Whispers chased each other around the room from ear to ear, but Stella was in her own drunken world of memories.
Category:
Fiction Writings
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There are days when the wind whips between Dinallo and Machuga.
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That’s when I caught it. The yellow in his eye, its inability to look the camera straight on— the film that blurred the window to his soul. Something was wrong, …
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“…I’d pull out my client’s story outline from my leather satchel, and choose which scene to illustrate first, scanning the crowds for the perfect main victim…”
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My apartment building is just another red brick building on a street of red brick buildings. The only thing that changes as I walk down the street is the golden …
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The boy pressed his face against the glass, and the fish behind it startled.
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What is next?
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His drunkenness was finally stirring and soon he would have to exit single-minded onto this deathly isle of lost souls and darkened delights.
