Stories
The Humerus Is Not a Funny Bone
Humor/Literary Fiction - Published in [untitled]
Eddie Bonzo is the only one in his family of clowns without a sense of humor, and he must choose whether to go on pretending he does or shed his clown self and disappoint everyone.
“Eddie Bonzo woke up and found that his nose had fallen off. It took him a moment blinking in the dark to notice it missing, and then in a sudden panic, he clawed at the sheets, turning up turnips and rubber snakes and tacks but not his nose. He tore apart his pillows, sending a cloud of down into the air. He reached down between his mattress and the wall, felt along the baseboard, and found only a mouse trap, which snapped shut on his fingers, pulsing twice their size until he pried the mouse trap off.”
Careful What You Wish For
Fantasy/Horror - 1st Place Winner - 24-Hour Short Story Contest
PROMPT: From her lap, his shiny black eyes stared up at her as she admired his permanent red smile. Fingering his tiny overalls, she pictured the little ones' faces, pressed against the icy windowpanes, waiting for her to arrive with another basket of her lifelike, homemade gifts. The last strand of hair was finally in place. As she gently inserted the needle to tie a knot, he lurched in her hand and a high-pitched voice said...
Seeds of Discontent
Fantasy/Horror - Honorable Mention - 24-Hour Short Story Contest
PROMPT: Weeks of obsessive tending and gentle turning ensured a blue ribbon for his biggest pumpkin next weekend. His chest puffed with impending pride as he fantasized about the envious stares of the other town folk, especially that pretty, stuck-up woman next door, who always looked through him, not at him. The cold wind started again and he shivered, watching the sky darken too quickly. As bright, painted leaves rained on his crop, he instinctively turned his head toward an infant's cry. At the top of the hill, under the old Maple, his stuck-up neighbor was shielding a bundle from the wind, fumbling with her blouse...
Hairpin
Literary Fiction - Semifinalist in L Magazine’s Literary Upstart Competition
A mother attends a Sunday brunch featuring unlimited mimosas and lip-syncing drag queens, while confronting her feelings about her son being one of the performers.
“Don’t look at the waiter. No, that would be rude. Look at the waiter, briefly. Smile. Hold up your empty glass. Look at his eyes, not the wig, or the lipstick, or the boobs, or the rest. Look at the hairpin, while you wait for the refill. Forget that the hairpin came from Tim. Flew off in a moment of ecstatic wailing, microphone pressed to teeth. He is not really singing, so it has to be more emphatic, for the show of it. Tim has always been good at the show of it. It's a shame he's not really singing. You have always thought he had a beautiful voice.”
