brighteyes
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My stories
Monsters of London #1
They warn you it's coming, in dry, overhead tones, resigned, as if we could no more stop it than fashion bones into bedspreads. The ground shivers; mini scout rumbles
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- 945 reads
Contra Natura
We don't all want to. We don't slaver and shiver at the prospect. I know you've been told by a thorough cross-section of media and mates that to offer it once is to snag us for life, as if
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- 788 reads
Content and Container
Plain fucking awful, this propless play. Such advances: anatomically correct plugs, cosmetically tested lube, booting spit or piss and fist or microphone and broom into space. And we lie here:
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- 878 reads
A Damaged Piano
The Sinatra grin of a new baby grand, buffed with chamois, or kid and a kiss, the lid a freshly snown-on hillside, my fingers ski-ing on its gloss, that's it, and by God, nothing else.
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- 861 reads
Candida
Call off the multi-billion dollar hunt for slivers of Martian ice, for abductees and floating rings of lights. The aliens are in my cunt. Inexplicable ectoplasm,
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- 920 reads