She Shouldn't Have Stayed
The Driftwood sat at the end of a lane that smelled like diesel and salt.
Crimson Footnote
Late 20s solo amateur writer posting after work based in London. My wheelhouse is Sci-Fi & Fantasy, NonHuman, and Erotic Horror, told in first-person past tense in a voice that is a bit rough around the edges. Constructive comments and favorites are always welcome. Ranked by how many readers finish them. Some are free to read in full; the rest open with a free preview.
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Stories by Crimson Footnote
Map of Unspoken Things
The county sent me out to the records office in March, right when the roads were still half mud and the furnace in the old building was…
Tides of Terminus
The shuttle ramp hissed down and the gravity hit me wrong before my boots even touched the deck.