Every Day Fiction / 17 February 2018
Another windblown day, the humps in the sand like mountains. There’s a scent in the breeze, fresh fish, or maybe shrimp. The smell came from near the water, but it would be worth it if he got there before any of the other crabs. Or the gulls.
Literally Stories / 5 February 2018
Visitant Literature / 28 March 2018
He wanted to be angry–at Tony and himself for failing, his mother, father, even at Charlie who cheerfully grabbed the last box from the car–but he was exhausted. Out of everyone, he could really only be mad at himself.
Man For Sale
The Boiler Journal / 24 September 2018
Even though Dad’s body had been dropped in a hole at the cemetery in town, it seemed he was actually buried here, still mumbling encouragement from below the dirt and beneath the shade of the oak trees. I’d guessed that he followed us home from the funeral. As if things weren’t hard enough.