FICTION
Philosophy of the Flesh
"People say you always find what you're looking for when you stop looking," she whispered, her voice floating through the darkness like ethereal music.
Wolves at the Door
The Days of Radio Silence
They came for me at daybreak in a blur of stomping boot heels, shattered glass and orders barked through Chem-Bio masks. I leapt from my bed and cowered in the corner, shielding my head with my arms to ward off the hail of truncheon blows. I wailed like a child and my bowels turned to liquid.
The age of the hero was over.
Man vs. Himself
I’ve written from the time I could hold a pencil (possibly a crayon… I can’t really remember that far back). It’s not that I was a precocious child or anything. Writing was, to me, as natural as talking.
The Big Table
I watched them from the shadows of the dining room, the heavy oak pressing into my chest and my feet barely touching the hardwood floor, and I felt incredibly small.
I knew it would never be okay.
The Girl at the Well
Maria sat at the edge of the abandoned well, just close enough to feel the pulse of adrenaline in her veins, the flush of fear in her cheeks.