I wrote "Lethal Injection, The Seed" as an assignment in one of my writing classes at Gotham Writer's Workshop. It is about a young man who comes to terms with inner demons linked to his father.
Dead. At peace in his coffin. What if he sat up and spoke to me? I’m a bit embarrassed invading his privacy like this, watching him lie there. You know, dead. I can hear the people behind me, shedding tears, even some soft cries from the new arrivals, but I don’t look away. I study the curve of his lips, taut in the middle. They are glued shut, just like his eyes.
He was my father. The prison released his body to the family after the execution so we could afford him a proper burial. He maintained his innocence all the way to the end when his eyes glossed over with the finality of death. I had watched from the window, a barrier to the chamber where they administered the injection. He never looked away from me. In that last moment, when he was gone, I knew what he knew, what only we knew. Now I am alone.
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Lethal Injection, The Seed
The first short story I'd ever conceived, "Snow Leopard" is about sheer vanity. A woman finds herself the subject of a horrible plot, in a world where feline species seek to obtain her lovely locks.
Her fans cheered when Theresa Milner emerged from the limo and stepped onto the velvet carpet. She forced a smile, her plumped red lips a perfect frame for the recent dental investment she’d made. Long auburn hair plunged down her back in cascading waves.
She moved across a make-shift stage roped off to control the crowd. Milner’s assistant, Jennifer, followed close behind, hoping to avoid further embarrassment to her boss who was still seething over a wardrobe mishap moments earlier. To anyone else, her boss would appear to be the merry, iconic Theresa Milner.To Read More: