The Diving Bell's Echo
I woke at four without the alarm, which was a small mercy because the alarm on a Saturday was the sound of my own regret.
Rowan Pulse
Amateur fiction writer in Lozova District, Ukraine, keeping company with no pets right now, just houseplants and earl grey tea and sparkling water. My wheelhouse is NonHuman and Erotic Horror, told in first-person past tense in a voice that is plain and direct. 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 Rowan Pulse
Stale Croissants and Sharp Claws
The croissants collapsed.
Selling Shadows
I turned fifty-five on a Tuesday and nobody sent flowers.