A collection of my previously published and straight-to-web fiction.
This story of mine was first published over fourteen years ago in the anthology, Carnage – After the End from Siren’s Call press. It is the story of a man separated from his family who must complete an ill-advised drive from the West Coast to the East Coast on the eve of a truly apocalyptic event sparked by a theocratic regime in Washington D.C. reacting to a surprise attack by Iran on Israel…
These commands tell a story, her father had told her as he traced the filament’s path along the printer’s hidden inner workings and to the jet. She’d been mesmerized by how the owl materialized with each looping pass. From this thread, we borrow just enough of creation’s endless weave to tell our tale. This is the way of the Sutradhars. It will be yours, too.
A bit of flash fiction about living life on the edge. Speculative? Maybe not for long. Maybe it’s what awaits us all…
They could not have predicted our return from the Beyond. A deep past they’d gathered only dim reflections of. Our purpose? To herald their greatness…
An encounter in a remote campground leads to the unraveling of one man’s reality…
The station opened her eyes.
Machines whirred, the only sign of life in a still world. A beep filled the air like a delicate bell. It would sound again inside her for another summer, untended by her crew…
Jackie asked to dye her hair orange during the summer of seventh grade. Her father stared, mouth half-open, eyes seeing through her for what seemed like a long time. But he finally agreed with a silent nod…
An unwitting test subject sheds their skin to become their true self. Meet Aurora, superhuman, Augment, but no hero…
Fear soaked Reggie’s shirt. Well, humidity was mostly to blame, but the fear was there. He’d traveled the world on the government’s dime. Of the places he’d been, the humid ones were his least favorite. Remote ones, his second least. This place was both. But the fear was a regular hazard of the job…
Another one from my short story collection, Empty Quiver. The gritty superhero world of Crimson Son is dark here as I continue to critique our notions of heroism and examine the human shortcomings of those we bestow that name upon.
I often worry my work is misunderstood. That instead of asking people to critique the darker sides of society, they believe I’m celebrating it. Nuance seems to be a thing lost to humanity lately. As always, I’ll let you decide.
