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Literature
Call of the Rift: Veil, Chapter 1
“Salmon? That’s what you’re looking forward to?” My cousin Dunehein laughed behind me in the canoe stern. “Thought you’d say your friends or a proper bed.”
“Not just any salmon.” My muscles strained with each stroke of the paddle. Droplets streamed off the wood. “Hot from the smokehouse, oily, flaky, and steaming, with that sweet, hazy scent of burnt alder.”
Right now, all I could taste was salt. Seaspray kept my leggings and shirt constantly damp. To our right, snow-capped cliffs rose like crooked walls. To our left, the inlet’s far bank was a green smudge wreathed b
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Literature
One Bad Day #19
Chapter 19: Heavy Lies the Ground
“Dios mio,” Anita cursed. Oh my god. She pulled off her glasses and pushed the laptop away.
“Que pasa, Mami?” Dora asked over her shoulder, looking up from the stacks of dollar bills she was sorting and counting. What’s up? She and her mother were back to back in separate booths. Dora had been accounting the cash exchanges while her mother tackled the card transactions.
Anita turned around and steeled her eyes on Dora. “Dora, que paso? Ques hicieras?” Dora, what happened? What did you do?
She knew what her mother meant immediately. She had been counting herself,
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Nevermore XVII
“There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told.”
Andre awoke sluggishly the next morning. A strangely thick sense of grogginess hung over him. Was he actually even waking up? Or was he still dreaming? What had he been dreaming? He felt around on the bed for his phone to check the time; a little after nine.
“I guess I’m awake…” he mumbled, though he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the world.
It was the call of his bladder that really brought him around. Reluctantly, he pushed himself up from the mattress and stretched his limbs, bringing t
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Literature
Call of the Rift: Veil, Chapter 1
“Salmon? That’s what you’re looking forward to?” My cousin Dunehein laughed behind me in the canoe stern. “Thought you’d say your friends or a proper bed.”
“Not just any salmon.” My muscles strained with each stroke of the paddle. Droplets streamed off the wood. “Hot from the smokehouse, oily, flaky, and steaming, with that sweet, hazy scent of burnt alder.”
Right now, all I could taste was salt. Seaspray kept my leggings and shirt constantly damp. To our right, snow-capped cliffs rose like crooked walls. To our left, the inlet’s far bank was a green smudge wreathed b
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