Visual artist, story teller, poet, engineer, and private tutor.
- Runner-Up in the Uncommon Challenge
- Runner-Up in Reset Your Password Challenge
My Tattoo's Got a SecretRunner-Up in Reset Your Password Challenge
作成遷移啓示結合忘却, seven-year-old Nathan writes on a piece of paper without missing a stroke, beaming under the pride shining in his mother's eyes. Then, as instructed by her, he burns the paper and watches as a hundred little dots of fire, like tiny lanterns, float up into the air. The forest around them seems to hold its breath in the cool winter night, expectant, fearful.
- Runner-Up in The Mystery Box Challenge
Where Angels DwellRunner-Up in The Mystery Box Challenge
When the clock struck ten, my borrowed heart leaped. My legs—his legs—felt the itching urge to run to the door like a human version of Pavlov's dog—minus the salivation. A messenger from Amazon would arrive within minutes: Amazon was nothing if not consistent. Truth is, between the daily deliveries, I simply existed, an alien consciousness inhabiting the husk of an agoraphobic man who followed a daily routine with the precision of a time-keeping machine in an effort to keep the anguish of losing his wife and twin daughters at bay.
A Progeny of Dragons
“There weren't always dragons in the Valley,” Mona said in a low voice, binoculars pressed against her eyes and trained on the cluster of black suited men entering the high rise of Golden Empire Electronics across the canal. “They used to exist only in my brother’s mind.”
Saved by a Woman's Skirt
For the city, it was a time of violence. For the people, it was a time of fear. For Ruy, it was a time of wonder. Today, Ruy would tend his dad's small concession stand outside the bullfight arena, already packed with aficionados from all over the country to see Ruy's favorite toreador, Camilo Benitez.
The Suspiciously Packaged Fate of the People of Summer Cypress
Suspac /ˈsəsˌpak/ n. Suspicious package wrapped in brown paper delivered every Sunday at dawn to a random resident of Summer Cypress. Suspacs are allegedly linked to both tragic and fortunate events, vanishing at dusk the Saturday after delivery.
Deathly Addicted to You
The night my chocoholic husband confessed to cheating on me, he blamed it on my deathly allergy to chocolate and my lack of compassion for him despite his addiction. Suitcase in hand, he walked out the door, cutting my heart out like a slice of chocolate cake. Obsessed with revenge, I reached out to my best friend Marta, who could potentially talk me out of it, but mainly because she happened to be a witch.