Fiction

Here’s a word of advice to anyone reading this story: If a talking panda offers you a wish, say no! Seriously, if you thought genies were bad, they’ve got nothing on pandas.

Henry closed his eyes and burrowed beneath the blankets, thinking through the events of the day. 

The world is a cold, untrustworthy place. This is something I have learned the hard way. 

Snowflakes fell from the sky, dusting my hair and jacket as I marveled at the sight before me. It seemed that nowhere was untouched by the beautiful white snow. Rooftops, fences, alleyways, porches; all covered in it.  

As much as I don’t want it to be true, it is.

Time is running out. Soon we will all be one of the Fallen.

There’s nothing we can do to stop it. Its arrival feels rushed, but at the same time—too far away.

Her eyes were not fixed on god but rather on the large taxidermied moose head fixed above the choir on the wall across from where she sat. It may as well have been him.

The ocean pulls forward and back in a rhythmic motion, lying beneath a spectacular sunset. We marvel at the sight of the setting sun, leaving traces of pink and gold along the clouds, tracing its paint-brushed fingers along the sky.

“Gather around the fireplace kids,” Grandpa said. “It's time I tell you a story, as my grandfather told me on a winter day long ago just like this very one’’.

“Come, come,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” she said. One of my adventures she added silently
“Yay!” the kids exclaimed.
“Roar”.

“Gather ‘round the fireplace, kids,” Grandpa said.

Back in the 1970s when logging was a common thing in the woods of California there was a logging deck that was deeper in the woods than any other.

Fourteen miles to 432 Carolina Street, that was the only thing standing between Joseph Palmer and free pizza. It was also the only thing standing between me and a stern talking to by my boss.