Fish Tale
You’re asking was it the fish that started the dreams. Sure. The fish.
I gave some old stories a little love and polish. Find them here. They are my personal favourites.
You’re asking was it the fish that started the dreams. Sure. The fish.
The back door sticks on humid mornings.
I log none of this. That is new.
She opened her mouth.
The dog is frozen against the fence post.
The city had forgotten what it was supposed to look like.
Fouad’s hands were flat on the counter.
The ping came in the third hour of daywatch.
The habitat breathes at night. You stop hearing it after the first week. You absorb it. Become it.
The lair smelled like solder and bad decisions.
The morning started with Donnie eating toast over the sink the way he always did
A thousand years. Still going.