Patti Larsen
Bio
I'm a USA Today bestselling, multiple-award-winning writer with a passion for the voices in my head. With over 170 titles in publication, I live in beautiful PEI, Canada, with my plethora of pets. Find me at https://pattilarsen.com/home
Achievements (2)
Stories (34/0)
The Misery
It’s been so long since I stood here. The paint’s peeling from the front door, rust running from the busted lock, the clinging hinges. But I still feel the echo of the girl I was, the whispered voices of the ones I loved haunting the flagstone walk, the driveway, their faces lost in the dust over the picture window.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction
Evolution
I’m going to die today. But don’t get all teary eyed and weep for me. I don’t need your sympathy. It’s my choice to finally do what nature wants to be done. I’ve lived far longer than any human woman should. And, while Niall would rather I stayed, it’s time for me to go.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction
Hoarder
Jane hovered near the rickety wooden yard sale table, discomfort clear in every line of her body. The thumb and index finger of her right hand absently reached for the gold band no longer gracing her left ring finger, though the indent of twenty years of marriage remained.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction
- V+ Fiction Award Winner
LiftedV+ Fiction Award Winner
Jenny twirls a long, brown curl between her fingers as she gazes through the dusty glass. The sign over the door reads “Curious” and makes her skin itch. In a good way. Chances are the place behind the dirty windows, with the thick curtains holding back the light and the half-peeled name sticker above eye level is the perfect place to alleviate her crushing boredom.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction
Miss Betsy
The final abduction left Miss Betsy a changed cow. One would never know to look at her. She was a standard dairy Holstein, lovely white with black spots, wide ears that swayed when sounds caught her attention, soft muzzle so well designed to crop grass and munch grain. Her long, narrow tail did the usual job of most such appendages, swishing the odd annoying fly with a soft slap. She had a wonderful pattern on her sides that reminded most folks who admired her of Australia, but Miss Betsy didn’t pay any attention. She was a cow, after all, with bovine goals, hopes and dreams. Those being food, sleep and, well, the other things mammals do who aren’t particularly bright or are challenged to come up with something witty to say.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction
Evolution
I don’t know why I noticed him, why I even bothered to register his presence. Maybe it was his attitude—that curiosity he carries with him even now. A half smile on his lips, his pale gray eyes clear, expression soft and kind. He dressed like us, wore the same filthy, thread-bare uniform, and carried a shovel of his own. But his head was unbowed, his shoulders straight. And there was a calm about him that attracted me despite my resistance to emerging from the safety of my shell.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction
Prince Nameless
I was always an odd child, though I had no idea what odd was, really. Being raised in a family just like me meant I had no clue I was different. My father was an avid reader, as was my mother, though it was Dad's passion for fantasy and science fiction that drew me in.
By Patti Larsen2 years ago in Fiction