Who Am I?
A weary man shuffles along a corridor, one of a line of weary shuffling men. The corridor is made of rough concrete and it is cold. Harsh light gives the men’s skin an unhealthy pallor.
Short stories
Original short stories about the end of the world.
Call for a Moratorium on the Suit
A law that invariably and by its very design fails to attain its ends is unjust and incommensurably more deplorable than the crime it is intended to punish.
Red Dawn
Huge great flashes and weird red things and a moon roughly the size of Alaska. They were driving north when the sky finally broke open and poured down its wrath upon humanity.
The Monday War
His eyes watered. He was staring at the sun. The sky was clear blue and the water the same.
The Shearing
Myles passes me my knitted hat. He already has his on. We didn’t used to need to wear a hat to bed, but since The Shearing, everyone’s got to keep their head warm. Nobody’s got long hair anymore.
Stand by for Redeployment
We were already running hot, sirens tearing through the morning traffic.
Amity
Surrounding the man were narrow beige walls marked with expletives written in blood. There was little in the cell. A tin mirror bolted to the wall, a steel toilet, bench, mattress, a gray bedsheet, and a washcloth worn with use.
The Statue
The people of the village had known that statue for as long as the village was around.
Permutations
Data Stream 0
One Percent
Languid movements. Grinding joints. Skull screen glitching. Vision blurring. This is it. Severe battery depletion. Clarence is powering down.
Hell Truckers
He turned another card. A dog-eared Jack of hearts with a shit-eating grin pencilled crudely onto the vellum. That was a problem, because he already had a Jack of hearts, and he liked the look of that one much better.
The Ridgeway
Four days out and running low on water, but he didn’t care. He stopped at the crest of the hill to catch his breath.
Traveller's Unrest
“Ale’s going off,” he shouted into space across the empty inn. Beric swilled the last mouthful. There was a sickly sweet taste to it, and it was flat, almost syrupy.
Catch and Release
$18,000 per catch. Less if they’re incomplete. Nothing if the head comes off, for obvious reasons. $18,000. More money than most people earn in a year, and all being well, we can earn it in a single day.
Like Wildfire
The riots were three blocks over and the power was cutting in and out, so she packed her camping gear and drove hard and fast out of the valley, leaving the smog and concrete behind.
Twenty-Seven Minutes
In this line of work, you think about death every day. You have to. You sign the waivers and the non-disclosures, you take out the insurance policies and attend the procedural briefings. Every day is another opportunity to die.
The Danger Is Still Present, in Your Time, as It Was in Ours
They watched the kid dig with manic intensity. The pile of dirt next to him had grown to maybe half his height. Some of the soil would tumble back into the hole with every frantic shovelful. The kid didn’t care.
The Gates of Morbach
Chains and ropes creaked on the other side of the great gate. Beyond, Grade could hear the sounds of life and livestock, mingling with the rain.