A Letter Was Left at the Front Desk for You, Sir
“I saw you today, down by the water, walking a dog we both know isn’t yours. You looked happy. You looked content.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing this letter.”
Other People
The kid coughed. In that way people only ever do to get your attention. Such a British idea. That interrupting someone is somehow less intrusive if you pretend you’re not doing it.
“Your car. It’s waiting, Sir.”
Nobody called me Sir, back then. I was starting to like the sound of it.
Being A Witch Is Hard
“Fuck!” Amer slams the mug back down on the coffee table. Hard enough to leave an indent in the wood but not quite enough to shatter it. The table or the mug.
Honestly, he’d be fine with either at this point.
Old Poisons
A 500-word noir tale about spilling more than just a martini. Longlisted for the January 2024 NQR Prize for flash fiction.
“I want you to kill my husband.”
Most clients beat around the bush for a good half-hour before getting to the point. Alec appreciated the bluntness.
In Conversation With Machines
“Careful, K-i. Call yourself human again, and the Fleet Guard will have you reprogrammed.
“I apologize, Tal. I use the term ‘us’ to establish a sense of shared identity. You know I cannot truly align myself with humans.”
“I know, Kai. I’m only messing with you.”
Offerings
My grandmother was a witch. We did not see eye to eye. While my peers were raking leaves and scrubbing stoves for their pocket money, I was picking gypsy-flower, collecting slow worms, and chasing crows from rafters.
“Offerings for the Faerie folk,” she called it.
“How you get ants,” I would mutter.
Lost in the Transfer
A short sci-fi adventure about what it means to die. Or not. Available to read now in Factor Four Magazine!!
