Short Fiction

My Father The Clown

  “My earliest memory is waking in the predawn of a midwinter morning to the sound of my father’s clown shoes treading the floorboards of the hallway outside my bedroom. It was a sound I’d continue to hear through the… Read More ›


Originally published in Richmond’s Style Weekly. May 2008. Last summer Wayne’s granddad gave him a vial of poison. The bottle was small and green and featured a skull and crossbones on the label. “I think you’re old enough to have… Read More ›