People know me as Reggie, the eleven-year-old boy that drowned a puppy. Ten years ago I was a guest on The Dr. Lydia Show. I typically get asked one of two questions about the episode: 1. “Did you get paid… Continue Reading
The wolf clambered across the roof of the brick house, wriggled into the chimney, fell and plunged into a cauldron of boiling water. The three pigs cheered, their beady eyes flashing within the deep recesses of their doughy faces, as… Continue Reading
I noticed a loose thread on the collar of her blouse — god, I can’t stand that — and I began to pull on it, couldn’t help myself, couldn’t not do it. “Leave it.” She slapped at my hand, but… Continue Reading
“Excuse me, sir. Is this your shoe?” The woman was dressed in a loose hibiscus-orange gown, sitting on a stone bench, beneath a matching orange umbrella. I hadn’t seen her at first when turning the corner in the path, but… Continue Reading
Rain thrashes against the window of Kay’s office. Her phone vibrates, clattering on the polished wood of the desk. Text from Brett. “Survive the rain?” The corner of her mouth twitches. She looks out towards the window, trying to remember… Continue Reading
Mike Westover is dead, but his name still has power. Michelle shuts her apartment door, locks it, and takes a deep breath in the quiet of the dark kitchen. She slips out of her heels and secures them in their… Continue Reading
Listen, children, and hear the tale of Bramblewood and how it came to change seasons by the hours of the day. There was in the 2nd Century Edgar IV, the King of Pennsylvania, a vain and childless ruler who claimed… Continue Reading
“Mr. Thompson, Dr. Wheeler will see you now.” I follow the nurse into the narrow hallway and through the rigmarole of bodily metrics. In the examination room, she asks me to remove my shirt. I comply, blushing, directing my vision… Continue Reading
Epiphany: I need lemons. A tumble of lemons, a volcano of fresh explosive citrus, the obese mamas with that extraterrestrial shine, not those dinky rough-hide goblins lurking at the bottom of produce boxes. Fifty will do, I think. No, seventy;… Continue Reading
We zig-zag along a crooked stone bridge towards the tavern. Mist blankets the water, which is riotous with koi, though it’s a clear day elsewhere — a hologrammic projection of the weather from hundreds of years ago. Our daughter, Ruyi,… Continue Reading