Elevator
“DING,” screams the elevator as it screeches to a halt. The number 3 lights up as the doors begin to open. For years, nobody but I has used this rickety old contraption that the company couldn’t afford...
View ArticleBroken Mirrors
Her fuckin chest Is mountainous Like somerset, So i invest the time And take a dive in With my dialect, Don’t just want the sex I keep it classy like a sweater vest, But I don’t have the swagger So i...
View Articleto change, or not to change.
I must say, I don’t quite know what I’m doing these days. In the past month or two, I went through a lot of changes. At some point between being twenty-four and becoming twenty-five, I decided to take...
View Articlecontinued
It’s quite alright, I suppose, to be a little bit insane. I mean, each person feels that way at some point. I would like to believe that my detachment from my mind is a bit more advanced than that of...
View ArticleA Conversation About Death (Pete is Dead) sample pages
“The circumstances are unfortunate, but it’s truly good to see a familiar face.” Alex Martin sits on the edge of his bar stool looking more oriented than I’ve ever seen him. And it really is his stool....
View ArticleA Conversation About Death (Pete is Dead) sample pages
“The circumstances are unfortunate, but it’s truly good to see a familiar face.” Alex Martin sits on the edge of his bar stool looking more oriented than I’ve ever seen him. And it really is his stool....
View Article10-12-14
It’s almost my birthday again. Twenty-six years on this earth, and still, my accomplishments remain minimal. At times, I feel as if I’d climbed to my highest peak at the age of seventeen. At the time,...
View ArticleUntitled (Rough draft)
“School is going to be fun sweetie, I promise.” Tara stands at the bus stop with her five-year-old daughter, Christy. Today is Christy’s first day at Midtown Elementary. “Just smile and be nice and...
View Articlespontaneous freewrite story thing
“Have you written any books lately?” My father has been asking this question since my first short story in third grade. A question that once evoked hope now rings like sirens on a Saturday night, a...
View Articlepostcard story
I’ve got to do it. A twelve-gauge shotgun rests in my mouth, my finger on the trigger, as I stand in a crowded room. Three uniformed police officers, two men and a woman, have their Glocks aimed at the...
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