New Short Story! – The Grass That Grows


I’ve been working on this guy for about a month now, and I’m excited to explain the motivation behind it. I’ve been making so much headway with short stories this summer (and so little progress on Dreamscape) that I decided to begin writing them under a theme and put them together as a collection. The book will take time to complete, but this short story is the very first in the expected layout of the coming collection…

               A single ray of light slipped through the shades over his office window and illuminated the keyboard in front of him. John ignored the minor nuisance, instead focusing his energy on finishing up one last design before he left work. It was already after five. Continue reading

Short Piece #5 – The Lights


The following is an older story, from about a year and a half ago. It’s rather short, but I’ve always liked the end result. To celebrate the beginning of August, I thought I would post it here…

They looked at the lights.

Jason shook his head and turned his attention back to the poker table and the cards in front of him. He didn’t look at them again. He knew what they were. And they went perfectly with the flop on the table already. The jack of clubs made his pocket jacks three of a kind. Kinda like him, his girlfriend Lauren, and that other guy.

The man to his right bet. He called. Once again, the game became everything for him; the tourists gazing at the lights of Las Vegas were forgotten.

All three other players folded. The turn came out. A four of hearts. Nothing threatening. The guy to his right bet big this time, the stack of red and black chips reflecting off of his sunglasses. Jason called. It was tough to respect a guy who had to hide behind sunglasses. Sort of like how it was tough to respect a guy who kept coming on to your girlfriend when he knew she was taken.

The river: another four. Jason hid his smile, and waited for Mr. Sunglasses to dig himself even deeper into a hole. He did.

Jason called and laid down his full house. Mr. Sunglasses threw his hands in the air in disgust, gathered his remaining chips, and left the table. Jason pulled his winnings over and stacked them. It was just so easy to lose himself in poker, especially when he was winning. He simply forgot about his job and the sale on the line when his vacation was over. He forgot about Lauren and that guy who wouldn’t leave her alone even though he knew she was taken. He forgot about everything but the cards and the almost finished rum and coke at his elbow.

The sounds of the Strip washed over him as he won another hand, this time bluffing the pants off the fat blonde lady across the table. He sipped at another drink when the waitress brought it, feeling a slight burn as he swallowed. The bartender made that one strong.

Jason leaned back and stretched. As he lowered his head and started to return his attention to the table, he saw her.

It wasn’t Lauren. It couldn’t be. She was back in California. But the dark brown mane of hair looked so similar. The girl’s size four body, accentuated by black tights and a purple tank top, was identical. She glanced at him and her eyes struck him, green and brown and grey, all at the same time. Lauren’s eyes. He couldn’t look away.

Then she grabbed the hand of some tool in a polo, broke eye contact, and laughed. The two of them rounded a corner.

Jason gathered in his chips and stood up, to the shock and relief of the others at the table. He wouldn’t be taking any more of their money tonight. He would have laughed, had his mood not darkened so suddenly.

Chips clinking in his bag, Jason stalked away from the table. He intended to cash them in, but his feet led him away from the cashiers’ booths. The open exit from the Planet Hollywood casino beckoned.

Jason couldn’t get the image of her out of his head.

So he walked into the open air, feeling the warm night breeze ruffle his shaggy hair. He stood there, the flow of the crowds passing around him.

And he looked up at the lights.

Short Story – Silver Night


The black silk of her dress shone under the city lights, throwing minute glints of silver toward his eyes. He walked only a few steps behind her, flanked by two of his friends, and watched her walk. She was short; only her two-inch heels kept her from being a full foot shorter than he.

He didn’t mind.

She was beautiful. He knew it, his friends knew it, the people strolling by on the sidewalk knew it, and even those in cars flying down the street knew it. More than a few catcalls were made, and each one felt like a little jab into his stomach. She was his girl. Sort of. Continue reading

Possible new short story coming up


I’ve been working on a new story, currently titled “Silver Night,” the past few weeks. Yes, I’ve been slacking on Dreamscape while writing this, but it’s just fit my mood more, recently. The thing is, it’s probably fit my mood TOO well: “Silver Night” is the most personal and, well, emotional (damn, but I hate using that as a descriptor concerning my own work) I’ve written. I’m not even sure I want the story to see the light of day (i.e. be shown to public audiences). In some ways, I really like it and I’m proud to have written it; in others, I’m not so sure. This being the case, I’ve decided to leave it up to whatever audience I actually have on this website. If you read my stuff, let me know if I should post “Silver Night” sometime in the near future. This one is entirely up to my readers. Comment away!

Cerulean Sundown – Revised


And finally, after almost two months, I’m posting the revised version of Cerulean Sundown. I’ve had it written for quite some time (since the end of April, actually), but due to some issues with wordpress and my own obnoxiously busy life, I’ve slacked and delayed posting it—and yes, it is, like Folds of Ruby, vastly different from the original. Now, after far too long, it is up for your enjoyment. I sincerely hope it was worth the delay…

The mood at the  reception was as expected: subdued, with hints of normality hidden just below the surface. Most of the people were just glad to be done with the funeral, but couldn’t quite work up the nerve to be openly relieved. In a way, Mat appreciated that; mostly, though, he found it beyond irritating.

He wandered among the tables, hardly registering the half-hearted sympathies that the guests sent his way. His glass of dark red merlot rested, forgotten, in his right hand. His left was clenched around Jordan’s hand while she walked next to him, tears falling silently from her eyes. He knew that those tears weren’t totally for Andy, but he had no desire to confront that yet. Continue reading