Short Stories

Acorns – Part 4

Acorns – Part 4

“Look!” Daphne pointed, and he could see what she meant: the road they had not traveled, in front of the truck, remained smooth and clear, while all the pavement between the truck and the main road—the way they had come—was erupting in small fissures, life surging through in a network of green. “Is…is it us?” Hector asked. He thought back to the hospital shrubs, the thistle he’d tripped on in...

Acorns – Part 4

Acorns – Part 3

“Caalm,” she said. “You will seee.” She squeezed his hand again and, like thick liquid slipping through a bottle neck, Hector felt himself, or what he thought of as self, slip from his head, hang up momentarily in his throat, then slide down his arm and into his hand. The soft, beeping darkness of the room, the eyes of the old woman, the footsteps in the corridor disappeared, and he became,...

Acorns – Part 4

Acorns – Part 2

The old woman tipped her head as if hearing a distant, curious noise and swiveled her face in his general direction. Her mouth opened in a toothless vague smile, and she patted her hand in toward him in the air, as if searching for something. Her sweatshirt, a sea foam green with sparkly appliques of panda bears, was smudged with rusty stains around the middle that might, Hector feared, be...

Flash Fiction: Bury the Trash

Flash Fiction: Bury the Trash

A friend of mine convinced me to join in the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge last week. For those who’ve never heard of this, participants are given a random prompt, with 48 hours to turn in a story of under 1000 words. This is my entry.

Acorns – Part 4

Acorns – Part 1

A young man, cast adrift after a tour of duty in Afghanistan, finds himself in in possession of a strange power and the responsibility that comes with it.

Parlor Tricks

Parlor Tricks

Miss Altangerel’s costume gives me pause. She wears the body of a hawk as a headdress, its wings sweeping back along the side of her ears, her own eyes and nose hidden behind the predator’s sharpened gaze and yellow beak. A curtain of rawhide strands hangs from the bird’s chest, strung with small bells and obscuring the lower half of her face. The bells tinkle slightly with her breath. Parlor...

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