9 stories is a collection of that includes science fiction, post-apocalypse, crime drama, paranormal, and more.
The Piano Man - A nice, ordinary family man accidentally develops a special ability that he soon wishes he hadn't.
I Didn't Kill Her - A long-forgotten good deed gets thoroughly punished.
The CEO - One of the wealthiest men in New York can't buy a thing.
Lost Father - Lisa appears to have lost her father. He's right there, but she can't reach him.
The Dregs - It's all a matter of perspective. Right?
Halloween Bully - A macabre American holiday gives birth to a serial killer.
When Everything Changed - Humanity gets grounded and sent to its room.
The Storyteller - Time after time, he lives, writes, and he dies.
Devon's Last Chance - If Devon can't get one special human to embrace the dark side, it's the end for him.Genre: FICTION / Short Stories (single author)
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The sound of a chainsaw yanked me from my slumber and when I opened my eyes, I saw a pretty, nude blonde lying next to me with a knife sticking out of her chest and blood running down her sides, pooling in the shallow depth of her abdomen.
Surely I was still dreaming. No one wakes up like this. I closed my eyes and squeezed them shut really hard, then I opened them again. She was still there. So was the blood, and the knife. What the fuck?
I scrambled up and looked around. Where the fuck was I? How did I get here? The house was empty and looked vacant. There was no furniture and nothing hanging from the walls. Just trash scattered around the carpet. Empty beer cans, snack food wrappers and cigarette butts that had been crushed into the carpet. The place smelled like bug spray and urine.
I looked down at myself and saw that I was still dressed, but my hands were stained with blood. That made no sense at all. I would never kill anyone. And if I did, it would be in self-defense. The girl lying on the floor did not look anything remotely like a threat to anyone. She was naked and unarmed. She looked far more like a victim of a crime than a perpetrator of one. Even though I had no memories of how I got here, and I did not recognize this girl from anywhere, I was certain that I didn’t kill her.
I tried to recall where I was last night but I couldn’t remember a thing. I had a better chance of remembering the weird dream I’d been having before I woke, and it was all but evaporated now. I needed to look at the girl, even though the thought of doing so filled me with fear and revulsion, but first, I had to get the blood off my hands. I could imagine someone saying, “We caught him red-handed.” Great. My sense of humor was intact. Maybe I really was crazy. This was no time for joking around.
Translation in progress. Translated by Victor Guasco
Already translated. Translated by Jose Canton