Short Fiction
-
Child of the Cabbage (Ep. 3)
The salt and pepper scruff on his face was uneven, choppy like a soured sea, as if he had used a dull butcher knife to shave. Continue reading
-
Child of the Cabbage (Ep. 2)
Gracelyn Polk sat at her desk in the middle of her world history classroom at Cabbage Junction Primary School. She was fidgety and nervous and chewing on her nails like she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help it. She hated giving speeches. Hated it so much. She softly sighed. “I’d rather eat tree bark… Continue reading
-
The Amoopikans (Last part)
Sally and Mary Jane were huddled around a candle in the kitchen, whispering. “I think you should call a doctor,” Sally said. “There’s obviously something very wrong with him.” “Look, he’s got this mental thing, it’s not a big deal,” Mary Jane said, trying to deflate the issue of Jack’s state of mind. “Not a… Continue reading
-
Fiona Blood Orange (End)
“Well, I’m sorry. There’s good naked and bad naked. Sex naked is good. Breakfast naked is bad. That’s just how it is.” Continue reading
-
The Amoopikans (First part)
Mary Jane’s fine porcelain skin had a pinkish hue as she twaddled about her sun-drenched apartment watering her plants and trying to remember where she put her television set. Then she saw the busted window. Then she saw the broken shards of glass on her cranberry and gold colored carpet and remembered. She remembered how… Continue reading
-
Bucky the Horse and the Gods of Radiation (6)
It was when Linnifrid turned to gather her things that the shrunken and deformed people came out of the darkness and formed a ring around her in the firelight. They pressed the tips of their walking sticks firmly into the ground and gazed at her with psychotic purpose. Continue reading
-
My Vimana
I closed the hatch and ignited the mercury, and we went up, up, up and out through the retractable skylight of night like Mr. Wonka and his magical elevator. Continue reading
-
The Escape Artist
Memories are deposited, the pains and joys withdrawn – it’s like black-and-white Poland to me, wandering in rags, sleeping in parks, losing muscle just to hustle. Continue reading
-
The Machine Man in the Wheat
Fred strolled off to the produce department, but there wasn’t much there. The stores are never stocked that well anymore. I followed him over and together we looked at a handful of oranges as if we were visiting a zoo for fruit. Continue reading
-
In a Blue Park in London and the Night of a Different Sandwich
And so there I was, sitting on a bench in a park and eating fish n chips, oblivious to the ways of the universe. Then the joy of the glowing and ponderous day was suddenly shattered with screaming. Continue reading
cereal after sex 