Recent Comments
Yo Momma on One Star Soup Kitchen 
Elder of the Conclav… on Elder of the Conclave georgelthomas on Long ago On the Scientist Sal… on Brief Aside Local Politics | Rec… on Forgiveness
Category Archives: Short Story
The Fleet
[My schedule has not been kind to me lately, but hopefully I’ll have the time to write the next part of the Tale of Ayla within the next week. Here’s the first page of an idea I’ve been messing with] … Continue reading
Morph
Morph was a beast, man! He was the biggest, baddest runner ever set foot in the midnight city. This guy could deck like you wouldn’t believe. He’d walk up to a public terminal, cool as a cucumber, and jack in … Continue reading
The Tale of Ayla, part 3
The old grenz stands just outside the inn and takes a long deep breath from his pipe. The innkeeper has tolerated the thick smoke of his pipe on some nights, but after the cup earlier her patience is at her … Continue reading
The Tale of Ayla, part 2
[Edit: Forgot to mention the reference for Ayla and the Raven is here, and you should totally check out all of bOZRAT‘s stuff:). The artist for Ayla’s sketches is Caitlyn Lee] The old grenz eases himself down into his chair … Continue reading
Muses
[Working on something a bit larger than usual, so in the meantime here’s something I wrote a while back (a little over a year ago). Somewhat autobiographical.] He sits at his computer, his eyes fixed on the icon of his … Continue reading
Suicidal
My brother died today. It wasn’t an accident. No technical failure in his bod, no misfire of code, no glitch or bug. It wasn’t murder. No vandalism by pro-meat protesters, no killer in the night, no terrorist attack or act … Continue reading
A Hole in the Ground
The hole wasn’t large, perhaps a foot across at the most. Not so big as to be particularly worthy of scrutiny, but big enough to notice and walk around. Someone had gone to the trouble of surrounding the hole with … Continue reading
The Tale of Ayla, part 1
The old grenz in the corner of the inn stretches his legs out in front of him and leans back in his chair. He takes a sip of his mulled wine, pauses, tilts his head as if listening to the … Continue reading
Fred Hesser 