dearly. He lived a rather normal life, a mundane life. But today was special, today was good: the sun was shining, the breeze was a gentle pleasure, and the air smelled of flowers in bloom. It was by all regards quite the perfect day for Jimmy. It was a shame then, that on this beautiful Friday, he was destined to die.
“Wait, what!?” Continue reading
(Originally Posted February 27th, 2016.)
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
In the dark of his room, he sits and sees the light that comes out from underneath a door. Not a light is on in his room, not even the usually on computer screen. His head hurts, throbs even, and the darkness is the only thing that makes the pain even slow, even lessen a little. But, he also lives alone, and that light does not make sense. Continue reading
“You do know I do need to sleep, right?” he asked, peering up at her. With her hair forming a halo around her face, Gertrude looked like some mixture of angel and a trickster god—her countenance round and full of mischief.
“Oh, I don’t know—sleep might not matter all that much, actually. Did you ever try not sleeping?” Continue reading
Fern was convinced that a clown was standing at the foot of his bed when he fell asleep each night. “This was not rational” his parents would tell him. His doctors, doctors for both his brain and his body, all said the cause was something deeply wrong with him. Continue reading
In the attic sat a mysterious typewriter. In the attic stood a boy and a girl. All young—except the typewriter. The typewriter was old, as typewriters tend to be.
“So, that’s the one your grandmother talked about?” the boy said, and walked toward it, ducking underneath some webs.
“Yeah—but don’t touch it!” She reached out to stop him but her fingers missed by inches. Continue reading
(And, here it is, the conclusion to the three part story. If you haven’t read them, here’s part 1 and part 2.)
“So… if you’re done faking…?” was all I managed to say, as a cough hit my lungs.
“Yep,” she answered. “Two came in, we picked you. Once you breathed us…ha. Done for good.” Continue reading
If you haven’t read it, here’s a link to part 1.
For everyone else, let’s continue, shall we?
That caught me off guard, and she nodded like I’d answered, told her whatever it was she wanted forgiveness for was okay. But, after a second, I just repeated my question: “So, what was it then?”
She answered without a pause. “It’s a biomechanical species of swarm insect. Though it acts as a single unit. Has a short lifespan, so every time its population grows low it latches onto one host and invades, repurposing organic material to make more and more of themselves until it can burst out without an issue.” Continue reading
I haven’t felt squeamish in years. So, you must understand my confusion when I came upon the newest scene of death and dismemberment and something lurched in my stomach. A few thoughts went through my head as I clutched with one hand on my gut. I assumed the sponge steak I had made had been bad or something of that ilk. That I had failed to drink enough sim-water.
Only after another second I realized the truth: I was grossed out, disgusted. My partner did not look at me as she passed by my frozen figure into the living room, and so I did not have to explain my situation as she kneeled next to what used to be a person. Continue reading
More than one child finds a world in the hedge. First Benjamin did, and now, another kid gets their turn to decide.
I call this sequel of sorts:
Beyond The Path
“I really would not do that,” he said, and the girl spun on her expensive shoes. She gave the boy with the odd clothes and the curving nose a hard glare.
“Why, are there monsters?” the girl asked. She held up her pocket knife, and grinned. “Because I’m ready for those.” Continue reading
Time to continue our journey to a new place with the second part (click here for the first part) of a flash fiction called:
A New Place
Benjamin opened his mouth and only uttered out the simple question of: “Who are you?”
The boy crossed his arms and swayed from side to side. He was wearing a strange outfit upon further inspection: a purple and yellow pair of pants, and a deep crimson red shirt. All the clothe looked threadbare and worn out.
“I’m not sure, actually. I tried to figure it out one time: but I had a headache.” Continue reading