I’ve placed this into two categories because I’m not quite sure where it belongs. I may use it in a future story… hmm. Anyway.
She pauses here and there without reason, drawing in a breath before grinning into his mouth, and the delight he feels then is a physical thing. Too soft and too tender for him to touch. Not yet.
His hands are still rough, his self esteem, cutting. He isn’t ready. This is good as it is.
It also isn’t enough.
I put one of my short stories up on Amazon. It’s on KDP Select, and I plan on making it free for the next five days–or however long they allow me to price it at nothing. If you guys wanna grab it, then you can. Just hit up my author profile HERE or go to the direct amazon link HERE. Once the period runs dry, it’ll be available for .99 cents because that’s the lowest price Amazon let me put. (I have no idea why they don’t allow me to list anything for free).
But if you want to read it, then there’s absolutely no need to buy it. It’s only 3,500 words, and I don’t want you guys spending money on something that short. Just send me an email using the Contact button above, and I’ll be more than happy to send you a PDF copy. Otherwise, it used to be up on this site as: “Acquiesce” so you may have read it already if you follow my short stories here.
P.S. That’s my brother’s photo up there (along with his ridiculously awesome handwriting), so don’t steal it, haha.
The day I died, I felt faint echoes of warmth and light.
So, I smiled because I knew where I was headed.
And when the heat sweltered and the screaming began, my smile grew.
“It was for the best,” he told himself for what must’ve been the hundredth time that week. Perhaps even that day.
He almost believed it, too.
And like every other 3AM, he comforted himself in the fact that he had been strong enough to cut out a toxic part of his life. It had kept him happy for a time, but he—his mind that is—could no longer afford its company. He praised himself for the feat and muttered false reassurances that softened the sting of guilt when he’d close his eyes and see her face in the darkness. When he’d search for her voice in a crowd of faceless men. When he’d wake up, and in that brief state between reality and dreams, he’d call out her name in an unfamiliar voice, but still one that undoubtedly belong to him.
Continue reading “Distractions”
They were watching him again.
Lucius could feel their eyes slink across his skin. Over his worn leathers and too pale face, as if he were the strange one. Perhaps he was. He promptly ignored their stares, long used to them by now. The torpid passage of days had guaranteed that. Still, it was unnerving. And his body reminded him of that fact when he couldn’t quite find it in himself to lean comfortably against his seat.
They did the same thing when he’d first arrived in their small backwater village—at the end of his wits and completely out of coin—“our Haven” they’d called it, with the sort of smile he only saw on children and the embalmed. As they welcomed him with open arms. Kind-hearted folk, despite their lingering glances. Continue reading “Witch Hunt [Short Story]”
Evri is tired.
She’s tired of life and its struggles, of the petty complaints of her next door neighbor, and of the happy chirping of birds outside her window—what were they so happy about in this concrete jungle?—the rushing cars and cursing people were terrible. That isn’t to say she’d be happier in the countryside because she’d tried that, and she’d been just as miserable. She could recall days when she was an active part of the hustle and bustle of the city, when she smiled and cursed and scorned as much as the next man. It was easy to be swept away in the nuances of every day. But suddenly, the rug gets pulled from under you, and everything is no longer so distinct. Colors blur and emotions fluctuate, until the traces of happiness fade like paper in the rain.
Continue reading “Move Along [Short Story]”