Latest Short stories
Mahzar sat cross-legged on the sandy floor and gripped his staff to still his trembling hands. Suluboya’s painted face stared at him from the corner of the tent as if waiting for him to renounce his promotion. “This is the will of the tribe,” he said to the idol. “I did not choose this. Nor did I choose Devrim’s actions.”
Sand swirled like a plague of locusts across the plain, spitting against Travis’s goggles. A line of fenceposts and an abandoned bunker contentedly slept while the world died around them.
“Home,” Asher’s escort said, handing him a set of keys. He splayed the keys out in his palm. Which one? But his escort had already returned to the car and started the engine. Asher tested several keys in the lock before one turned. The door creaked as he pushed it open. He cringed at the noise. But why did it bother him?
“Please read me!” Hardcover whispered as the top of a brown-haired head paused in front of his shelf. Though he knew humans couldn’t hear him, he repeated the plea over and over. Fingers crept toward him, creating a trail in the dust. If Hardcover had lungs, he would have held his breath. Just a couple more inches…
I built my first coffin when I was thirteen years old. Father said it wasn’t good enough. I built another. And another. For five years, they were never satisfactory, but Father was too weak to work, so the deceased in our town were buried in not-quite-good-enough coffins.