Ghost’s don’t mean to scare you. (Free-form poem.)
Punish me, will you? Two can play this game. (Flash Fiction)
She’d won. She’d won! He had got it wrong, but she’d won. No way was she going to pass up collecting.
He’d always painted what he saw; these visions pushed him, bled out his eyes, and the only cure for augural blindness was to splatter it out in colors, shapes, forms.
On a hill, he sat.
Alex didn’t match the location. Casually ragged jeans and a worn
orange shirt stood out in this fantasy-field setting, at odds with
distant four-winged birds and the glimmer of unicorn horns.
“Go calm down the idiots, would you?” said Iskinder, gaze locked on the screen. “It is time for you to use your particular talent for crowd control.”
Soon, I’ll have enough, and I can step out of this idiot game and I swear, I swear, no one is ever going to touch me again.
Ancient vampire Notte has tea with a friend right in the middle of some… family business. Awkward! (No spoilers. A side-story from NOTTE.)
A sleep-deprived elf prince. An open-minded doctor. Weird physical therapy. This tale contains a TERRIBLE PUN. You have been warned.
Aiden smiled. “What can I do for you, my friend?” he said, and waggled a finger. “Be sure, it will cost you.”
No, It wouldn’t.