A sneak peek at the first chapter of my ongoing Epic Fantasy book series.
Gap Year
He stared up at the blue, purple, and black balloons taped to the ceiling, framing a gigantic banner reading ‘GRADUATE’ in bold silver filigree. When he’d watched his mom hang the decorations, he couldn’t help but think how much the colours reminded him of an ugly bruise.
Fingers
*PLEASE NOTE: This is a short horror story containing violence, explicit language, and torture.
The Bane of Klaue Castle
A white figure moved in his periphery.
He froze. Blinked furiously.
It was just the white curtain, hanging limp and moth-eaten over the window. Blast it. You’re an educated man, Arthur Bainsworth. Stop jumping at imagined ghosts.
The Town Awakens
A short story about an undead village and a lost ranger.
Where Did Grandpa’s Hair Go?
A short poem about a grandkid wondering why grandpa is bald.
A Portal on High Street
Ever since I was eight, I’ve been able to create portals to another dimension. Cool, right?
No, actually. Get your head out of your ass.
That’s That
A short poem about superstition.
The Elephant Handbag: 2
For my first few years in Cardiff, I felt like an outsider. I had the weird accent. My mother was dead. People would ask me about her, and I’d shrug. There wasn’t much to say. They’d ask me if Canada was cold. Yes, it’s fucking cold. (Okay, I didn’t say ‘fucking’, because I was ten, remember). The winter tends to be cold. Because of the snow. They’d ask me why I’d moved to Cardiff. What my Aunt did. She works in banking, I’d answer, though what I really wanted to say was, she works in banking, until she finally locks down one of those desperate divorced dads she’s always after. One with a solicitor’s salary and no dependants, if she had her way.
The Elephant Handbag: 1
There are a lot of tragic stories. Another where some obscure white girl doesn’t get her way is hardly worth anyone’s pity. And that’s not what I’m here to tell you about, anyways. I’m here to tell you about my mother’s handbag.
And how that handbag, with its rough stitching and cultural-appropriating rainbow-coloured elephant print kept me alive on the night I was attacked.
The night that stranger took everything from me: mind, soul, and body.