Micro Fiction published in "Artemis," SCAD's undergraduate literary journal.


Lucas pulled the key out of the ignition. We sat in the car until the yellow cabin light flicked off. Now that it was dark, he sighed. I didn’t say anything to comfort him. At first, I was sad, too – shocked more than anything, when the police car pulled up to our house instead of our parents’ gray Volkswagen – but now all I felt was a sick sense of relief. I hated myself for it, for how little I felt, for how I couldn’t seem to see the world as different now that they were gone. But no matter how much I tried to rage like Lucas or cry like our aunts, there was only relief.

"Lost Boys"

Short Fiction.

The sky had just changed from dusk to real darkness when we heard the familiar rumble. Dawson bolted out of the house as the car turned into our cul-de-sac, and threw himself onto the shitty hood of the shitty black Subaru. He landed with a crunch that made me wince, but rolled off without a dent to his gleeful expression. The car shuddered to a stop and its driver jumped out without turning the key.