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Here, you'll find some of the

published fiction I'm most proud of.

Adelaide Literary Magazine

Mountains & Rainbows

Lanternfish Press

Elegy for the Undead

The Flame

print feature in Avant Literary Magazine

This is all only a thought.

What if I burned the Christmas trees?

Lights hang along the fences, glowing in the snowy night, holding in the families shopping for their trees. My parents are lucky, they get to be working shifts at their jobs; they don't have to suffer this, they can send their kid. These people are like cows held in by farmers. Tis' the season of scarves and hats and long pants and smiling. Tis' the season, mother fuckers.

The tree in front of me is the most expensive. Three-hundred dollars for a damn tree. A tree! I could pick up a weed in my backyard and it mean the same.

The cold has numbed my bare calves. My shorts draw attention from the families that pass. One asshole even had the nerve to tell me it was cold! "It's cold, kid." I know it's cold, man, I just don't care and I also don't care about your attitude, so take your wife and take your kid and pick up your tree and put it on your car and drive home and FUCKING DIE!

I push my coat pockets down to my knees to warm myself up. The snow is speeding down and the cars along the road are slowing. Just speed up and hit me why don't you?

I take out my lighter and light a cigarette. The smoke warms my mouth, and I think if I can't have a tree, no one can, so I throw the cigarette into the pine needles.  

It's like plugging in the lights; it all goes at once. Like the biblical bush or the first Christmas tree you see as a kid, it burns itself into my memory. This warmth radiating from the tree wraps around my body and makes me feel like I can actually afford warm pants. It's absolutely beautiful. This is holiday joy.

This is the Christmas spirit: watching other people panic and run for whatever water they can find while the flames spread from one tree to the next. This is the Christmas I never knew; I've always been on the other side. I've always known the panic. I've always known the desperate things we do to keep up with the flame of desperate joy.

I walk out of the forest of fire to where the snow is untouched. I fall back into the white field and wave an angel into existence. Take me away, angel. Save me.

But this is all only a thought, and the asshole and his family drive off with their tree and others pull up to get there's even though it's practically a FUCKING BLIZZARD!

My legs are cold, but I get up from the snow, and I keep up with the flame. I buy the cheapest tree I find, a sad looking thing, half my height. The snow never lets up as I tie it to my sled, grab the ropes and hike it home.

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