Flash Fiction
Snippets conjured from everyday things that strike my fancy.
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Letter To Nostalgia
My Dearest Little-Old-Me, I can see you there, huddled at the threshold, reading or scribbling by the trickle of sunlight streaming through the gap where the screen-door doesn’t quite latch
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Wish Weaver
Mother says some dreams are fickle and can turn out to be nightmares cloaked in moonlight. It is magic most volatile...
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All That Glitters…
Twin ghosts that looked liked her but were about as real as a half-forgotten day dream started back at her. None of them was truly her, she knew. But which of them defined…
