Jimmy’s Bitter Souvenirs | Short Story

The classroom was in a mundane, soporific trance when Harry walked in. The doors squealed drawing all the eyes in his direction. He bowed to the professor, apologizing for being tardy, and snaked around the room until he got to his seat in the center. Continue reading

The Unfortunate Fortune | Short Story

It looked like a crown on the horizon. The white tent didn’t have any signs, nor any indication of its purpose, but people gathered there every single day. At sunrise visitors were magnetized to it even though the show starts a bit later. One by one they formed a single-file line, which grew with a frightening pace, making all the other business envious. Sometimes the line snaked around, hiding behind corners, and even blocking the entire street. On other occasions, the people formed a chaotic mass that encircled the tent. This would, ultimately, lead to a peculiar experience, where an individual’s name would be called out. Continue reading

Braking to Inspect the Blank Page

I was recently reminded of a topic I read about on numerous occasions. The topic is either very common, or it’s just coincidence that I seem to stumble upon it more than once.  It’s this idea of sitting down and writing almost like you are letting your thoughts spill out onto the page. It’s almost like you are writing, and you get into the right mindset. From there, you just continue to write. It’s that easy…in theory. Certainly, such a stance has its benefits. For example, once you have stuff down, it’s possible to correct it. However, the real benefit of it is this feeling of riding on the wave almost like you’re surfing. You get enough speed so that you can keep going almost endlessly. Continue reading

The Harmless Mixture of Torment | Short Story

Something shook Jack out of his slumber. He was sweating and felt a penetrating surge of warmth from the inside. He wiped his face with his bare hands. Before him was a river. He dashed for the stream, hoping that the water is cold or at least mildly warm. As he got closer, he realized that the water is reeking, and it’s filled with various kinds of particles. The foul smell hit him, forcing him to back away. Continue reading

Untitled by No-name Author

A lad strolls into a bookstore. He walks around in the maze of bookshelves, eyeing the myriad of choices. Each book screams at him with its elaborate cover and persuading title. He searches for something familiar a book. He finds a title that assures him of his decision. His expectations have formed.

The question is…

Does the title influence our reading experience?
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The Behemoth Made of Fear | Short Story

Nate was coming home with a bitter taste in his mouth. He felt rattled to the core. He searched the street for some signs of life, but no home had its lights on. He wanted to hear some banter that would, hopefully, shake him out of this trance, but his wishes were not heard. A cat dashed across the street of the barren boulevard where he lived. Continue reading

A Home out of Books

I guess it’s time for another somewhat random post where I ask a question. I was reading a book recently, and a bizarre feeling came over me. Every other sentence seemed to be familiar. I could recite some of them after reading just the first word. I didn’t know the story, nor did I have any recollection of reading the word before, but it certainly felt like I have read it.

So the question is…

What is it like when a book feels like home?
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The Beat of a Sleepless Night | Short Story

The blast of cacophonous clamor came suddenly. It was strong, vibrant, and discordant. It blared with extreme strength. The noise penetrated the thin walls and resounded within the bedroom. It seemed to come from no specific direction, and it had a jarring rhythm which made everything inside quiver. Continue reading

The Exchange of Nightmares

The cry was strong, loud. It echoed through the house with unforgiving repetition. Stephen rolled off his bed and onto his feet. His wife, as always, was deaf to the screams. Her sleep was impervious to any and all noise. He gazed at the pillow one last time, but soon he was called again. He felt as if someone plunged a lance through his head every time a scream resounded through the walls. He knew he could practically forget about the midnight snooze. Continue reading