Just the only short story I felt was worthwhile out of all of my attempts in my creative writing classes. Haven't look at it forever. Delusional I once had glory. Enough, in fact, that I could use the spare to wipe my nose. My name echoed about the land with each brush of my hand, … Continue reading Delusional
"There was once a man named Tall Stone who fell in love with the daughter of the Sun. He never beheld her face or form, for no man can look directly into the Sun, but he could see the work of her hands. She was the soft touch of morning light that spread open flowers … Continue reading Chapter 5: The Man in Love with the Sun
By late that evening, no one had heard any crying, so we were hopeful that the exorcisms had worked. As Takigawa said, it was always nice to have a case that actually was as straightforward as it appeared. I was just happy that after an hour or so by the fire with my head in … Continue reading Chapter 4: Kuman Thong
He didn't come back until night. By the time he stumbled in, his ribs were burning up a storm and blood had seeped to his shirt. Since they were use to him vanishing, no one had waited up for him. He would have been disturbed if they had. The bathroom light hurt. Streetlights had been … Continue reading Chapter 4: Pre-Owned
Tell my why I prefer naked moonlit nights to the shade of sunny days. I'm not white, I'm the color of murky ocean, curdling beneath me with drifting globes of jellyfish. I dream of peeking down below at all the things that grow there. I'm meant to lounge in softness, killing dragons, slaying monsters, in … Continue reading Shade of Summer Days
"I will not help you," she said. "You dangle too much on the edge of reality and hope that I'm much too aware of your stupid means." But I already knew I was stupid. Isn't that why I couldn't write tonight? But then again, I never meant her any pink offenses. Even if what I … Continue reading Romancing the Muse
We don't talk anymore. Whether it's because you're hiking different cliffs followed by almost children, or because I'm too aware of the threat of your sex to what I need most. I don't know. But we don't talk anymore. I admit, I still wonder about the path you stood by and offered to me with … Continue reading We Friends Don’t Talk Anymore
His mother's red dress is two sizes too big for me. I wear it anyways, flattered to wear that which was left behind; once well beloved but forgotten, but I cannot sew. And I find I am too fond to put it off: my husband's mother's red dress.
Covet all within a store known for fragile Chinese wares. Where is your pride now?