Where The Story Goes

Short Fiction

“So what novel, pray tell, are we at now?” Amanda, her best friend from High School and fellow abdicator asked as she plunked down into the wide and roomy leather booth of their favorite restaurant. Amanda’s wine glass sloshed dangerously about the crystal rim of her long-stemmed goblet. Amanda retained her strict adherence to the atheistic-borderline-agnostic-church-for-her-mother’s-sake, so took every opportunity to harass her friend on her ‘weakness, ’ i.e. the return to the Church.

My Name Is Aletta

Novel Excerpt / Writing

“Ne felj!” His slender body arched inward; shoulders stooped as if he were trying to make himself less frightful. Impossible! My teeth chattered in response to his hushed question and attempted assurance. The blood that smeared across his lips and chin, the body of the young girl between us now emitting a thin mist as if her soul were rising from her cooling body. “Meggyilkoltad azt a lanyt.” I croaked out at last. But even in my fear my mind churned to remember the lighting, the smell, the shadow of the place in which I felt certain my life was finally beginning and soon to end.

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