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Devon half jumped out of her snowsuit in her shock. She’d been too trapped in her own thoughts to hear the crunching of boots. She eyed the small figure in a thin winter coat. The boy didn’t even have gloves or a toque on. His cheeks and nose were bright red and probably frostbitten. “It’s freezing out here. Where are your parents?”
In three decades, I’d like to think I’ve learnt a lot. I’ve learnt to appreciate time, especially. To appreciate what we have, and what we don’t. To find friends, to leave places, to discover new beliefs, and to leave old ones behind. In cliches, it’s a journey. But really, for me, it has felt episodic in many ways.
A preview of Chapter 41 from Book 2 of my WIP fantasy book series, ‘Sea of Shadows’.
It’s a standalone chapter in many ways, existing as a flashback for one of my main characters.
An unexpected, whirlwind romance takes two young men on a road trip across Europe. One struggles to come out to his family while the other holds onto a burden from his past. A fateful car accident on a rainy Swiss road changes both their lives forever.
*PLEASE NOTE: This is a short horror story containing violence, explicit language, and torture.
A white figure moved in his periphery.
He froze. Blinked furiously.
It was just the white curtain, hanging limp and moth-eaten over the window. Blast it. You’re an educated man, Arthur Bainsworth. Stop jumping at imagined ghosts.
A short story about an undead village and a lost ranger.
A short poem about a grandkid wondering why grandpa is bald.
Ever since I was eight, I’ve been able to create portals to another dimension. Cool, right?
No, actually. Get your head out of your ass.
A short poem about superstition.