“Get down from there, Sebastian,” I begged. Fear made my throat tight and quaver-y. But he didn’t appear to hear me. He was a dark figure, silhouetted against the sky. The fading sun tinged everything with a strange, surreal glow. Sebastian wavered, almost losing his balance for a moment before he righted himself. His arms rose higher behind him, looking almost like wings as he walked along the fallen tree, so high up off the ground. Snapped off during a heavy storm, the tree

Clay swirled his brush across the paper, filling in the sky behind the little red house he’d painted.  Below, two stick figures with dark hair held the hands of the smaller figure. The one with bright yellow hair just like Clay’s.  Mittens wound around his ankle as he dipped the brush into the water, then traded the blue paint for black. His tongue poked out from between his teeth as he carefully drew a few more lines and added ears. “There, I put you in the picture too, Mitt

Charles watched, heart in his throat, as Emanuel leapt from the cliff.  His form was perfect, his body knifing through the air as he plummeted to the pool of water below. A cry went up from the people around them, and Charles realized his arms were upraised too, his throat hoarse from screaming, although he could hear nothing over the roar of the waterfall. Before Charles could blink, Emanuel was gone, disappearing beneath the churning water.  Charles’ gut felt full of lead a

Hollywood wasn’t good for much of anything, but Michael had to give it some credit. Over the years it had proven quite useful. History and legend had done much to confuse the world about the power of witches, but Hollywood had done even more. According to the movies and TV, witches were either ugly old hags or pretty young girls who wore a lot of black. No one knew the truth. But they would, soon. He glanced upward. It was mid-afternoon, but the sky was tinged an odd, sickly

The entire living room seemed to shudder as the door slammed shut.  “A large female? You really had to call me a large female? And I am not missing. I went to visit my sister for a couple of days because you’re an asshat.” “Camille  …” “Don’t Camille me.” The curvy, rainbow-haired shifter wagged a finger at Roy.  “You plastered a missing poster of a unicorn all over Manhattan to get back at me because we had a fight.  Not cool, man.” “It was meant to be a joke,” Roy replied w

On the path in front of him, Kurt stopped in his tracks and Victor’s feet slid on the dew-damp grass as he tried to do the same.  He cursed as he ran into the man in front of him, his hands curling around the thick biceps to get his balance. “Damn,” Kurt whispered, his tone almost reverent. You aren’t kidding, Victor thought. Just being in such close proximity made his head spin. “I didn’t know it would be like that. Your photos are going to be amazing.” Victor chuckled inter

Carnival Oddity With a wrenching metallic noise, the carousel horse broke free.  Someone screamed and I reached out blindly, groping for Sammy’s hand.  It was clammy like mine and I felt an absurd sense of relief that I likely wasn’t the only one whose heart beat too fast, fear choking my throat and making my tongue dry. “What’s happening?” I whispered to her as the horse, carved wooden muscles bunching obscenely, leaped over the nearby park bench. It ran jerkily, stiffly, li

Missed Connection Benjamin Kimura sank to the paving stones beneath him as his knees went out from under him.  The clank and rattle of the train were a distant, dim annoyance as he drank in the words Antonia had written.  It rumbled and hissed to a stop as the words swam in front of his eyes. Why had he never listened before? Since the moment they met in grad school, Ben had loved Antonio with the kind of single-minded intensity he usually reserved for his beloved books.  So

The Last One Alive The gravel path was well-packed and surprisingly neat as it cut through the scrubby grass covered in ash and sparkling with frost.  He’d discovered the path a few days before.  The cat had arrived then too and had stubbornly fallen into step beside him despite his best attempts to scare it away.  Lincoln had screamed at it, even kicked at it with his boot, but it had only slowly blinked at him with all-knowing yellow eyes and he gave up. Truth be told, he w

The Marrakesh Machine Eldon’s blunt nails dug into his palms as the Marrakesh Machine rose, lanterns glowing with hues of deep purple, orange, and gold. Fly, fly, fly, he silently urged the machine as he watched from the ground. It rose jerkily—making his stomach wobble with nerves—before the convection currents stabilized. Fifteen years of designing ,modifying, and begging for money to build his invention had gone into this moment. Along with three years of toadying to Lord

Note: I didn’t have anything ready for last week because I was so sick, but I had an idea pop into my head today so here’s the flash fic for April 20th. Regret Swallowing his tears, Royce settled back on the rock and listened to the sound of the rushing river beneath him.  He wondered if he’d have the strength to throw himself off the rock into the icy river before the infection took over.  He’d been contemplating the best way to die for hours now and he still couldn’t decide

After the struggles I had with the holiday novella, I feel blah and uninspired.  Despite the thousand and one plot bunnies and two nearly completed novels waiting for me, I don’t feel like writing.  I had four days off last week and only wrote a few hundred words.  Now, a few days off to celebrate the holidays is good, but on top of weeks of the blahs? Not good. That’s a slippery slope to no writing at all. And being a writer isn’t about only writing when you feel inspired.