Branching out into short fiction. |
by Orrin Grey
2434 words
Here’s a sample of the writing:
"That is not the crack-pause-crack of the fireworks one or two streets over. That is the sound of someone knocking on the front door, though it is late now, getting on toward midnight. “The witching hour,” he remembers intoning in his heavily-accented voice on some talk show or another a decade gone now, when people still cared who he was.
He rises from his chair and it is like rising from a coffin. His arms and legs feel heavy, bound in chains, as he was in The Secret Door. He can feel them dragging along behind him as he struggles across the hardwood floor, into the narrow hall. On the TV at his back, he is walking the other way, up a set of stairs cast in chiaroscuro."
Monday might be time for a little mystery.