Somewhere on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, six-thousand feet above sea level, on a hill shaded by giants, my father waits for death. Job tosses my mom’s suitcase onto a deeply polished countertop alongside a chrome microwave, sleek single-serve coffee brewer, and several other shining kitchen appliances; some with tags still attached. “Beautiful isn’t it?” He...
For those of you who enjoyed my last sketch, ‘Is there any work for a young not-a-witch?‘, here is a new segment I wrote for it this morning. Enjoy! Are my eyes open? Yes—yes, they must be… I can’t see a thing. Why is the floor moving? How did I… The dip and yaw of the ship’s cellar make Issau suddenly feel sick. She takes a deep breath through the nose, but chokes on the...
Please enjoy this sketch I wrote this morning. And for those who celebrate it: Have an observant Memorial Day. EDIT: You can read the next segment of this story here: The Wich of Ramí “I’m sorry dear, no work here.” “Move ’em on! Move ’em on!” “Get quick, or get the stick you little gypsy!” “…Not a gypsy.” The child says...
Hard soles clop along the sidewalk stirring up gasoline vapor and sweet oak. A pair of once-black leather bootees with no laces, their vamps deeply worn, shuffle along the cement. A pewter mug, tied through its handle by silk thread, rolls and flops against the holed sides of a gray wool coat with each sway of the hips; its contents shake like a lazy maraca. Six steps up from the sidewalk, a...
All the roads run parallel in the Berzin Straight and are fastened from the slick-black pebbles that bed the Salted Sea. Their dark surface vacillates under the heated nausea of a summer’s day, so from the apartments above you can imagine yourself drifting down Black’s River. Each road is separated from its neighbor’s by towering beige apartment buildings, which themselves are...
The man marches to the bedside table and tears open the drawer. “Is this what you want Jadyn?” “No!” she shrieks. Her face is wet and burst vessels in her cheeks paint her whole face a painful red. “No! Owen, no! Please!” Owen hefts a steel pistol from the drawer and raises it to his temple. “You hate me, you don’t give a shit!” Jadyn leaps at...
Dick saw the boats first and called out in his high weasel’s voice, “Der! Mista’ Sho’man! Deres dem hell fires sho’!” Sherman yanked up the reins on his courser and blocked the sun from his eyes as he looked up river. At first his eyes were thin and still, and the boys began talking low to each other. “What do you see sir?” I said. Sherman remained...
Here is a scene sketch I put together for you this evening. Enjoy, and thank you for reading. I saw a young girl in the center of Tulan Square just before midnight. She had black horse hair, knotted into braids on either side of her round olive face. Her eyes flashed silver in the light of the street vendors and their carts. She held what looked like the black leather bible that you can get at...
I wanted to play a little bit with POV this morning. Enjoy. A dark brown universe becomes an atoll in a sea of candy cane stripes. You are jogging. Each step bobbles your jaw and claps your teeth together. There is blue and screams behind you. No clouds. No moon. You jog on. Your red flannel shirt is twisted and untucked. Your left sleeve is torn away from the elbow down. Your arms flop about...
On the metro, the five-line, I hit a cool breeze, seven-foot tall and made of fine china. I meet a diva, a goddess, something outside the line, outside the cement and the metro.