Dear Esteemed Mr. Bentley: By now, news of what happened at the Bentley Alchemy Factory in Toaddeep Sound should’ve reached you. While individuals might describe the factory’s current state as “blown to the hells,” please be reassured that these are… Continue Reading
I drown those I play with in the salty deeps. They struggle and scream against my lips. I kiss them, my arms like soft nets. They despair, eyes gazing into mine until the gazes lose that spark. That life, that… Continue Reading
I was driving through the city in a furious, gully-washing storm. It was 2 AM. Someone was waving me down. What the hell? It was a teenage girl, sitting in a wheelchair. Rain was practically dancing off the sidewalk. I… Continue Reading
Our brief interview involved more cannibalism than I would have guessed. At the river with my kids, on the last day of summer, and my son is picking up rocks along the shore finding snakes and wolf spiders hauling egg… Continue Reading
My mother thinks I am dead. Her toes sift the same sand each year, a barren starfish somehow surviving the picking predations of children, and constant push and pull of the tide. She tucks her knees beneath her chin and… Continue Reading