Gerard DiLeo
Bio
Retired, not tired. In Life Phase II: Living and writing from a decommissioned church in Hull, MA. (Phase I was New Orleans and everything that entails. Hippocampus, behave!
https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
Stories (541/0)
Chapter 1
Rhea worked for the biggest polluter on the planet. Despite her appreciating this and not oblivious to the world jeopardy to which she contributed, its leader, owner, and patriarch, Peter Harper, was the one who signed her checks. When she cashed each one, she rationalized that the world would be no safer were she to resign in protest. The perspective of her replaceability comforted her.
By Gerard DiLeo11 months ago in Fiction
Song of the Siren
Like most rock singers, Rhea Rosalia Rainy had baggage. Some of it was anatomical: her genetics contained a mutation that allowed her accessory vocal cords--the false vocal folds, rudimentary in everyone else--to be functional apart from her primary ones. She could harmonize with herself, which was not a coincidence in this universe.
By Gerard DiLeo11 months ago in Horror
Mars Vigila!
In spite of the cultural mandate to give to Mars only the best of what Earth had to offer, Dr. Christopher Cooke was an angry Martian. Today’s irritation barely rose above the generalized fury that raged within him. He dug his boot heels into the rust, leaned on his tripod, and looked around. Wispy clouds were moving quickly and icily in the turquoise sky overhead. Being sent to collect magnetic fluctuation data in the field, a major inconvenience, was only a small blip on the extensive range of his angerscape. On Earth he had been an air-conditioned man, so he clasped his heavy coat tight around him with indignation and cursed his assignment. Even then the thin but metallic-tasting wind chilled him to the bone.
By Gerard DiLeo11 months ago in Fiction
Passing "GO"
I'm 17 but I'm smart enough to know how to play the game: people change. They couple, then live together, then change. Then they often leave each other. I know my 17-year-old brain won't be the same as my 25-year-old brain. I throw the dice now, but they won't be the same bones later. Neither will be mine.
By Gerard DiLeo11 months ago in Fiction
