Queer poet, short fiction author, and long-time storyteller of all varieties. Feel free to stick around and see if anything catches your fancy!
A Faithless Lover
“The ocean was a faithless lover.” The words fall into the night air with a catlike grace on the ears of all. Callister shifts slightly in his seat upon a barrel, here on the deck of The Sanctity. The crew is all gathered on deck, their faces illuminated equally by the light of two of three moons and a small cook fire, tended to by one of the kevelan crew members. Peleas, Callister thinks his name is.
The Ex-vangelical Awakening
I don’t know the first thing about being a prophet. I mean. I suppose that’s a little boldfaced of me to say. I’ve been a member of the church long enough that I know what the job of a prophet is supposed to be. I grew up in a congregation that meant I learned my catechism and my scripture. I won my prizes for memorizing the most verses and spitting them back out like a wind-up doll, or a particularly intelligent parrot.
The Long Hunt
Callum shivered as he trekked along the Old Trade Road towards the forest, his pa’s rifle tucked away. Even now he wondered if his fingers would have the nimbleness needed to load and fire the damn thing with the chill. The wind showed no sign of letting up and even with the thick coat and gloves he had wrapped around himself, it seemed to cut right through like a knife.
Three Nocturnal Legends
Devotion’s Wish Emalkin stared up at the stars and the moon with the wistfulness that always seemed to haunt him on nights like this. The firefly buzzing next to him seemed to understand. It flickered back and forth, illuminated like a spark that would never turn to ash.
By Any Other Name
I still remember the first diary that I picked up in my adolescence. It was cheaply made, probably some sort of dollar store variety, big box store clearance item. The church I went to had a particularly capitalistic way of ensuring continued pleasant behavior from their children. Certain tasks and behaviors were rewarded with poker chip “coins” that could be exchanged for different rewards in the Sunday school “store.” When I saw that notebook, pink, holographic hard covered, and perfectly well bound, I knew it had to be mine. I saved up my raised hands, my stacked chairs, my Bible verses flawlessly memorized, until I was able to make the exchange I so desperately wanted to make.
Broken Beast, Part 2
Chapter Two The fortress of the Grey Band was rumored to be impenetrable by even the strongest of forces. Even now, or perhaps more accurately, especially now, as the rain poured down in streams and rivulets, it cut an imposing figure against the otherwise bleak skyline. The dark stone fortress with its wrought iron gates, barred windows, and thick, high walls, loomed threateningly above the rest of the city of Obriesk. The establishment known best for their defense of the city, and of Ambrickeria as a whole, looked much more like a prison than a castle,. Even the bravest souls, and those who remained among the Unbreaking Queen's men, still took pause when passing it. After all, the odd heads mounted to the walls, left rotting and half-eaten by the scavenger birds, did provide a firm enough warning to those who might seek trouble, and a dire enough threat to those who planned upon it.
There is always another November... This excerpt comes from a National Novel Writing Month effort from 2019; as my workload increased as holidays approached, I unfortunately found I had to abandon the process for the year, but have since picked many pieces of the story back up, attempting to reinvent the initial concept. This is the initial prologue and first chapter of that piece. A bit of fantasy meets horror to help explore a world I'd helped create as a campaign setting for a game of Dungeons & Dragons. While many of my stories now take place within this world, this was one of the first attempts I'd made to help capture some of the aspects of this world and its many strange dangers.
She Was She
She was She. She stared in the mirror unhappily, glaring at faults and fears and failings all in one. The leotard clung too tightly to her stomach. The tights chafed at the thighs. The joy of dance, the ecstasy of movement faded. She was not built for this profession.
The Saint of Circuitry
The fluorescent bulbs flickered, buzzing all the while, as Hana sat within the holding cell, otherwise unbothered. The young oscuri woman wasn’t sure how long she’d been there; the guards had confiscated her phone, her watch, anything that would effectively allow her to keep time, apart from her sleep cycles. So far, she’d dozed off three times, but, if she was being honest, she wasn’t sure how much of it was due to her being tired, and how much was due to her own boredom.