Flash Fiction: Wilbur Whateley’s Mother

Wilbur could talk. Maybe always could, but at age eleven-months, those were the first words he chose to speak to Lavinia Whateley.


For the Road

Why do you even bother wiping shaving cream on your face? Do you think it matters? Think people will notice you've shorn off that one day's worth of scruff?  Maybe you think your face looks more innocent without hair?  But you aren't innocent, are you? Why don't you take that razor and shove it deep …

Along for the Ride

Emperor Yi, bastard took hundreds to the ground with him, but not to rest, but to guard his long ago dust turned bones.


Shit, death is painless. Here among nothing pointed to the cliche of an afterlife, a bright light. He smells nothing. He feels nothing. But he knows he is and that is enough to give him confidence as images from his life begin to bombard him. Birth, bloody mess that was, mother- white with exhaustion and …