Tag Archives: writing

Over and done with, the Thanksgiving meal was oddly pleasant and had left him with that triptophan-induced lethargy that not even a fifth of Chivas could quite give. He helped with the dishes and cleanup, and then had retreated to … Continue reading →

There were no new faces; all the names and dreams he’d remembered from countless other hells were melted back into a single face. A single face that knew him, above all others, in ways he would not admit. Something in … Continue reading →

“I’m here to help you,” he said quietly, and brushed black curls back from pale cheeks and bright eyes. There was something infinitely sad about the face that watched, the face that compelled, the face that hoped. Few could meet … Continue reading →

The searing sound of a whisper, hissed and sibilant, and then a red line across the skin, like the lick of a whip. Bullets passing too close can kiss. This, he knew. The crack of a gunshot sound, echoing like … Continue reading →

I remember the sting of it, a pulling sweetness as it moved through. In and out. Over and under. White on silver to red and red and tiny little marks like an x across the lines of him. Together and … Continue reading →