Category: Fiction

“Where could he be?” Cecily shivered on the steps of a large, derelict mansion. Shifting, she adjusted her heavy knapsack to be more comfortable; it was filled with the various things needed for the day’s work. A compass, shiny, almost brand new; a hammer, which comes in handy more often than you would think; various

Remember our glory days when the world was fresh with possibility? It was a springtime of the spirit. In fact, it was spring. You and I were just two drops of rain, and we felt like we could fall forever. The world was our sky and the sky was our world. Everything was new and

       Georgia stood in the parking lot of the Johnson Street shelter, her black beret snugged down over her ears, her gloved hands holding a basket of homemade muffins nestled in a gingham napkin, and looked around at the two dozen or so homeless people on the sidewalk.  Temporarily displaced from the shelter while lunch

The people of Heoldel were precociously superstitious. They knew to cover their mirrors after sunset so as not to be pulled in and replaced by their mimicking reflections. To not gaze upon the moon when with child, lest it be born wolfish or malformed. And to hide and hang iron above the doorways of their

Trigger warning: racist characters The Speeding Ticket As Derek stood in the road, waiting for the officer to finish writing the ticket, he reflected somberly on his day. If only he had taken the interstate instead of cutting through the countryside on the backroads! Then he wouldn’t have been pulled over by the traffic cops,

It was a Tuesday, although it felt like a Sunday. The birth was a series of complex actions that led to many reactions. No wailing newborn or cheering parents.   Their existence winked into being and was so bright no one anywhere could respond. Just like that, they were here and new and alone.     This

I watched in awe as the rain fell in gallons. Raindrops as hefty as apples tumbled from the heavens in munificent volumes, muddying the desert sand. Whenever a giant drop smashed against the window, the pane would rattle like ice cubes in a jar. On the floor behind me, a dog howled at the storm.

I have a terrible, nasty habit of needing control. Some might call it an obsession or even a disorder. My therapist Dr. Suzuki has gone as far as calling it an addiction. We sit in zen-like office filled of plants. He is trained in Internal Family Systems therapy and is always trying to get me

“HWOOYA” This was the sound that echoes for at least an hour after waking up in this bizarre forest I had never seen in my life.  It feels chill and crisp like nature is one to do, but also with maple trees in a vibrant painterly orange that nature never has in a sky that

Howard knew exactly how it would go down. It was always the same. Evelyn would come waltzing in through his front door with a flourish of her hand like a movie star arriving at the Academy Awards. He would wince as she approached, wondering which Evelyn she would be this time. He thought back to

CONTENT WARNING: This fictional story contains scenes of physical and sexual violence. I was only twenty-two on that terrible day. Nobody cared why I did it. Instead, they were curious about who did it. And it’s hard for me to understand why I didn’t get a chance to explain. It all started with the arranged

She was a quiet child, always lost in the silent fields of fantasy while she gathered acorns with a perpetual furrow of thoughtfulness between her brown eyes. In a low lilting tune that was sad and happy all at once, her mother would sing to her of a peasant girl who becomes a princess, and