A sleepless crew member contemplates her destination, the lives of her shipmates, and the cutting-edge biotechnology of the vessel carrying them.
The boys looked at the Winchester and not at each other. Not at the body. They stood a time, still with a sense of waiting. Killers but not men. The younger boy chuffed a sob, appearing both very young and very aged, and picked up the gun…
There was a gun in his waistband. He probably shouldn’t have brought it, let alone held onto it for this long. If he had any other option, he wouldn’t be here in the first place….
Everyone loves a clown. Especially when he pulls the trigger…
Only after the wind had died, leaving them sea-battered and brined, did the howling fall upon them…
There’s smoke and heat, and in his delirium the blaze looks like sunshine…
He came from the salt plains, carrying the minerals on his pants and duster and into the sloping prairies where he first met the witch and her spittle washed him clean again…
Just another writer with insomniac tendencies and a penchant for brooding. Here, have my stories and thoughts and 3am ponderings…
Portrait by Synden Healy
Stafford Morgan 
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