Gazing at the Moon:
Fiction by John Clinbrohf
Short Fiction
He stood on the air just as casually as most people stand on the ground, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed steadfastly on the moon.
Now I was thinking about how cold the rock was going to be in my hand, colder than anything I'd ever felt.
As the tide goes out, we sit on our beaches watching the tidal giants emerging from the ocean, each day standing a little taller, wearing their horned helmets.
But his tormenters had made a mistake . . .
I am almost certain that this unborn child is no child of mine.
Flash Fiction
She knows better than to wave or try to shout out the window at him.
. . . catching them in some of the most undignified postures imaginable.
The house is evil now.
The angel of death was much smaller than I expected
Copyright 2003 by John Clinbrohf.
Permission is granted to print single copies of these stories to
read or share with others. The stories may not be altered in any
way without my permission.
My e-mail: [email protected]
