Fiction

I used to think my Grandpa was 100 years old. I had every reason to—his hair was pure white, he walked with a cane, and he moved slowly. Sometimes his hands would shake as he gestured or when he would lift a cup of tea to his lips.

Gigantes Island, central archipelago.  Summertime. Young Benjamin, on vacation with his kin, is standing by the seaside inhaling the crisp breeze of the easterlies, which blows continuously in the same pitch and speed. Light is breaking on the horizon and is strewn over...

Blood has a peculiar, coppery taste in the mouth. Carmen smells it first, a familiar metallic tang from rusted iron reminiscent of white sartin cups in her youth. Hers had a special red lining, instead of the usual blue ones, a gift from...

Vienna was twelve and she loved the night. Especially when there was a moon out, even if it was just a fingernail of it with just enough light to make the night Van Gogh-esque. A brighter one would have dimmed the light of the stars...

After three knocks on the door, she entered his office. Her pitch-black velvet cloak glided across the floorboards as she walked towards him. The man in question was looking out the window, letting sunlight seep into the room as he listened to an old...

San Francisco, back in the day, was everyone’s favorite city, ‘the city that knows how,’ cosmopolitan city by the bay, where one grew up with musicians and artists and writers walking its steep and windy streets in almost every neighborhood. This is a...