How to get from one side of the room to the other without causing too much of a commotion in the main ballroom?
Yes, the Duchess was sure to notice that her twin wards, Tikk and Tokk, hadn’t stayed in their novice’s cells as they’d been directed, instead slipping the pins out of their door hinges and gently laying the wooden doors against the opposite wall without creating too much of a bang, but then, they planned to be long gone before that happened. Continue reading
“What goes around, comes around, again and again and again,” Sharlie muttered, shuffling her feet – along with all her fellow shift workers at Widgetties Inc — over the cracks and buckles in the sidewalk that led up to the factory’s tall, iron double doors. Her steel-toed boots were worn, soles held to uppers with fraying duct tape. “Uh-huh, Baby needs a new pair of shoes, but first she needs a different, better job.” Continue reading
Annalisa stared down at the menu, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple in the dim light of late night. The other pages were just as crowded with options, all of them equally unappetizing, but she knew she had to make a decision, and knew that Rory, sitting opposite her at the patio table, was beetling his brows and tugging at his walrus-like mustache. As was his habit, he waited in judgment, ready to trumpet his corrections to whatever choice she might make. Continue reading
Scrubbing her hands over her face, she replayed the voicemail. Listening for clues that said otherwise, she accepted that nothing had changed. She was to comply, absolutely.
Hunched over the bar rail, leaning into the bowl of free peanuts, having made his way from the bright morning, across a treacherous savannah of broken shells, pull-tabs and a number of suspicious sticky spots, Artie noted he was out of money and therefore, on his final drink. Continue reading
Life in progress
Write or write not - there is no aspiring.
Poetry and Commentary that Smells
poetry, fiction, art, books, retro
A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
It's All True, None of It's True. Don't Ask.
Words of a clarklike female
A writing blog by H.R.R. Gorman
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Fiction Writing
