ARCHIVE
FICTION
Southern Gothic
Short Fiction
The Rooster
I wasn't there the night Grant killed the rooster, nor the morning after when Connor carried the body to the big house like a preacher carrying a dead child to the altar.
Short Fiction
George's Diner
It made her feel watched in the best way. Not judged. Seen. Like someone had waited a very long time just to notice she was tired.
Short Fiction
The Bridge
You find yourself in a different timeline. One where you have died, and the world has moved on without you.
Short Fiction
Venison
The fog in Hollywood Cemetery that February evening in 2017 draped itself over the James River like a gambler’s last bluff, as if the dead were exhaling into the Richmond night.