Suicide is Slow Motion

I'm writing to you, depressed reader, from the land of the dead. I've finally figured out how to put pen to paper in this spirit realm, but that story is for another time. I've got a much more pressing issue that I must talk to you about. For any of you who are contemplating suicide,…Read more Suicide is Slow Motion


Southern Hospitality

“A guy, he just came in and got the key. You’n wait for him in here, if ya like. Them woods is fu-,” said the exhausted-looking woman, in her blue and red, button-down gas station uniform as Brandon fast-walked through the black-framed glass door. Outside, the night sky glowed orange from the hulking oil refinery nearby.…Read more Southern Hospitality

Dark Dreams and a Dreaded Hunt

Tim stared, mouth agape, at the blurred clock glowing green. Fear pricked all over him. The street was hollow and silent. Nothing disturbed its stillness, save for Tim’s timid footfalls. He searched the street’s length for any movement but found none as far as he could see. Everything in him told him to leave, to…Read more Dark Dreams and a Dreaded Hunt

Double Trouble and a Wandering Eye

The smoking door receded over Tim’s shoulder as he left Pierre's and tried to gather himself. He couldn’t tell if his stomach ached from the red-dressed dream woman’s Heimlich or from the hunger that drove him to find her. He wondered where to start searching and felt unsure of reality, scared that he might actually have…Read more Double Trouble and a Wandering Eye

Nights That Rumble

A naive image prances out from the shadows of Mark’s mind glazing over the familiar chaos next door: *** The wife and husband dress up for their night. He puts on a luchador mask, tapes his wrists, strains into neon-green, spandex pants, and laces up his matching calf-high boots. She massages baby oil onto his broad, tan chest.…Read more Nights That Rumble