Old Ronan’s hands had fidgeted as he told Sara the truth. Now they hung in his lap like animals that had crawled there to despondently die.
His head was bowed with an invisible weight, and his brow cast a dim shadow over his eyes. There were no tears in them though. Not yet.
I've just had a story come out in Issue 4 of Great Ape, a literary journal for absurdist humour. “Mining for Beats” is a story about making a living from the silliest of things. If you read it, I'm sorry.
Heathrow airport buzzed with the energy of a hive. Swarms of travellers wandered its maze-like confines—dazed, nervous, and under-slept. There, one could see the full gamut of humanity on display—the check-in agent doing her best and the beast drunk on rage and 8 AM beers, shouting abuse at her. There, in between couples torn apart, lost souls, and anxious drug mules, walked Ryan.
Ryan towed a three-wheeled suitcase behind him, its missing wheel having popped off as he was boarding the train from London. He was on his way to a Las Vegas stag do—something he considered ill-advised. He had seventeen missed calls and sixty-two messages from the rest of his party, ignored due to an accidental Do Not Disturb setting.
His flight had departed an hour ago.
Freshly published in Scare Street's Night Terrors #12 comes “Half Larva, Will Travel”. It's a comedy horror piece about sharing a confined airplane cabin with god-knows-what kind of strangeness. It was written during much simpler times.
She wakes up with a sense of foreboding that tells her the alarm should have gone off by now. She is correct. She jumps out of bed in a panic, checks her phone, which has run out of battery overnight, and runs into the kitchen to try and get ready for work.
My latest story to pop out onto the world is “The Impermanence of Things Ruins Her Life”, published in Novel Noctule's Flying Fox flash fiction segment. I can best describe this story as a mundane horror story for anxious people.
Friend A is from Poland. You met when he briefly studied in your university. He has blond hair, too long to be due to negligence, too short to be tied back.
“Friend Templates” was just published by the lovely people at Idle Ink. It is an odd little story about how two friends sometimes occupy the same space in your life. You can read it for free over here.
I sit in a bunker
When a nicotine cackle sounds in my ear:
“Why so glum, boy?” he asks, and I sigh.
My first poem is out in Spectral Realms No. 13, edited by S.T. Joshi. I can best describe “The Song of Calamity Joe” as a mildly horrifying post-apocalyptic “Under the Sea”. I don't normally write poems so this is a rare treat.