Aaron couldn’t see through the hood placed over his head. Two men shoved him forward and led him into a room. Though he was cloaked in darkness, the scent that slipped up his nostrils was unmistakable; patchouli and pine. He was shoved down into a chair. When they removed the hood, it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lighting of the room, but there he was sitting across the desk from J. Robert “RJ” Seager, known to others as the High Leader. Continue reading “Short Fiction: Welcome Home”
Her head fell forward and she began wringing her heavy hands. Her skin was thin, like a piece paper, or a leaf. Those were the hands that pulled me forth into this world, and not just me, Grandmother had birthed many children. She has said before that it was perhaps her greatest sin, to bring a young child into this harsh world. Perhaps she was right, but none of us could fault her for it. She used to laugh when she told us stories of her youth. Stories about things like beaches, and grand balls. Her face would glow as she spoke of poets and musicians like they were prophets. Now there’s not much of a glow left in Grandmother’s face. She’s gray, and the lines in her face run deep as mudcracks. Riley, my brother whom Grandmother also birthed, didn’t come back from picking yesterday. That’s what we call it when some of us go looking for food or scraps we could use. It was dangerous, the Ravagers are dangerous, and Riley is dead. I think losing him has broken her. Continue reading “Short Fiction: The Children of Those Who Failed- “Maiden & Crone””
The cold air snaps against my skin like a rubber band. The night is grey and still. Faintly, in the distance, the cars on the highway sound like ocean waves gently breaking onto shore. Trees climb high and surround the apartment complex called Cedar Point Village. It is very modern: modular styled apartments, balconies jutting sharply on either side of the climbing buildings, and a quaint sense of rural living. This is a lot different from the concrete, steel, and glass landscapes of the city I’m used to. Continue reading “Short Fiction: IRL”
A storm was coming. The wind was fierce, screaming through the ravine. There was dust pelting my respirator mask, making it difficult to place the last moisture initiator in the ground. Marshall hurried to provide me some cover. He stretched out his arms, spreading his poncho as wide as he could. I drove the spike with all the force I was capable. A long time ago, a storm used to mean rain. We wouldn’t have to go through such lengths to generate water and grow crops. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were close to sucking this place dry. It’s probably only a matter of time before this whole planet blows away like a speck of dust. Continue reading “More (Really) Short Fiction: The Children of Those Who Failed – “The Farmers””
My chest rose and fell rapidly, like a frightened rabbit. I peered around the sharp edges of the boulder that hid me. There was no sign of them. My tongue tasted only blood, bitter and acrid, and my eyes burned with sweat and sand. I slid down, slowly, to rest my body in the dirt. It would be dark soon, and without shelter I would not make it. The Ravagers would find me.
Here’s a Short (SHORT) Story I wrote a month or so back. This is a piece I could see myself expanding in the future into a Novella or Novel. Enjoy. Continue reading “The Taste: A Short Story About Hunger”
Here’s a short memoir piece I wrote about my grandfather passing.
I received the phone call on a Saturday morning. 6:15 am, to be exact. The vibrating buzz of my cell phone snapped me upright from sleep. My head was throbbing, its contents felt fuzzy; a night full of revelry and whiskey & gingers will do that. Such an early call from mom means nothing but bad news. Her voice shivered and broke; I was right. My grandfather had passed away, a sudden heart attack. I searched through the fog and tried to put words together, but I was lost. Continue reading “Loss”