ARCHIVE
FICTION
Drama
Absolution
When he considered all of his paths to absolution, he took the long odds on the pretty one in the sky blue sundress.
The Fig Tree
He poured a glass of water. If you ain't driving, bed's made in the back. Might be spiders. You always did know how to charm.
Nectarine Apartheid in the Cubicle of Doubt
She used to write poems in the margins of receipts. Kiss strangers to feel something answer back. Now she has a drawer full of unopened serums and a man who knows how to load the dishwasher, mostly.
Buffalo Jump
"I accept your terms," New Needle said. "I do not accept your hand." This story was originally published on the Southern Writers Guild substack and website - https://www.southernwritersguild.com/
No Mercy
The ferry from Karaköy to Üsküdar still costs next to nothing, still smells faintly of diesel and someone’s forgotten simit, still slices the Bosphorus like a dull knife through silk.
The Key of E
“Play it again, Sam,” she said, sliding onto the bench beside him, hip checking him half an inch left. “But skip the missing note. We’ll call it avant-garde.”
Promenade
Cindy Lou woke with a flicker of premonition nipping at her chest. Something unusual might happen today, she felt it. She shook it off with a stretch, dressed for the wind and sun, and headed to the m
Oliver
Oliver walked the familiar path, one foot after the other, his pace slow and measured. It wasn’t the park that drew him out every afternoon, not the trees or the air or even the routine. It was her. S