The Trenchcoat – Flash Fiction
Flash fiction is the term for very short stories, under 2,000 words. Think of them as the slider platter of the fiction-writing world. They’re snack food for the brain.
“Told you the pentagram was too wiggly,” Toluk muttered. Frankly, anytime I actually need the blood of a real virgin for something, Toluk’s the one I’m going to use. With that attitude, no way he gets laid.
Amaranthe dreams of the past; of one of the old gods, woken by the Christian bells and the smell of blasphemy, and how one man gives his magic and his life to save his village.
I’m a firm believer in the first rule of biometrics: never use a part for identification you can’t do without. There are times when ‘lend a hand’ isn’t only a euphemism.
When a malfunctioning gateway drive spits you out at the wrong end of a galaxy, where better to go for a gateway drug than British Columbia?
Dreaming is what the conscious mind remembers when you travel between realities. There you go. The big secret, Guide for Dummies style.
The peaches of immortality ripen only once in every three thousand years. If you find and eat one, you’re guaranteed near-immortality. Not unnaturally, the business interests whom I represent would like the opportunity to acquire some.
I’ll take Death over the Tower any day. I’m Maurice Ferland. I read the Tarot. I also listen to the dead (try and get a word in edgeways and you’ll see why I put it that way), know enough about herbs to sound convincing, and can draw really cool shit with coloured chalk.