i. She looked like any other tourist, but at least she was slightly better dressed. Her dark brown shirt was tucked into bleached shorts, and a small bag with little fridges attached to her hip swayed when she moved. She'd pushed her sunglasses up into her hair.
He wasn’t all that interested in classical music, but an hour out of class was an hour out of class. It wasn’t that he thought “normal” music was better, or anything, but the classical music he’d heard before was never interesting. He always supposed it was some lost in translation thing, something he was missing because he so used to messing around with synthesizers and auto tune and everything he could get his hands on.
ii. The window curtian inhaled, parting the sheer fabric. Theo watches as the Slaves, drawn by lines of gold, spin and dip in a circle around a gilded fire. The fire sways and flickers with them, and the wind whispers the shape of the song into their ear.
Dick Killing Janes (excerpt)
Eliza cleaned the entire house and felt no closer to a break in the case then when she‘d started. The only room she hadn't cleaned was Tom's office. Tom normally cleaned his office and his half of the house on Wednesdays. He'd insist on helping her despite the social taboo of it, saying, 'a detective is more important than just a professor.'
Old Scottish Drinking Song
The light of the pub is low and golden, illuminating the dark rings of the wood with glowing circles. I trace them with a crooked finger, slowly, with my cheek on the cold oak. My eyes droop closed before snapping open. The chattering of the other patrons has become a buzz in the back of my brain.
i. A stripe of dull gold ripples across the fire - red wing of the biplane as it turns into a nosedive. I grit my chattering teeth as I plummet, the dark wine ocean becoming closer and closer. I jerk the lever back, rising upwards just before I hit the water. My pursuer isn't as good as I am, according to the scraping sound of bending metal. His partner looks between me and the wreckage, hovering, before deciding to cut his losses. In the mirror, I see him circling like a vulture until they become dots on the horizon.
Forced Caravan, The
This is my last (and favorite!) story for November’s Throwback Thursday! I don’t have many fans, so I thought it was okay to take a day off - sorry if you happened to be waiting! I wrote this in college for an assignment where we were to address a current event through fiction. This time, I’m adding Non—Profit information at the end of this story to help make this horrifying less accurate.
Gli Smeraldi di Napoli
I attended the Oxford Summer Program in 2019 and this was my final for the Fiction Class. This wasn’t the original idea - but it came to me suddenly and I wrote it over like two days using my (haha) very expansive knowledge of Old Hollywood movies.