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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Dana's day out
"Dana! Dana, stop!" Brian yelled to her. "Why, B, what's gonna happen?" Dana teased, stepping further out onto the ice. "Is a big ol' fish gonna gobble me up?" Brian stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the pond, uncomfortable with his big sister's daring. Dana knew he didn't like it. Brian never wanted to have any fun. It was all she could do to get him to climb a tree, and even then he needed help getting back down. Brian lived his life cautiously, constantly on the lookout for anything that could go wrong. That was fine for him, she supposed, but when there wasn't another kid for thirty miles except weird Ed Hooper the next farm over Dana got bored. She tried playing with Ed a few times but he liked doing things like burning ant farms or throwing rocks at squirrels. He was just too weird, and Brian told her he had a bad feeling around Ed. Brian was a scaredy cat, but Dana trusted him. He was always right about danger, sometimes she just liked the danger. The iced surface of the frozen pond creaked beneath her feet, and the snow crunched. She glanced back at Brian, biting his finger nails. What was Brian concerned about now?
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Maribel Cane and the Light of Central Park
“Taxi! Taxi!” Maribel Cane ran, her briefcase under her arm and her heels clacking on the sidewalk. Someone else stepped into the cab and the light switched off as they drove away. Maribel stopped and huffed, frowning. She began to walk, her heels clicking on the pavement. She glanced at her watch, trying not to drop the briefcase from under her arm. It was already late, and it was looking more and more like she was going to have to walk all the way back home. The handle on her briefcase had snapped off a few days ago and she hadn’t the time to get a new one or get it fixed, and today she’d had a parent-teacher conference after school and then spent a few hours alternating between crying and grading English papers filled with atrocious grammar and spelling. Maribel tried not to think about it, wishing she’d worn different shoes. She tried to walk just right so her feet wouldn’t hurt but it didn’t really work.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
The Sad Account of Edmund Solfege Sinclair (continued)
Edmund Solfege Sinclair had been a drug mule for five years, at least as far as he knew. In the beginning he thought he was only transporting drugs, but every now and then a package would vibrate strangely or give off an electrical hum or whir like there was something more than drugs within. Most of those times Edmund would have to sit in bed for a week, feeling sick. He had grown accustomed to the job and it’s nuances; you don’t ask questions, you don’t learn about your coworkers, you don’t make a fuss. All he had to do was pick up the packages, deliver them to their destination, and carry the payment back. Sometimes he didn’t even receive a payment, as more and more business associates were going wireless, or paying in advance. Everything they could do to streamline and avoid suspicion.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Rampage
The Recluse was down. Nautilus was down. Dr. Quick was missing. Foreigner was about to go down. The Creature, seven feet tall and covered in muscle, a big pair of horns on his head, was just finishing beating Foreigner in the face. The monster discarded the hero on the ground. Foreigner should be able to heal from an attack like that, but for whatever reason he wasn’t.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
The Sad Account of Edmund Solfege Sinclair
Edmund Solfege Sinclair was born in New York and grew up living in the stairwell of a local apartment complex. When he was 26 years old and tired of being an accountant, mindlessly crunching numbers all day, he decided to change career paths. What field he was going to go into he didn’t know, so first he thought he’d see the world. He sold his apartment, broke up with his girlfriend, and bought a one way plane ticket to Venice. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going, and he didn’t know what he hoped to find. Whatever it was he was looking for it wasn't in his one bedroom New York apartment, and it wasn't with the safe girl he'd been seeing for a few years.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
Legend of the Gladar
Halley Blake was a typical fighter pilot Astrophysicist. Raised on Star Trek, Star Wars, The Last Starfighter, and Star Gate she grew up dreaming about the astronauts and one day going to space herself. Her family regularly visited the Smithsonian and she would wander off into the Air and Space Museum. The museum staff knew her by name and snuck her treats from the gift shop. She went to space camp every summer, sometimes twice a year just for the thrill of talking about nothing but space. High school valedictorian with all the highest honors and half a full ride scholarship later her dreams fell apart into a million, infanticimal pieces. The summer before her Junior year they arrived. First it was the Super Hero Foreigner, an alien, and he sparked everybody’s space fever. Then other aliens began to arrive to challenge him, and as his reputation seemed to grow amongst the stars so did the number of challengers. NASA stopped sending astronauts up and leaned into RND; Foreigner was incredible, and no challenger had defeated him yet, but the people of earth weren’t ready to entrust their entire fate to him. They wanted weapons of their own. Thanks to the many monsters and space pirates coming in what seemed like weekly adventures, there was a steady supply of alien technology. Before Halley could say “duel major” she had become obsolete to her only dream. Halley was grounded.
