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The Fabulistas

The old liars weren’t fazed by his story. They’d heard it all in their time. They examined the details and tried to smithy out something passable in it while the iron was hot. They knew Peet, knew him well. He’d peter out and lose interest before long, a lack of concentration, they reasoned. Lying, they told all who inquired, required stamina, experience and an intimate relationship with the lubricant Jose Cuervo. ... Read more

An Event

New Fiction - Short Story

Pink leaves tickled her arms and the forest floor of teal-covered grass was soft beneath her feet. The sea sounded distant though she knew it was just on the other side of the tree line. She smiled; The planet’s pungent smell—life, death, decay—was different from home but not in an unpleasant way. She stopped and raised her face to the warm sunshine that filtered through the canopy of trees. It transported her and she found she was young again, carefree and without the weight of adulthood and its many expectations. ... Read more

Addiction

Fiction - Addiction

My addiction robs me, siphons off memories, hoards time greedily. But who is the greater enemy: time or the addiction? After 1,000 years I know the answer. In Moldova I force a surge of power across the network. Forever-lights wink out in the republic, a few stray above-ground telephone lines crackle, relay boxes near the border of Ukraine explode. The energy surge travels across my distributed network, filters through the ancient bot-maintained surge protectors. The surge bleeds across lines and even skips over concrete on occasion. ... Read more

Filipino Honey

Short Story - writer's group

We march heads down, no longer engaged with the world, mindless drones. The rain that falls in sheets does nothing to fight back the heat; It piles on more oppression, like the horrors of the past few months that have become burned-in memories. We slog through mud and dense forest floors with rifles limp at our sides, our minds as gray as the drowning landscape. At intervals the rains stop and the sun blasts through the clouds and moisture rises from the ground and suffocates. ... Read more

Change Of Gard

Confetti

Now I stared out at the confetti littered streets, the wrappers and discarded signs, the aftermath. The shine was all gone. Where to, I couldn’t say. Perhaps shipped off and returned to the battlecruisers and battalions, off to the moon and the weapons depot there. Even the pride was missing. All that remained was the debris, the decay—and two old men to wrestle with their melancholy. ... Read more

The Lepidopteran Nuisance

Short Story

The frustrated butterfly flapped its wings and flew upward several feet, then spiraled and circled back around, landing softly where it had previously rested. The landscaping bot continued to sweep up pieces of the grass it had cut, meticulously removing them from the walkway. It came across an acorn and scanned it to be certain what it was. Something resembling a nutcracker came out from the bot’s side and split the acorn in half. It passed the split acorn to an appendage that extended to the top of a small rise in the ground and gently placed the acorn in the grass. ... Read more

Discarded Demons - Audible

Discarded Demons—Audible version—is featured on A Creative Mind Podcast. Go have a listen. It's only about eight minutes long but it's a good, fun story. ... Read more

Beginnings

Softly, with an eye on the quad, Bird said, "We don’t have to live the lives they tell us to. We don’t have to be slaves, cogs in their machine. The barrio is like the wild west. We can write our own rules. We don’t have to live by theirs. You can cover a lot of ground, Kraut, just taking small steps. ... Read more

Promises To Keep

She lined up the shot with the sight, felt the weight of the cold barrel in her hand and the press of the stock against her shoulder, and squeezed a bit on the trigger. The memory stutters and halts at times like these. Sure, there are the jeans, his dumb-ass sneakers and most of the torn sweatshirt he was wearing, but beyond that it’s all guesswork and subliminal pattern recognition. But the mind weaves it all together, eventually, assembles the jigsaw puzzle that is the horror-show heading her direction, and parades the last few weeks of highlights in front of her. ... Read more

The Mites Of Time

She checked the mirror before heading to breakfast. She could see it, the time lost. A wrinkle just beneath her eyes, subtle, not deep. Still, it wasn’t there before. Kreiger had stolen more of her time. The mites hadn’t completely settled, the floaters a bit too numerous. There was a cost to her impatience and that cost reflected back at her from the mirror. ... Read more
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