Brian Wright
Stories (6)
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Out of the Igloo
I realized that the odds were stacked against me for owning my own dog when you considered my track record – every house plant I had ever attempted to keep, dead. The herb garden on my windowsill, dead. The little vegetable garden in my back yard, dead. Cactuses had been unable to survive in my household. I had even managed to kill my air plant, one of those alien-like things that you only have to mist with water once in a while.
By Brian Wright5 years ago in Petlife
Mat
Jackson was a handsome two-year old tabby house cat who had gotten his name not from a historic or artistic figure, such as Andrew Jackson or Jackson Pollock, but rather from the deceased entertainer Michael Jackson. He had been saddled with this somewhat dubious moniker due to his habit of springing lightly backwards on his toes whenever he was alarmed at something. His mistress invariably found this motion funny and referred to it as “the Jackson moonwalk.” The cat bore this, as he bore other strange terms of affection, with wry tolerance. After all, he was always retreating from danger, wasn’t he, and why did flight from danger amuse humans so?
By Brian Wright5 years ago in Horror
Maze
“Oh, we have to stop!” exclaimed Suzanne, pummeling Greg’s shoulder with both fists. She was looking at the hand-painted sign beside the two-lane road that read “Matthew’s ‘Mazing Maze of Maize” in large red letters. Below that, “Largest Corn Maze in the South! Games! Prizes!” Off to the side was a rudimentarily-rendered row of corn plants with question marks floating over it.
By Brian Wright5 years ago in Horror
