Jeffrey Aaron Miller
Bio
Jeffrey Aaron Miller is an author of numerous novels and short stories. He has held a wide variety of jobs over the years, but through it all, he has remained a storyteller.
Stories (10)
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Tinni and the Chain
“Tinni, bring me my tea,” the old man said, one hand poised over the leather-bound tome on the desk before him. Tinni rose from his place in the corner, grunting as a great thundering pain pierced his back. The chain hurt more than usual. Some days it felt like little more than a finger nagging at his spine, but today it burned like fire. He pressed a gnarled hand to the place where the iron links poked out of his flesh and struggled to cross the room.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
Companion
McCready’s Pets sat at the end of a mostly empty strip mall, its only neighbors a check cashing business and a liquor store. Ted had gotten directions from the internet, otherwise he might never have found the place. It was located in a bad part of town, hidden behind an old warehouse and a government-subsidized apartment complex. Crude paintings of dogs and birds covered most of the windows in front, and, except for his decaying, dirt-colored Honda, the parking spaces were all empty.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
Heart Case
Gully came to, gripped by a terrible sense of panic, and sat bolt upright in his chair, gnashing his teeth and pulling at his hair with both hands. A name was caught on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to scream it, but it wouldn't dislodge. And then the terror passed, like a swift cloud moving across the sun, and everything cleared. The room around him swam out of the gloom, and he saw dark wood floors, mirrored walls, a vast chandelier of gold and crystal hanging from a chain, glimmering in the light of a hundred candles. Gully took a great shuddering breath and wiped a sheen of cold sweat from his forehead.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
Grandfather's House
Billy’s fingers crept like spider’s legs over the coarse, pitted surface of the door, tracing the cracks and crevices of many chipped layers of paint, inching toward the big brass knob. The clatter of dishes in the kitchen sink echoed down the hall.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
Seeing Through Doors
Sometimes when the door opened, it coincided with another door at the end of the hall opening. When that happened, if Desset pressed himself against the far wall, he could see outside. The glimpse never lasted more than a couple of seconds, but even the briefest image of yellow sunlight on white pavement and neatly trimmed green grass lingered in his mind for days. At night, when he was locked in place, he dreamed of wind in his hair and warmth on his face. He always woke from these dreams in tears, gnashing his teeth to keep from wailing.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
Robo and the Little Door
Robo snagged a corner of the quilt in his claws and began the arduous climb to the top of the bed. Timmy heard the plastic clanking of tiny limbs but paid him little mind, gaze fixed through the misty window glass. A low fog hung over the backyard, moving like ghost hands through the maze of toys and swings and trees.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
Eating the Sickness
Mort was hunched over in the pit, grinding his face into the dirt and mewling. He had lost most of the hair on his head, and the exposed skin was covered in ugly red knots as big as chicken eggs. The rags hanging from his shoulders did little to hide protruding ribs and papery skin.
By Jeffrey Aaron Miller9 years ago in Futurism
