FICTION ARCHIVE

JUNE 2026

The blades cut the air in regular intervals like a heartbeat that never varies, never responds, never adapts. It is life-like without being alive, pulse without flesh, rhythm without the irregularities, neither close enough to see clearly nor far enough to ignore.

APRIL 2026

Your parents lay you gently on your thin mattress and closed the door. I crept out from below and perched over you as you settled into a restless sleep. You smelled of sweet powder and grunted and gurgled like a youngling of my own kind.

MARCH 2026

She’d be complaining and sighing and muttering under her breath. I was well rid of her, the day she ran off. I was grieved when I got the news, but not surprised. She’d been chaos from the start.

MARCH 2026

The sun glared down on the paddy field where she lay. She looked about his size and age, blonde hair and a dark green dress. Next to her floated a man in a muddied white shirt, blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a black hat.

MARCH 2026

Everything he could have said sounded like something too late. And yet the same conversation seemed to play out every day between them in strange rehearsals of temptation in which only she spoke. 

FEBRUARY 2026

Arrived at Manor Vail Lodge Hotel around 4:30pm. Front desk noticed it was our fifth time here. Nice that they noticed us as VIP guests! Room is luxurious. The bathroom has a new gold shag carpet, gold wallpaper and a sunken bathtub. This is the life! 

FEBRUARY 2026

i think this sad excuse for a short story has melted my brain, or at least my creative faculties. i need to lie down. take a good long nap. maybe for the rest of the day. maybe for the rest of my life. 

FEBRUARY 2026

I have not slept. Not for the previous ten nights. And now, on the eleventh, I lie atop this bed as though already a cadaver, limbs arranged, stiff and angular. The mattress beneath me may as well be a slab of marble.

JANUARY 2026

It’s been over two months since your last visit—even though you drive within a hundred yards every day on the way to work. You tell yourself it’s because you’d rather remember her as she was. But deep down, you know it isn’t about what you want.

JANUARY 2026

Predawn, the pier was all angles and salt. The air smelled of metal and warning. Luc entered the lab, heart still beating to the rhythm of the storm, the echo of the sea’s breath heavy in his chest, metal giving way to the clean brightness he trusted...