A writer of things.

Short Fiction

The Place with the Trees

She stopped the car in front of a place that had lots of trees and it seemed calm and nauseating and had  nice windows and I didn’t like it. “Out,” she said and  opened her door and got out and opened mine and  yanked me by my shirt and I fell onto my knees.  “Where are we?” I asked and she kept pulling and  dragged me on my stomach and ground me bloody and ruined my knees and ripped my pants. “Shut it,”  she said and tossed me into the big wooden door and  my nose was bleeding and she rapidly knocked and  looked to me, “This is where the clean happens, the  change, the good, the no more seeds, the better.”  And I looked back to my muse, who inspired me and  loaded the seeds into my brain and hooked me on  things and made me love her and love life and love  words and I grimaced as the door opened and  realized that everything was going away now and there  would be no more somethings and back to nothings  and words were dead and sadness was real again as  the seeds were ending. And I looked at the man in  the coat and he looked back and I asked him, “Is this  rehab?”

And he smiled.


This was published in print along with a bunch of great short-shorts HERE:

6S, Mind Games
By Thomas Knox