Category: Stories & Essays
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Demon Lover: Part Four
Elise existed in the most delectable state of shame, and had only grown more succulent by the day. She would taste so pretty, writhing in pain within my grasp. And now she was out of my reach, at a hospital somewhere, from what I could gather from the man’s murky thoughts as he shuffled through…
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Demon Lover: Part Three
She wasn’t the type to coddle living things. Most people like to have something living nearby — a plant, a fish, a cat, another human. I’d never seen another living being in her space. It was just her and me.
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Sitting with fear and art
If you have generalized anxiety disorder, you’ve probably learned to talk to yourself about death. We all have our own methods, but my general script goes like this: Anxiety: You’re going to die because of X, here are the reasons. Me: I will die someday, and I’m going to take reasonable precautions to postpone that,…
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How Not to Announce Your Independently Published Novel on Facebook
Anyway, here’s a book I wrote. No, I didn’t self-publish because I was rejected by real publishers, I self-published because I’m too impatient and anxiety-ridden to write query letters in the first place. Anyway, here’s a book I wrote. I know, it’s audacious that I’d just go and write a book, then publish it without…
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The Art Monster Tires Of Their Manic Pixie Dream Girl Skin
I am not here for you to learn a lesson. I am not here so you can be a better man, or a more clever man, or a more interesting man. I am here to tell stories. Maybe you’ll be one of them. Darling, that’s a threat. I don’t care if you like my stories.…
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Pilgrimage to Villa Diodati
We took Quai Gustave-Ador out of Geneva proper, walking along Lake Leman until the winter tourist crowds subsided. I insisted on walking, despite the cold which had migrated to my lungs. I knew it wouldn’t be the same by bus. If I didn’t walk, it wouldn’t feel to me like I’d really arrived at Villa…
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Pacific Northwest Gothic: A Template
We start with fear and end with the fantasy. First, there is a corpse on a riverbank. Later, she dances on a stage with red velvet curtains. The North decays just as well as the South, but in deceptive ways. You won’t smell the body rot coming from the forest over the scent of…
K. D. Hume 