Short Fiction

Benjamin Schneider’s Little Greys

When Benjamin Schneider came to my clinic and complained of mysterious coils on his left wrist, I wasn’t overly surprised. The term “hypochondriac” may have become overused years ago, but Benjamin nevertheless lived and acted as its perfect archetype.

Short Fiction

A Poor Man’s Roses

At first, she sang to remember. It was a way to pass the long, dark time, a way to drown out the buzz in her head when the earth shook and the bunker rattled, a way to live outside the bars of her cage, to be a woman who smoked and drank, flirted and pined, flipped her pin curls and married a man for his car.

Short Fiction

Ghost Technology from the Sun

Master told us that the earth was hollow, and that we lived on the inside of it, clinging to the top of the crust. Below us was another world, a world inside the world, a glowing bright sun of a place. What Master called the summerlands.

Short Fiction

Fungal Gardens

The phone call from Johnny came late that night, after nine, when I’d already decided that the dinner was a bust and was sadly finishing the entire pan of chimichangas.

Short Fiction

Kenny 149

The mud looked up at him and grumbled, “Who the hell are you?”

The musty smell of the grass and ground clogged his nostrils as he strained for a single, clean breath and dug his fingers deep into the dirt. His eyelids quivered and strained to open while he felt himself mixing into the ground as blood and flesh sought refuge in the soil of the battlefield.