There it is. My first traditionally published piece!
My story “The Eyes of Others” has been included in Compostela (Tesseracts Twenty). You can find the anthology here on Amazon.
It means a great deal to me that my story was included in this collection of hard and soft science fiction – along with many great authors! Please, go check it out.
In celebration of completing all thirty days of NaPoWriMo 2017, I have decided to make my e-books available on Smashwords for free for a (somewhat) limited time.
Here’s how it works:
You can enter the following Smashwords coupon codes for 100% off the price until September 1, 2017.
Reincarnate (and Other Poems): SX47E
Overfull (and Other Stories): YX87W
Thank you for your support!
I have wanted to kill him for weeks. And now, at last, the time has come. The gun is cold and heavy in my hand; the air ripples with the heat radiating off my skin. Snowflakes land on my eyelashes, and melt, and freeze. I blink and they melt again. The light from the crescent moon flashes across patches of snow; it turns the strips of ice on the road into mirrors. I look up and the moon seems to be smiling at me. I know then that I now have its blessing. I smile back. Sweat runs down the back of my neck and turns cold. I have been drinking quite a lot tonight; I just hope that my aim will not suffer for it. But it has to be tonight. Has to. Ahead, I hear their footsteps and laughter and voices. My fingers squeeze the grip in anticipation until they turn white. The couple doesn’t look behind them and the noise of boots crunching on the ice echoes, bouncing off the surrounding houses. I try to be careful, but then I stumble, and every footstep that follows seems to split the night apart. She glances over her shoulder then, and I have to duck behind a parked car. My temples are pounding in time to the rhythm in my ribs and I know I’ve run out of chances. They will bolt soon. I have to do it. Now. I make myself move and I lean out into the street again – enough to aim; I put my sights on my target, and my finger slides onto the trigger. I fire once. And miss. I hear her muffled yell and watch her shove him towards the side of the road. By some miracle, he actually turns to look around to look. He leaves himself wide open, and adrenaline floods my senses – I could not ask for a better shot. I fire again. When he jolts and falls to the ground, I duck behind the car once more and catch my breath. The red blossoming through his shirt is burned into my vision. And she won’t stop screaming. In the sudden silence, I listen to his watery gasps and her sobbing and I feel an immense relief descend upon me. But I decide to wait a little longer; I will stand up and go take back what was rightfully mine once I am sure he is dead. I look up – the moon is still smiling. And so am I. - J.F. "Split the Night Apart"
Originally published on Prose: Split the Night Apart
Also appears in the Wattpad collection Paper Veins (and other stories)
What remained of the blackened bookshelves towered like a dead forest: rooted in the ashes where they had burned. The library was gone. Utterly obliterated. Covers and pages crumbled to grey powder; the wind scattered it, and carried clouds of it off into the night. Only one tome was fortunate enough to escape the blaze. It sat, unscathed, in one corner – enshrined in wood that still smoldered. A skeleton – dark symbols freshly seared into each bone – sprawled face down across its open pages. Its jawbone wiggled, and the dim embers flickering within its eye sockets grew brighter. “Damn,” the skeleton said. “That was one hell of a cookbook.” - J.F. "A Recipe for Disaster"
Originally published on Prose: A Recipe for Disaster
Also appears in the Wattpad collection Paper Veins (and other stories)
He reduces my entire universe to warm sheets and sweaty limbs. Every cell of my body is humming pleasantly and I just want to hang onto this single moment forever. He is all pale flesh and crimson hair and scorching breath, and when he kisses my neck I am sure that I see flames of every color lapping at my skin; my tattoos come to life in the darkness between our bodies. At this point, I am not at all shocked that I’m this drunk; I am, in fact, numb to it. I lost track after the third long island iced tea that he bought for me. And when he carried me up the four torturous flights to my apartment, I did not – could not – protest. I bury my face in his damp shoulder and inhale lungfuls of smoke and cologne and whiskey. But all too soon, it’s over. He is pulling his warmth away and a cold blast of air from the window drenches me in ice – it’s almost enough to sober me up. Almost. “It was fun, Tatiana – but I’m gonna go,” he says, and I’m shocked that he remembers my name – I can’t recall his and that consumes me much, much more than the cold ever will. I reach out my hand to him – a moan dies in my throat as he passes through the dark doorway. I can’t move; I am frozen. I am falling into a void I never knew existed below me. Blackness consumes every last shimmering star – one by one, they all vanish as pain lances through the pleasure. I hear his car roar to life underneath the window and drive off. Then, silence. I’m left alone, shivering – from him, from that, from everything. And I cling to the embers of his warmth – the warmth that lingers in my sheets. - J.F. "The Warmth That Lingers"
Originally published on Prose: The Warmth That Lingers
Also appears in the Wattpad collection Paper Veins (and other stories)
The car accident changed everything. Ellen escaped into bottles and slurred words and mental fog. She offered slices of her memory in exchange for the short moments of relief her demon called addiction promised. And that demon grew hungrier each day. It demanded more, and more, and more. And she always remembered to feed it. Her oldest son found his own relief. Conner escaped into long shifts and textbooks and the coffee he needed to keep himself going. He tried and failed and learned that he could not save her, but he made sure the lights stayed on and bills were paid. He thought it would help, but his mother only grew worse. Soon, his brother became sick of everyone else escaping. Sean watched his family disappear into death and drink and distance, until he felt something deep inside of him snap. He hunted down every bottle in their house and he poured some down the kitchen sink; he smashed the rest on the street outside while she wailed. He thought it would help; his mother still grew worse. Days passed. Her mind unraveled, terror consumed her, and death took her. In the wake of everything, Conner grieved. Yet he also felt an immense relief collect inside him, followed by guilt at that relief. The last thing he wanted was for the cycle to repeat with Sean. He tried to tell himself that he had to remain strong, and do his best to take care of his brother. Running away was not an option now. That night, his nightmares overflowed with rats and bones and broken glass. And for every night after. - J.F. "He Smashed the Rest"
Originally published on Prose: He Smashed the Rest
Also appears in the Wattpad collection Paper Veins (and other stories)
I am innocence and the world desperately wishes to corrupt me. So I vanish into fiction. I escape into pages that offer me solace and relief and distraction from each new heaviness that life is only too happy to provide. Then, I learn the darkness lingers there too: in chapters, in paragraphs. Writers pour their own pain into the pages and I cannot escape it. So I write. I write miles between myself and reality’s corrosion. Still, it catches up. It catches me. It always does. Always will. We readers, writers: we all bleed the same. We all bleed ink. - J.F. "Paper Veins"
Originally published on Prose: Paper Veins
Also appears in the Wattpad collection Paper Veins (and other stories)
Jacob Fletcher, Author 
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