Gunnar Anderson
Bio
Author of The Diary of Sarah Jane and The Diary of Sarah Jane: Between the Lines. Has a bachelor's degree in English from Arizona State University and currently resides in Phoenix with his wife and daughter who inspire him daily.
Stories (50)
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Beyond the Glass. Honorable Mention in Everything Looks Better From Far Away Challenge.
I stand there, looking out of the observatory windows on the top deck of the civilians’ quarters. Designed almost like the bulb of a snow globe, it consists of triangular glass panels held together at the edges by gray metal rods. Through the several feet of glass, I can see the stars, beautiful and un-warped despite the thickness of the panes. There is an elegance to them that is enhanced by the swirls of reds, blues, and purples that envelop them against the pitch-black sky. So big and so expansive, it is hard to believe that we have traversed so far from home
By Gunnar Anderson4 months ago in Fiction
Flash-Thunder
I hunker down in my foxhole with my M1 clutched tightly to my chest. The last barrage left me shaken as a dud shell landed just beside me. I had been writing home to my family when the artillery shells started raining down on us. The paper had been tossed aside as I rolled over to cover myself. The reinforcements were minimal, but my foxhole was defended well enough that the shells that landed around me couldn’t do me any real harm, unless one landed directly on top of me. That was the one that sat in front of me now still intact, and undetonated. I had half a mind to grab it and throw it as far from me as I could, but I was also terrified that it would go off in my face if I did. No need to have a headless body sent home to my family.
By Gunnar Anderson5 months ago in Fiction
Full Circle
The heat swirls around my head while the wind in the rest stop picks up. Dust is in the air trying to make its way to my eyes, but my sunglasses are blocking it out… mostly. I had been standing here, waiting for her to finally be done in the bathroom, but she was taking her time. She knew as well as I did that the longer we waited, the hotter it was going to be in the truck. A truck that did not have the greatest working air conditioning system. It was the whole reason we left as early as we did, to beat the heat.
By Gunnar Anderson5 months ago in Fiction
Possibly Maybe
I sit in our room waiting for the nurse to come grab me. There is a sense of déjà vu looming over me as the scrubs they gave me hang loosely over my jeans and my t-shirt. The slip covers on my shoes make it difficult to keep my feet planted underneath me with the slick tile floors. It is a miracle I haven’t slipped and hurt myself. Not like it will make much of a difference. I am in a hospital surrounded by dozens upon dozens of trained medical professionals.
By Gunnar Anderson6 months ago in Fiction
Colder Weather
How long has it been? A week? A month? Maybe a year? I can’t remember the last time you talked to me. Yet here you are, an echo in my head refusing to let go of the pleasant memories we shared together. I can still see you sitting on the couch, curled up with the books you used to try and get me to read. I always told you I was too busy to sit and join you while I started up the car and started driving. Driving away from you.
By Gunnar Anderson6 months ago in Fiction
Disappear. Top Story - October 2024.
There was only one rule: don’t open the door. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t question it. Not at first anyway. There was this tugging feeling that I had every time I looked at the oak slab under the stairs, its polished brass knob tempting me. It was easy enough to ignore, but then came the rattling, as if someone was desperately trying to get out. It was startling every time, but it eventually subsided to a light knocking. Fear turned into curiosity as the craving to know what laid behind it grew and grew.
By Gunnar Andersonabout a year ago in Horror
Fenrirson
He arose from the depths of Hel with fur caked in fire and brimstone. Sharp yellow claws dug into the soft white snow while fresh blood, the same color of his eyes, dripping from his sharp fangs. He growled deeply as she stood on his hind legs. Claws grew into fingers as his fur receded into the follicles of his arms and legs that stretched as he stood tall. The moon glistened off of his glossy black hair and he ran his newly grown fingers through it, feeling the resemblance to his fur. A chill caught his bare skin, and he had the sudden urge to shake clumps of snow from his body, but any that had clung to him now lay in a heap at his now hairless feet. He was not prepared for the chill of the Norse forests and howled into the night sky with lungs that heaved in pain. None of those around him howled back, as they no longer recognized his sound. He growled and began running, trying to find a warmth that was now lost to him. There was anger in his deep red eyes while dark green pines blurred past him. A pack of wolves took chase, but there was no catching him. He was their brother, their savior, their father. He would say his name was Dainn, but those who knew the stories would know his true self. He was Fenrirson, the second coming of the dreaded wolf of Ragnarök.
By Gunnar Andersonabout a year ago in Fiction
