PUBLICATIONS

Aparment 5C

Aparment 5C

"The apartment isn’t much, stiff wallpaper frayed along the stairwell where hands have passed over it during every ascent and descent since its erection in the fifties, rips visible under the pale spark of a grimy lamp that hangs in the corridor, always rocking with a steady creak-pop-creak, though I’ve never felt a breeze in this portion of the complex and the fixture is too high to touch, even with a broom. I know, I've tried. Maybe the building rests on unsteady ground. Or maybe a breeze..."

Don't You Never Touch Them Bloodbuds

Don't You Never Touch Them Bloodbuds

"Mama never did tell us what, exactly, the Bloodbud did to people. She always just called those who touched them 'infected'. We knew she thought the Bloodbuds grew at the edge of our property, bubblin’ up from the dirt to choke out the Bluebonnets and Indian Blankets that bloomed there. She would say they liked it under them trees, what with the moss hangin’ off their branches like ragged shrouds, turned to wrigglin’ ghosts in the twilight hours."

Gator Stew

Gator Stew

"Joseph does as the voice says. He picks at the double bass, growling against a crooked mic in the grungy bar nestled within the swampy land of Louisiana. The room is sticky. Sticky from spilt drinks carpeting the floor, lust-filled bodies pressed tight, and the ever-present moisture of alcohol and sweat in the air. It coats his skin and he pours the sticky feeling into his song like thick maple syrup, letting it drip over his audience. They suck it in."

Playing Reality

Playing Reality

"Tension builds as the line grows, its tail of bodies winding around the wooden bar. Kaleb eyes the people entering, frenzied in their need to start the day with caffeine. Dreary-eyed, he’s tempted to take a long swig of the macchiato in his hand. He’d stayed up too late playing Diablo III, unable to power down the console every time he completed a mission and began a new one. Now, moving through reality like a zombie, he curses himself for getting immersed . . . "

Foxy

Foxy

"He looked at me as a vulture does a carcass, deciphering which parts to eat first and which parts to savor. He’s drunk; drunker than the other two with him. They’ve noticed me, but they aren’t vulgarly observing me like him. My gum forms a bubble as I exhale out, twirling a pen around my fingers. Thumb to pinky, pinky to thumb. The gum explodes in a pop, snapping back to my lips. I peel the sticky pieces off with my tongue. He takes a final swig of beer, and I stand at the diner counter."

Drifter

Drifter

"The sea breeze wafts over her, gentle and comforting. She smiles and runs her hand slowly along her arm, imagining it is the salty touch of the air caressing her skin and guiding her down the beach. She doesn’t walk; the sand doesn’t touch her feet. She floats, as smooth and fragile as a mother’s lullaby to her sleeping newborn. A coaxing wind pulls her forward and the rolling waves sing their praise of her aimless direction."