This is where the rules loosen, the stakes rise, and the voices don’t quiet down. I write stories that blur the line between reality and whatever’s trying to replace it—sometimes grounded, sometimes surreal, always rooted in emotional truth. Whether it’s character-driven fiction, immersive worldbuilding, or quiet narratives that hum beneath the surface, the aim is simple: to leave something tender and rotting in the heart—alive, aching, and impossible to rip out.
New work is added regularly—fiction, fragments, and whatever else insists on being told.
Good Son, Wrong Country
Ethan stared up at the statue, his eyes dry and burning. No tears would come. No amount of crying could ever be enough for the guilt that rang behind them. He could hear it all again, the screaming, the explosions, the accusations, the gunshot, layered beneath the distant cheers of the crowd like a second voice mocking him.
He bowed his head and begged for it to stop as the snow melted against his face, replacing tears he could not shed. For a moment, there was nothing else. Just the wind, the sea, and the unbearable weight of what he had done.