
Short Fiction & Poetry
Photo by Alex Shuper
Browse my portfolio of over 100 pieces of short fiction and poetry, published in various magazines, anthologies, and journals!
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Story Length / Free to Read
“Every Nowhere Leads to Somewhere” in Horrific Scribes
Hailey, startled, fell backwards on her rear. She was ten, and mushrooms had never deigned to talk to her before.
“Not At This Address” in Luna Station Quarterly
You’ve scribbled, “Not at this address” on the supermarket advertisements and set them back in the mailbox to send them back. You’ve even waved the mailman down to explain. He is apologetic and says it won’t happen again. It does.
“Investigating a Series of Stubbings” in Once Upon a Crocodile
Victim One: 56-year-old male Gary Beary. Balding, supervisor. Assaulted with a desk on the fourth floor of the insurance building on 10th street.
“Red Maple Moon” in Impossible Worlds
Every autumn, the billions of maple trees turned the entire surface of the 27th moon a vibrant red. It had happened every year since the settlers of New Earth had landed 362 years ago. Except, this year, Tiradel’s trees had no leaves.
“Gift From Santa Claws” in Flash Point SF
Something in the way their too-small heads bobbed on their long necks stirred a primal, instinctive fear inside Georgie, like an ancestral memory passed down from a coelacanth had lit up in her brain.
“All Creatures Here Below” in Quiet Ones Annual
The day that Maisy stopped believing in God, she began seeing the skeletons.
“She Became Legs to Travel” in Nocturne Magazine
Marilka went on so many walks her arms disappeared /
regressing inside her clavicle like two large ropes /
“The Maples Had Grown” in Hawthorne & Ash
The wind prowled the world, restless, until it skulked through a maple grove on a hill and its memory returned.
“Remember to Look Up” in Dragon Gems
Aloe waited in the mailbox, shivering in the February freeze along with his three foster siblings, Cactus, Snake Plant, and Jade.
“The House That Curves” in Orion’s Beau
The door opens like tree boughs reaching for /
the sun, and you’re sure /
you didn’t move, but the floor moves you inside /
like wind buoying a bird through its branches /
“I Do Not Dream” in Penumbric
The face in the window /
Much like a small moon /
Pitted and reflecting /
The light from my lamp /
“They Named Me Diana” in Haven Spec
They named me Diana /
they vilify me on their news reports /
they say that I’m insane, a category five /
“Beware the Beech Tree” in Tiny Frights
Something prehistoric, a vast predatory thing, it poses as a tree with root-like talons, and feathers that pass as leaves.
“The Swing” in The Quiet Ones Annual
There’s a swing that appears /
on overcast days—not when it rains /
no, and not when it sprinkles, but when the /
geese honk overhead in giant arrows in the sky /
“Appealing Skin Model” in Wyldblood Press
My skin crawled off me onto the washing room’s tile floor, then skittered up the wall.
“Quiet, She Has Legs!” in Tall Tale TV
Nimia pulled her body along the underground tunnel with her muscled arms, one grip at a time. She passed the pods where other Pullers, like herself, worked, their hands plugged into the company interface.
“Unacknowledged Cows” in Bodyfluids Lit
We point at a field of cows as we pass and say “Cows,” for as everyone knows, the bovine population has a deal with all travelers.
“Call of Dark Water” in Tales of Fear, Superstition, and Doom
Living in Nebraska isn’t so bad. The straight shot highways, predictable squares of countryside, and comforting warmth of the dimpled sun all have a kind of beautiful consistency. And though the air vibrates wrong inside my gills, and I gargle salt water to keep my throat from closing; safety keeps me here.
“Shivers of History” in All Worlds Wayfarer
The secret compartment in the bureau slid open with the self-assuredness of a French word pointing out its silent vowels. Libby’s jaw dropped, her lips popping into an ‘o,’ and stood there with the museum’s identifying tag in her hand for a good five seconds.
“Lady Death and Her Whistlers” in Star*Line
The whistlers wheel through the sky /
Those skeleton birds, the wind /
Playing a dirge through their bones /