She couldn’t remember a time before the swamp.
I remember almost nothing about him. I just remember he was there, that I cared for him, and his name.
The terrible sound rushed upon us, gnawing at our backs as we ran over the plump spring grass.
What was the first evil thing you loved?
Everyone has a first memory. Over the years, memories fade and shift, altered as we lose the truth behind them and start to shape them based on our retellings. Earliest memories may fade into still images, as many of mine have, but we all still have them. They linger on. Some are cherished, but not all.
Going home it always bitter sweet. As I crossed into my home county, I felt the anxiety settling in. I was home, and that was only comforting until it suddenly wasn’t.
A flash fiction written in a couple of minutes, inspired by the discomfort of dermatophagia.
Last night, I enjoyed a short story by one of my favorite authors: “The Last Question”, by Isaac Asimov. I’ve long admired his work, but when someone told me that he’d written a brilliant short story that deals with the same topic as a story I’m currently working on, I had to check it out.
I started hearing their music pretty soon after the accident, and every night it became sweeter and more damning.
If you’ve been hanging out with me, you know that I just can’t seem to get Alabama out of my system. Remember when I threatened to turn my childhood into a horror story about demon? Well, it’s arrived. At least partially. As a working title, I call it ‘Appalachia’. Put simply, it details an outbreak […]