From the journal of Hewie Skeltris

June 29, 1987 I still can’t put my finger on exactly what it was that made me notice her in the first place, but whatever it was, she’s got me in a state of awe that I can’t shake. Her name is Sylvie and she is perfect for me, in every way possible. I saw … Continue reading From the journal of Hewie Skeltris

I’m not where I left me

My name is Invisible, at least, that's what the card saysInvisible at LargeNot sure how I got hereI don't remember where here isI’m not where I left me at allI was in a gloomy and spooky jungleThere, I looked for Jade and redemptionI searched for salvation and found itIn an unexpected spaceIn that place, I … Continue reading I’m not where I left me


As time crept closer, those fluttery wings in her belly grow more frantic; sort of like bats in the belfry but lower. Her nerves jangle along with her bones, and she wonders, on nights like this, how a person can survive it. How can a human soul continue to exist under such conditions? The clock … Continue reading Shiny


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 Yzabel


Dressed in my best casual “I barely care wear,” I, the perpetual wallflower, do what I do best I decorate the bleachers with all the other grapes dying on the vine. Some are small, grown sour and bitter, while others are soft and complacent, nearly dead but clinging to hope. Still others, the rare ones … Continue reading Wallflower


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 Lonny

Opal Kettle

Jackson’s daughter loved Frozen and at age 4, could recite every single word to that stupid movie about an enchanted whiner who couldn’t deal with her shit and froze everything’s script including the snowman. He liked Olaf in spite of himself.  The reindeer too.  The fact that Opal knew every single wasn’t the worst of … Continue reading Opal Kettle