By alan pierce4 years ago in Fiction
The World Within my Well
“What makes you so special?” That’s what the voice in my head keeps asking me, not to mention talent agencies around the world. I don’t know if I know the answer, if there is just one. What makes me so special? If I were to go on America’s Got Talent would I have something to offer? Maybe my charm? My compassion? It could be nothing at all. I could be the only ordinary person in the entire world. Which, of course, would make me 100% special. Uniquely boring; technically it would work, but it’s not my work. I can write. Big stinking whoop; so can everyone else on this website. Ah, there it is. Am I looking for an answer in comparison to someone else? Am I guessing what’s acceptable and unacceptable based on other people? That’s like putting newspaper in a campfire. It’s alright to get me going, but if I try to run off of it I’ll burn out.
By alan pierce5 years ago in Humans
Another rainy day. First Place in Dream Date Challenge.
The rain landed with a pitter patter against the window panes. Sam drew the curtains back and tied the chord into place, looking over at Barbara. She sat in her wheelchair, facing the window. Her head drooped forward, and her hands folded neatly over the blanket in her lap. Sam hoped to slip out without disturbing the old woman but she blinked and looked over at him.
By alan pierce5 years ago in Families
To think that I found it in Thrift Stores
Wexler and Dexter For as long as I can remember my family has done a secret Santa gift exchange amongst ourselves, where we all draw a name of one of our siblings out of a hat and have to give that sibling a gift. My younger sister and I have gotten each other a few times in recent years as we've both been getting older and we've somehow developed a similar taste in knick knacks and doodads. She picked my name last year and went shopping at the Salvation army. This particular Salvation Army was the biggest Thrift Store I’ve ever been to, and had multiple shelves simply stocked full of knick knacks, doodads, bling, and trinkets. It was the perfect place to shop at, and a recurring favorite of mine. My sister found this pair of wax squirrel candles the glitter ever so slightly in the light and knew she'd found the perfect Secret Santa gift for me. Everything was well until she made it to the register to pay and found she was short by a few dollars. Reluctantly, she put one of the squirrels back and trudged out the front door; one squirrel was better than no squirrels, and was still a great gift. Once she was back in her car she looked in her cup holder and found enough money to buy the formerly forsaken squirrel. She hurried back inside and told the lady at the register "I found enough money." The lady told her she was glad because she didn't want to break up the set and my sister walked out of there with dos ardillas. Come Christmas Morning and I’ve opened my Secret Santa gift I love the squirrels, but then she tells me “there’s a story too.”
By alan pierce5 years ago in Styled
Day old paper
"Taxi!" Megan called out, her jacket hanging off one shoulder as she waved her hand in the air. She managed to get her arm through and pulled back the sleeve to check her watch again. She knew what it was going to tell her. She was late, and not quite sure how. Had she taken too long in the shower? Watching the yellow car come to a stop beside the curb and the light flick off her mind picked back over the last few hours trying in vain to find something that offset her schedule. There was nothing. She must've dawdled and procrastinated, trying to stretch out the time before her date, which was a really strange conclusion to come to.
By alan pierce5 years ago in Humans
