I’d never learned to count past ten, so I’m not quite sure what age I am. We keep marks on the door and the walls, with chalk and dirt and mud. And fecal matter. So, if we ever learned how long a year is, we could figure it out, and then we’d know our ages.
Until then though, I am somewhere past ten. And for the last five of that ten, I’ve been in this room. They bring me birthday gifts, and I counted them. Each one was a slightly larger sack. I wear them until they are too small. Continue reading
Outside the room, the world starless, empty and cold. Inside the room, the man paced, back and forth—with little idea of what was happening outside. These two facts, as I have presented them, are all you need to understand. Continue reading
One could not overstate the significance of the foam sword. Perhaps, in the entire history of the room, and the house’s various occupants through the years, the foam sword was the most important thing to ever grace those four walls. For one, it tied the room together nicely; for another, it made several religions with its very presence. 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
I don’t know of many creatives without some odd habits. And, with me, the most prominent and noticeable ones are my night owl tendencies and my relationship with jackets. I’ve talked about the night and my place in it before, but I’ve barely, if at all, discussed my jacket fixation, and I think it’s about time I fix that oversight. Because I goddamn love jackets. If I could comfortably sleep in a jacket I would—and don’t think I haven’t tried. Continue reading
Westin did not recognize where he was. The walls of silver, and the floor of deep magenta, and the uniform screens of solid yellow dotting the walls, all did not match any familiar location.
And, adding to the issue, sitting up proved to be quarrelsome. His feet would not function, and it was only with some serious effort across his stomach, and a flailing, pushing motion of his hands, that he did rise and sit. 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
Jess examined the bowl of white something or other and looked up at her friend.
“So, what do you think of it?” Heather asked.
“I mean…” Jess said and then bit her lower lip. “It is by far the most unique piece of food I have ever had.” 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
Don’t take your fingers for granted. I present a strange tale called:
This whole thing began, as many hauntings do, when I came across a dead body. I should clarify that, though, by saying that while this was by no means a normal occurrence, I was still not as concerned as some might have been in my situation. I’d seen some magical corpses in my time. 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
In this flash fiction, beyond the hedge: there is a world. A world containing a choice, a boy, and something…off.
I call it:
A New Place
Benjamin Nosh, age thirteen, stared at the gap in the wall of hedges. He was sure he’d never seen it there before, not in all the days he’d walked home from school.
He leaned forward, peering inside, but only found a second, further away wall of hedges stretching in either direction. Benjamin, back when he lived in Illinois, had spent some time in a corn maze at a festival, and this looked much the same. Like a hallway made of foliage. Continue reading
Life is weird. You already knew that. But if you are a writer, you owe it to yourself to make it weirder. Go out of your way and end up in the strangest situations you can manage. Most people already say to “take a chance,” to “expand your horizons,” and any other of those cookie-cutter platitudes.
But no, that is not what I am telling you to do: not specifically. I am telling you that as a writer, you might be so blessed as to be a weird magnet, and if you’re not, you should act like you are. Because you are one of the few types of people who can take such raw material and do something better with it than occasionally entertaining dinner guests. Continue reading
Alright, here it goes.
Yep. I just said that.
My secret is out there. Continue reading