Leanna Drew the Moon

MJG Stories, Surreal 2 Comments

Leanna knew she was a special little girl, because the moon spoke to her. She knew that it shouldn’t, and that she shouldn’t listen, but none of that stopped it from happening. She drew pictures at school of her talking to a big moon face, and the moon saying things like “try eating those soap suds, Leanna,” or “that dog wants a bite of plasticine, go on,” and in the pictures she would go ahead and do it. The moon, after all, was her friend. But it wasn’t always so nice. She was 5 when it told her to kill …

Storm Watcher

MJG Stories, Surreal 2 Comments

The storm-post was made of crumbling old red brick. Ragged weeds grew up its chipped and tattered sides, through its paving stones and round the observation platform binoculars on its roof. The grindstone railings that once prevented tourists from falling over the edge had collapsed inwards in a landslide a long time ago. Its windows were all broken or cracked. At night the long low mountain winds rushed cold down its halls draped with autumnal leaves, crinkling in the dry air. Stockrooms filled with ancient paraphernalia all had a low white carpet of snow. Once it had been a place …

The People in the Walls

MJG Stories, Surreal 4 Comments

The people in the walls are an infestation. They crowd around the living room in their inch-thin insulation space and watch me while I go about my life. Some of them have drilled peep-holes. I cover the holes with paintings I paint myself, and vases full of flowers which they sometimes steal and eat. I paint paintings of the people in the walls. I suppose they look a little bit like aliens. They have big and flat grey heads an inch thick. They look a lot like stick men. They are normally smiling stick-thin smiles, which creeps me out. I …

Clay Head @ A Fly in Amber

MJG Books, Stories, Surreal 4 Comments

My story Clay Head published at A Fly in Amber! There’s a giant head in my living room. It’s made of grey clay, and it sings through the night. It sings songs about America. Sometimes boogie-woogie or the Big Bopper. It sings Buddy Holly. It sings about the plane that crashed and sometimes the song about the crash. It sings about whiskey and rye. I don’t know why the head sings. I don’t know why the head is in my room, or why I let it stay. Read the full story at A Fly in Amber.

Caterpillar Man

MJG Stories, Surreal 2 Comments

I fell in the hole on a Tuesday. The hole is a hole in the road.  It’s not such a busy road, sure.  Maybe 50 people walk by a day. I fell in by accident and now I can’t get out.  The sides are steep, and there’s nothing down here for me to eat but this damn banana tree and rat bones. There’s a lot of dry and dessicated rats down here.  It doesn’t make any sense to me.  But, I have to eat, so I crack the bones and slurp down the dry marrow.  It’s like molasses, but not …