short story. 9 august 2022

blue cloudless sky. a tree planted near the concrete bench by the grave cast dappled shade that wavered with the slight breeze.

behind me, outside my peripheral vision, NHØP played his upright bass while red-winged blackbirds darted above the tasseled heads of corn and i shaved curls of balsa wood strips.

#BizarroFiction #ShortStory #DaishinStephenson

daishin's chop


please note, this site does not track you

conversations. 25 april 2018

i am walking through a muddy field. ridges and ruts from large vehicles litter the landscape.

i step in a puddled rut, my sandal lost to its muddy depths as i pull my foot free.

a wind gust blows into my face. i turn my head. a brutalist tower stands to my left. i wonder where it came from and walk towards it.

the entryway doors, built of glass and steel, are open. i walk inside. the interior of the lobby is clean. instead of furniture, piles of rubble punctuate the space. a rabbit sits atop some debris. it appears old: cutouts and nicks on both ear edges, the short hairs growing there are illuminated by window light; bald patches dapple its body. it is wearing an ascot.

the rabbit asks, “why are you here?”

i answer, “i walked through the doors.”

#bizarrofiction #shortstory #daishinstephenson

daishin's chop


please note, this site does not track you