alan pierce
Bio
Recently I published my first novel, The Burning Ones, a sword-and-sorcery-and-cyborg adventure balancing the youthful angst of a coming-of-age story with the realities of a world plagued by war.
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Stories (68)
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Dear friend
It's been a little while since I've written to you. I know we haven't even known each other very long in the grand scheme of things anyways, but I digress. There'll be an awful lot of digressing before this letter is done so I might as well say it once and call it enough. Honestly, we haven't known each other much longer than a year, but I its obvious I have to remind myself of how brief it's actually been. It's funny (go on, laugh) how essential some people can become to you; despite how little you've actually known them you can't quite imagine your life without them anymore. You meet by chance, experience an instant click, and forget you don't even know each other's middle names (that's an expression no one's ever used before that I hope speaks to the emotion I'm avoiding finding exact words to express).
By alan pierceabout a year ago in Humans
Chapter One: The Circus Troupe (part two)
The time Ezra and Emma spent together was often in silence. This was typical for Emma; she was someone prone to listen more than she spoke. For Ezra it was more unusual. Numan suggested that Emma had a calming effect on Ezra– on everything, really, but the sibling’s closeness evoked a stronger effect on Ezra’s demeanor. Ezra wasn’t sure if it was something mystical or strange; he glanced at her now, as still as if she were carved out of stone. When it was just the two of them, Ezra just found it easier not to speak. It was as if it were more difficult to want to.
By alan pierceabout a year ago in Fiction
Chapter One: The Circus Troupe (part one)
A cold breath of wind reached its arm across the slumbering valley, laying down a blanket of tranquility and stillness. Creatures and greenery rested in the deepest part of winter, waiting for the first tell tale signs of a long overdue spring. A ceiling of cloud blocked the sun and left the land cold, gray, and waiting. The wind flowed over and through the branches of the pines, dancing amongst them, stirring their boughs, until finally the playful breeze broke upon the cliff face. It drove against it and climbed up to play in the hair of the boy it found. His green eyes studied the valley with all the restless expectation of any of the woodland creatures, right until the wind blew his blonde bangs into his vision.
By alan pierceabout a year ago in Fiction
Everything will be okay
The television crackled, black and white fuzz dancing indiscriminately across the screen for minutes at a time until finally a picture began to appear. Grainy and miscolored at first, the image of D Edgar Rite, Dr of disease and pathology, materialized out of the scattered lines and fuzz. He was seated at the large studio desk of channel 9 news, his name plastered across the banner that bordered the bottom of the screen followed by his extensive credentials.
By alan pierceabout a year ago in Horror
Becoming Fathers
TW: One quick note: abuse of any kind should not be excused. If you’re healing from something awful your dad or any dad did to you, I’m so sorry, and I truly hope you find healing. I will not make excuses for an abuser of any kind. If you have a good relationship with your father, I’m happy for you, but please remember not everyone does. This piece is meant to explore fatherhood and how it has impacted our world, in an anecdotal and introspective way. I hope it can amuse you, and help you find some peace for those of us who are still looking.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Families
Summer sweet
Take a deep breath in. Now let it out. Summer is here. Swimming pools, bonfires, outdoor sports, beach trips? Yes please-- sign me up. The sun and the temperatures may be high but so are our spirits. Burgeoning bug populations can't bring us down either; this is the season of fireworks and fourth-of-July parties, and I'm here for it. I still remember playing wiffleball at my cousin's house every 4th, almost like a cut plotline from the Sandlot. I also remember how much I hated wiffleball as a kid, and it's funny how much I'd like to take another crack at it now. Luckily for an unathletic child there was a lot more to do at family parties than swing that tiny yellow bat and hope against hope for a homer to an imaginary crowd of adoring fans.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Feast
