A short time ago, a man who lived near me got angry. He woke up one morning and torched his house, with his wife and stepdaughter still inside. He drove up I-35 to the Georgetown airport, got his plane, and flew it into the Echelon Building in Austin.

to us! Without it we are less than human and cannot guarantee your safe passage through our woods any more. Give us back the moon. It is the primary element in the makeup of our deepest breaths taken to invoke all cycles to continue. It contains…

"Don't pull too hard," warned Father. "You might sever it from the body, spraying blood into your eyes."

The screen door slowly opened. I was expecting the second / coming of perfection.

i am two / one part me / another part them

In time's embroidery, the human storyis a short stretch of a short strand within the thread of half a knot-and that stretch of strand's defective. What will mourn us when we're gone?Not the plants which live so lightly on the earth.Not the scorpions and not the ants.Perhaps…

Something’s been eating at my craw. I’m just going to go ahead and spill it all out. You ever hear about Poetry Whores? Well, let me tell you a little about them, because if I don’t, then who will? I’m not going to name names. You can pretty much guess

“If we had more bats we’d have fewer bugs,” I said. She shrank back into her sweater, and gave me a look, then a shrug.

Giant stars are beautiful, when you stand directly in front of them.But touching them, is a whole other story.Junior had touched one. A strong burning sensation flew through his arm and down his spine. A feeling of electrocution and burning at the same…

She was gazing down at her two hands holding the peach seersucker top, but without blinking she saw four hands—ahh, idiot, the mirror! But in the next moment no, it was four hands . . .

He sees the dogs through the window, his babies, sleeping on opposite ends of the couch. His girl, lying supine, hind legs spread, grotesquely, almost comically, as far as they can without being flush with the cushion. His boy, Cosmo, face down, the power…

The man who put up the clothes line left his kids upstairs at night and came down to my bed.

My muscles ached but I was awake. That night I didn’t sleep as soon as my body wanted to. I stared at the picture facing me, knowing the young man her father had been was behind it. I kept thinking of his eyes looking out, at the old man who eventu

Why not just self-publish on Fictionaut and be read by thousands of my peers? Why not release my cherished work directly to my thousands of Facebook or Twitter or blog friends? Can the budding writer that I am realistically expect a larger audience?

All I need is a break; to meet a woman who has access to a fruit fly database, either personally or through a trust established by her fruit-fly collecting grandfather.