A flash fiction written in a couple of minutes, inspired by the discomfort of dermatophagia.
I started hearing their music pretty soon after the accident, and every night it became sweeter and more damning.
Have you ever gone onto Twitter, Reddit, or some other broad writer space on the internet and seen all the joking about procrastinating instead of writing?
This little fable was originally composed on Twitter. For the sake of authenticity, I’ve left it as is, including word choices and composition required to meet the Twitter character limit. Enjoy!
Tonight, I went to a concert. The kind of music doesn’t really matter for the purpose of this story, but it’s the kind of music that speaks to my soul. I don’t believe such a thing exists, but that choice of words still works for me. Let me tell you why.
So this past week, I spend some time in Alabama. It’s the first time I’ve visited since the blog started almost a year ago, and I’ve gotta say, things have changed. I wish in the good way, but we don’t always get what we want.
Who would believe my stories about the south?
I bet many of you wouldn’t. I could write an entire memoir of horror stories, and most people would find it more believable if I filled them with imaginary demons.