Prose samples:
Like a Moth
He climbs over the beams and planks that litter the construction site. Then disappears into a concrete shell. Runs up the stairs. Stops. And gasps at the top. Presses against a board that covers the doorway. Sunlight creeps in. He grins. Pushes again, and the board collapses. He steps out and jogs towards a nearby crane. Clambers on top. Reaches for the boom and climbs up it. The wind buzzes in his ears and the sky turns black. He raises his head. And stares at the stars blinking above.
First Published:
Friday Flash Fiction, 13 January 2023.
And Brings Up Loose Dirt
He kneels in front of the cabin. He thrusts his long fingers into the ground, and brings up loose dirt. The sun illuminates him as he digs. He strikes something hard, and pulls out a potato. He places it in front of him like a prize. He plunges a hand back into the earth. A shadow casts over him. He gets to his feet and tilts his head upward: nothing but blue sky. He considers going into town. But he may see the mayor. More than once the elected official has taken him aside and congratulated him on the polished redwood dining tables he used to make. Then the mayor asks why the business shut down. Each time, he fails to respond. He kneels in front of the cabin. He thrusts his long fingers into the ground, and brings up loose dirt.
First published in Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine 7.1.
Like a Moth
He climbs over the beams and planks that litter the construction site. Then disappears into a concrete shell. Runs up the stairs. Stops. And gasps at the top. Presses against a board that covers the doorway. Sunlight creeps in. He grins. Pushes again, and the board collapses. He steps out and jogs towards a nearby crane. Clambers on top. Reaches for the boom and climbs up it. The wind buzzes in his ears and the sky turns black. He raises his head. And stares at the stars blinking above.
First Published:
Friday Flash Fiction, 13 January 2023.
And Brings Up Loose Dirt
He kneels in front of the cabin. He thrusts his long fingers into the ground, and brings up loose dirt. The sun illuminates him as he digs. He strikes something hard, and pulls out a potato. He places it in front of him like a prize. He plunges a hand back into the earth. A shadow casts over him. He gets to his feet and tilts his head upward: nothing but blue sky. He considers going into town. But he may see the mayor. More than once the elected official has taken him aside and congratulated him on the polished redwood dining tables he used to make. Then the mayor asks why the business shut down. Each time, he fails to respond. He kneels in front of the cabin. He thrusts his long fingers into the ground, and brings up loose dirt.
First published in Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine 7.1.