Pablo had a good day at work. On his way back to his car, a truck drove by blowing smoke. The words fucking ‘spic pierced the coal and boomed hard enough to break a spirit. Everyone in the parking lot cocked their heads towards Pablo was already backing out. He drove home in silence. When … More Short Short Fiction I Wrote Today
Donnie Gumbo was a man. A larger built man. A larger built man with soft eyes and a strong neck. He was in line behind his best friend Oli at a taco truck. It was lunchtime when his best friend died. Oliver Grim was standing in line in front of his best friend Donnie as … More Gumbo
This is my living journal. Updated when needed. I hope to one day look back at his project and think: I felt something. It’s not about my writing. It’s about me.
Maria sat with her legs crossed tight enough to amputate a man’s hand if it found itself anywhere near them. She didn’t know much English, she carried all her money in cash, and she didn’t have her husband next to her. All she had was three children waiting in her suburban, pining for mushroom pizza. … More Hongos. (Reprise)
Uriel was fourteen when he started begging. At fifteen, he had gotten pretty good at it. At sixteen, people stopped giving him change. His beard was too scraggly and his teeth were too foul for his boyish charm to work anymore. Of course, it didn’t help that Janos, Mexico had been withering away over the … More Mil Muertes
Santiago was seven when he first heard the name El Cucuy. It was back when his boyish wonder led him to places he shouldn’t be. He’d usually spend his time playing with his toys and cars in the living room. Santiago’s explosions rattled the glasses in the kitchen cabinets. His car engines growled and coughed … More El Cucuy