Rrrrrriiiiiiiinnnngggg. Rrrrrriiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggg. ‘Hello.’ ‘Roland, hi, it’s me.’ Breathing. Breathing. ‘What’s wrong? You sound out of breath.’ ‘What’s wrong? I’ll tell…
You Smell of Smoke
It’s snowing out. A few weeks before Christmas Day. You’re shopping for presents. A scarf, red like something burning to…
Miss Apple Votes to Burn
I was wrapped in linens, the ones my father had traded jars of moss for in a desert town years…
Where Mama and the Hallowe’en Leaves Don’t Be
After sunset, and a dead boy sat in a wicker chair on the porch of his mama’s home. Seeing the…
Halloween is Upon Us, so Get to Reading…
Hello, whoever is out there, My Halloween tale “The Last Ghoulies of the Season” has been chosen as a finalist…
Just a Little Light Reading For the Flight
Tart Apples
A moon swayed lightly in the sky. The slug slimed its way up and over the steps until it reached a…
Rotting Fruit
‘Crawl in,’ coaxed the cat, who smelled of rotting fruit and mildew. His sharp mouth sat agape. The sparrow, who…
When in August the First We Be
The cycle came back around, started over, and as with magical things, August returned with the wind. A warm wind,…
We Can Grow Squash Here, Jon
In a part of the world where you’ve never been, a meadow glows. With tulips and carnations and lilies and…
seanpatrickwhiteley 