Stories (142/0)
Vulture
December She slips out of his damp bed. Tumbles the half-step toward the window. Her black eyes note the access points. Fire escape. Empty building half a block down. Utilitarian street lamp a ways up, pointing discretely toward the quiet north end. A sneeze of snow has all but blown over. She rather likes how the street lamp spills itself in dull yellow halos blanketing duller yellow mounds, tucked under freshly fallen angels dismissed as flakes.
By Christy Munsonabout a month ago in Fiction
- Top Story - March 2024
Backyard SkullsTop Story - March 2024
February 2007 His blade slices through the fleshy parts with ease. Itβs graceful, disgusting but graceful. How he holds that carved handle with equal parts purpose and delicacy, as if heβs painting a rummage sale art piece to hang over a fireplace.
By Christy Munsonabout a month ago in Horror
Origin
Before time, before music, before magic and mystery, before myths and legends and cults of personality, in the absence of light and sound and humanity, there existed a little known Void. Well guarded, even reserved, Void housed a universe of great unknowns, which had survived throughout eternity in absolute darkness, shrouded in rumors.
By Christy Munsonabout a month ago in Fiction