Donald J. Bingle
Bio
Donald J. Bingle is the author of eight books and more than sixty shorter works in the thriller, science fiction, fantasy, horror, mystery, steampunk, comedy, and memoir genres. More on Don can be found at www.donaldjbingle.com.
Achievements (1)
Stories (39/0)
Story Choices
This entire story already exists, but you are only experiencing it one word at a time as you move forward through it. You could, if you choose, go to the end and attempt to read it backwards, but the narrative would be difficult and largely incomprehensible. You might, if you choose, skip ahead, skittering from spot to spot, perceiving bits and portions of the text in a sufficiently logical sequence to parse together some causal connections and get the gist of the tale without experiencing it fully. You might even go back and reread certain portions of the text, whether previously read or previously skipped, to try and discern greater understanding. But whether you skip forward or page back, nothing you do will change the substance of the tale or its internal structure, logic, and flaws.
By Donald J. Bingle2 years ago in Fiction
- Top Story - April 2022
BunRabsTop Story - April 2022
“It’s a myth,” clucked Doris as she picked at her salad. “I don’t believe it, not for one instant.” “You’re just a spring chicken, dear,” responded Doris’ Aunt Clementine as she absent-mindedly primped and groomed herself while they sat gossiping. “You don’t understand how dangerous the world can be, how vicious.” Clementine readjusted her sitting position, shifting forward and cocking her head to one side, bringing it closer to Doris. “Why do you think your mother treasured you oh so desperately before she was taken from us? You were the only child she raised, but not the only child she might have raised. It’s so sad, really.”
By Donald J. Bingle2 years ago in Fiction
Dark Energy
Energy surged through his sinews as he ran effortlessly through the shadow-splashed night, metal-banded legs stretching and springing as they churned the decaying detritus of the forest floor. Yet he twisted and twined around the standing foliage at speed with such grace, such instinct, that he disturbed nary a dewy drop on the greenest leaf of nightshade. He raised his snout into the air, nostrils flaring to follow the scent borne on the night breeze as he sucked in oxygen more hungrily than the hottest steam boiler. His tooth-filled maw gaped open to aid the flow, saliva dripping from the corners and whipping into the air as he dodged and turned to follow his nose following his prey.
By Donald J. Bingle2 years ago in Fiction