My Mama named me James Andrew Moon but she called me her Jimmy Angel. My real Mama, not the one who pretends to be. I remember my real Mama. I am 7 years old and today is my birthday. The Mama I have now is mean and not at all like my real one. My... Continue Reading →

Advertisements

Most people complain about Mondays, and rightfully so, but for Yzabel, it was Wrenched Wednesday. Wouldn’t you know I, she thought, today is no damn different. The one day she didn’t want to be late to an appointment, and there is an out of order sign on the mirrored doors. “Jesus, I hate elevators,” she... Continue Reading →

The sky was bluer then, when we were kids, and everything seemed bigger, like anything was possible.  We flew like the birds on our bikes down the dusty lanes of town, hooting and hollering like wild-boys on the full moon.  We met our friends at the mall and hung out at Klingman's Taste Supreme and... Continue Reading →

What follows is an excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Monster in Number 4, coming to eBook and Paperback in 2019.   The day had been slow, monotonous to the point that he wanted to roll down the windows of the elderly Caprice and scream at the drivers around him.  They'd rescued a cat from a... Continue Reading →

She knew something was wrong when he stopped bringing her flowers as a surprise, or coffee in bed or wanted an impromptu date to the grocery store with a milkshake after. Those small things, like asking how she was, holding her hand, even a kiss goodnight  ceased and she noticed. She even used her words, spoke... Continue Reading →

I'm sitting here In the dark With my head Under the covers And toes exposed Watching a movie With the earbuds in The kind where everybody screams Eating cheese like a weirdo And I can't help think That it'd be more fun with company ©MelanieMcCurdie

Angel is a lone woman in an apartment that resembles a padded cell in an asylum, and the only friend she has in the world is a man named Calvin Moon, who happens upon her and a live internet feed while searching for entertainment. To Calvin’s surprise, he finds just that. The hitch is that... Continue Reading →

The End of Her Rope

It is the last straw, this, the last time. This time his whore came to our home, dressed, or rather undressed, expecting him to be ready for her. In our bed. Not the first time, but certainly the final time. I’ve paid, and dearly for his indiscretions, physically, emotionally, having to swallow my pride and... Continue Reading →

Title photo Seppuku by Spanish artist Pejac The flight of geese outside my windows heralds the small death of Mother Nature; She, having fed on the vitality of summer, soon will lay dormant under a blanket of snow. So will I.   I've  tried to ask for help the only way I know how, and my... Continue Reading →

  *an excerpt from Slaughterhouse Stories,  coming in October 2016* Airports.  A concrete pen full of rules and fragrant with the scent of human animals.  It is certainly not the place Abbegael Clermont wants to be.  She was supposed to be on a tropical beach with a drink in her hand, but her employers disagreed, as... Continue Reading →

*from the upcoming book,  Stories from the Slaughterhouse, coming soon to digital and paperback* The thunk of the gun on the table in front of me holds such a finality that I am stunned into stammering.   Had I truly come to a point in my life where all my troubles could be bought away... Continue Reading →

Read  S N A P S H O T August 13, 2015 Outside of Kelford 30 miles NE of Skull Creek It’s all Al Kennedy can think about. Three weeks’ vacation to spend seven days of it driving while Angie slept and the kids fussed and fought endlessly in the back seat. Then she would... Continue Reading →

Powered by WordPress.com.

Up ↑