Autor: Merriam A. Grain

Tlic, tlac, tloc. Plop. The rain falls from the roof on the camellias whilst she waits. Her big hay hat to cover her face when she delivers the meat.Inside the room, she knows of the blood and bodily fluids. Of her timed pain. She had done the same once. Screams and grunting and finally silence.…

To the right of the main street, on a short alley that looked like the moon, were the doors to Hell. And since that was the name of the saloon, we jokingly would say things like «Let’s go to Hell» those afternoons when there was nothing else to do but lull the afternoon with a…

Outside the chubby lavender villa, there was this reddish guy admiring the «On sale» board. He would press a cotton handkerchief on his nose from time to time until he wheezed like an old toy and entered the house. Inside, an smell to old decaying money was beginning to stench. Enrico placed his hand on…

Matins. They woke up and it wasn’t there. The body wasn’t there anymore! Fray Gère looked up to the eyes of Fray Dejan who made one of those faces. Fray Gère put his hand inside the coffin. Sometimes, when you think you have lost your quill sharpener, it appears exactly in the same pocket you…

Hi. Here I am announcing I’m going to devote this month to the Drawlloween 2022. Just that, instead of some ink, I’ll be writing something (and forfeiting the rest of my duties by showing you how to write fiction). I hope they’re stories good enough to honour my favourite holiday. No, my favourite holiday isn’t…