Tag Archives: microfiction
Everything was still empty in both directions. There was just enough of a gap for him to swing the beast around. Continue reading
My brain started in with all the classic symptoms of overthinking my way into stagnating and giving up, and I wondered if what I was doing was even any good. Are these worth anything? Is what I’m putting out there going to show anyone that I’m a writer? Or worthy of editing other people’s horror prose? Yeah, that’s the little voice inside that starts up whenever I start making progress. I used to (still sometimes do) listen to that voice a lot. Continue reading
Erosion was the word they used, and it was a good one—evocative, eternal, personifying the daily, deadly drip drip drip of the words and thoughts that reached out from the screen to wrap you up, muffle your head. Continue reading
The scratch-itch-scratch over half-formed scars until they parted, revealing the moist redness underneath, until they healed over thick white tissue.
They hadn’t been wrong. They had heard something, out in the hallway. Was it their patient? No. Their patient was… They had abandoned their patient, left him out there with that… thing. Continue reading