Moonlight Sonata

April 27, 2012
Willard was adjusting his left cufflink when he found Dorothy dead in the dryer, mummied in bloodstained linen and down. His stomach contracted as he fell back against the wall and clamped a silk handkerchief to his gaping mouth, just barely smothering the high-pitched whinny threatening to escape. Dorothy’s white, feline body lay in hideous »

Small Orange Circles

February 21, 2012
It was Anthony who first told me the Sun would explode. He said he’d seen it in a magazine. (Or a book, he couldn’t remember. Didn’t I read?) He was kicking a pebble, or a soda can — or maybe he wasn’t kicking anything at all — it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that »