‘…The dream is a dark lagniappe. The crows are in flight. There are hundreds of them…hundreds of them…flying in a circle It’s early…early in the morning…or evening… I can’t be sure of which… the, the, clouds are touched with gold and steel. I see their eyes…their three lobed eyes blink with slick greasy ease… their […]
There were a number of things that shaped who Simra was. The most important was that she knew how to love a rabbit.
Alfonzo looked aghast, like they were the two most naïve immigrants in the history of New York. “ICE is preparing to break through that door with guns and night vision goggles, maybe even dogs, and you’re worried about the breeze?”
Tony had only gone on, like, seven dates with Josefín and the jodona was already lounging on Magdalena’s couch.
Mehul Mathrani | Finance Manager | United States
Alan was a broken soul wandering through life without purpose until his Uncle Paul told him a strange, fantastical story about the man in Dick Van Dyke’s hat. The man was a deranged, demonic carnival barker traveling the world in search of broken and damaged souls to entrap in their own private nightmares.
Alan was a perfect target. Could he escape the man’s cotton candy nightmare and possibly save others?
If you’re having a good time it usually means you’re having a bad time, I think. So the opposite has got to be true also.
Look at the ocean, they say. Every road will flood. You will be trapped. Your house will be destroyed. Look at it swell.
I’m staying, I say.
Short story I wrote for a class; constructive criticism is incredibly welcomed!
Everything started when we were thirteen—young and learning to love the womanhood that our mothers forced upon us.