The mirrors at Saint Ernestine School for Girls were old enough to remember forces that no one else did. They lined the corridors in narrow, pitted gilt frames, their glass slightly warped and prone to swallowing light rather than reflecting it.
When The Clock Thins
Five minutes wasn’t enough time to fix a life. It was only enough time to agree.
The Pulse - Leah
Leah runs. She doesn’t remember deciding to. One moment she’s screaming Grant’s name, the next she’s outside the camper, boots slipping in the sand, the pulse hammering through her bones. Thump… Thump… Thump…
About Me
I’m a full-time RVer chasing new horizons by day and writing about them by night. Somewhere between long stretches of highway and quiet campsites, I started turning moments, ideas, and passing thoughts into flash fiction and short stories—small pieces meant to linger a little longer than the miles behind me.
Writing on the road keeps the gears turning. It gives shape to the in-between moments—the stillness, the tension, the things you almost notice but can’t quite explain. Most of what you’ll find here leans into that space: quick reads with a bit of atmosphere, a touch of unease, or something left unsaid.
If you’ve got five minutes, that’s all you need. Take a pause, let your mind wander, and step into a story or two.
I’m always learning, always refining, and I genuinely appreciate thoughtful feedback. If something resonates—or doesn’t—drop a comment and say hi.
If you choose to click the “Support me” link, please note: Tips are voluntary, non-refundable gifts intended to support the creator.
The Pulse - Grant
The sound came through the radio just after dark. Not static. Not music. Just a steady, rhythmic thump. Thump… Thump… Thump… The sound had weight to it; each beat pressed lightly against the inside of the van, as if the air thickened and released in steady breaths.
The Hollow Silence
The first real sound was the soft hiss of the kettle. Claire stood in the RV’s narrow kitchen, watching steam curl toward the ceiling as dawn seeped in through the windows. The forest outside was pale and indistinct, wrapped in fog so thick it blurred the edges of the clearing.
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