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My Works
Fiction
Where the Heart Is
Rue is standing in the alley between a bar and a law firm, leaning against a cold brick wall, a nearby lamppost casting half his face in shadow. There’s a cigarette held between his two fingers, arm outstretched, his flannel falling down over his wrist. I hear the soft thumping of music as I approach him, a cold wind hitting my bare face.
CNF
About Grief
My grandma has been dead for one month. It’s my fault. At least I think it is. It’s been going around in my mind: If God is real, her death is His punishment for not believing in Him. It’s a long thought to be looped in my head. A stupid one, too. It doesn’t make sense, and yet, there it is, tormenting me.
Poetry
UH OH
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