The Devil is a Man in Red

The Devil is a man in red. With eyes like amber and lips like honey, he seeks his prey as if he is a man desperate and hungry—and longing, it would seem, for his salvation.
On this night, so horribly cold out of the summer blue, he searches for his next victim on the streets of Austin, Texas. Tongue laced with fire, heart made of ice, he walks the road called 6 with abandon that comes naturally for a creature with his affliction. His eyes dance between the landscapes of buildings tall and broad, bright and dim. His gaze falls upon buildings modern and old, brick and mortar, lit and unlit, until eventually he comes upon the clubs where young men dance until they go home with one another.
If one thing is for certain, it is that the Devil does not care who his victims are. He has, throughout his years in America, made it a point to prey upon those whose hearts are filled with pain and suffering. These are the easiest victims, he knows, because no matter who they are—young or old, black or white, poor or rich—they are always tempted to succumb to him.


It was the blood that signaled that another end had begun.
She tried—without success—not to look, but in the end, she couldn’t help it, and wailed.
A mother always cried when she lost a child.
This would be her third.
And now she would stand trial.

Material Things

Crowded around the holographic display were the people who wished to view the greatest being of all. Eyes wide, mouths agape, they held smartphones and handheld tablets at bay as security guards navigated the crowd in an attempt to gain control. There are no electronic devices allowed, they continued to say, as it was believed that the interference would cause disruptions within the holographic computing, but they didn’t care. All the people wanted to see was the greatest discovery known to mankind—which, at exactly 12:00, would rise from the depths of its mortal coffin and into its digital heaven within the world.
“This is Madeline Carter reporting to you live from Channel 3 news,” the reporter said, desperate to be heard beneath the gargantuan roar of the onlookers, “coming to you live from the National British Museum of London, where the Aspect of Knowledge is graciously being held for its ten-year anniversary. As you can see, the crowds have already flocked in an effort to observe what is unarguably the greatest phenomena on Earth.”

Baby Monitor

“She hasn’t been sleeping well the past few nights,” Elise said as she looked in on their sleeping six-month-old toddler.
“She’s probably just having nightmares,” her husband, George, said.
“Yeah. Nightmares.”
“Isn’t she a little young though?”
“Why else would she be waking up?” George said, running a hand along the doorjamb. “We’ve already checked the room to make sure it wasn’t anything else.”
They’d spent the whole morning and part of the afternoon to ensure that their daughter wouldn’t have any more of what the pediatric nurse had described as ‘nightly episodes.’ Babies, she’d said, were susceptible to even the slightest of stimuli. For that reason, the branch outside the window had been cut down, new curtains were freshly installed. The creaky doorjamb had been oiled and the flickering nightlight with the hummingbird heartbeat was gone. To Elise, the room was nothing short of perfection—picturesque in its pink hues and white trim, with its white cradle with pink down. Their daughter should’ve been fine. She shouldn’t have been waking up at night. She shouldn’t have been—
Screaming, Elise thought, like someone had broken in.

Camera Shy

“I can’t believe you dragged me out here,” Olivia murmured under her breath.
 “Do you need help?” Carter asked, lifting his eyes from his phone.
“No. I’m just talking to myself.”
I know you are, he wanted to say, but kept quiet.
He scrolled through the notifications rolling in from the BroadCast app and nodded as noted the likes and reCasts. Though the picture wasn’t monetized, it was still good to keep up appearances during the downtime between projects. His last sponsor hadn’t picked him up for a second gig, and he needed all the views and followers he could get.


Take me home, beautiful—take me home.
I speak your name on my tongue as though it is fruit yet to be tasted. As cotton candy flows from between my lips, whispering of the deviant urgency of my love, I reach out to you in the hopes that somehow, someway, you will answer.
You are an amazing, beautiful creature.
Please—don’t ever let me go.