Sean Currlin
Stories (3/0)
I Know You'd Do The Same For Me
There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Well, at least not before the Rapture. Yes, that Rapture... the one from everyone's favorite Holy Book... the one where the Son of God was supposed to return to this decaying corpse of a rock we call Earth and spare the ones who were first in line for Sunday's communion wine. The earnest few, the zealots and repentant sinners, the homunculi who blindly followed the dulcet tones of their area code's loudest megalomanic clad in the purest, most recently bleached clerical vestments. Be it a desire to rectify a past wrong or to reinforce the staunchness of their beliefs, they were told over and over again that they were chosen for a greater purpose. Each hymn (sung poorly or not) added that much more protection to their Armor of God. Each genuflection and properly executed sequence of bows and utterances of "Amen" was a combat drill for the demons they hoped they'd never see. They called themselves an Army of God, but in the pageantry of their shared worship, they neglected one extremely critical detail:
By Sean Currlin2 years ago in Fiction
The Next Round
How is one to spend their time during the six months of frigid temperatures and secondhand sunshine that New England deigns to call a “season”? By imbibing of course! Nothing says “Winter in Boston” quite like enjoying a pint or five of your favorite brew with fellow booze enthusiasts, but I’ve always wondered… do they share in my pining for a night of swilling to become something more? Consumption is the premise, but with each sip of the suds, I find my longing to veer off course into a clandestine escapade increases tenfold. Such was the case on the night of February 12, 2021.
By Sean Currlin3 years ago in Humans