ImprobableFiction

 “You the witch I’ve been hearing about?” Julianna glanced over the counter at the man. Near enough six feet tall, cropped blonde hair, baby face, chainmail. Guard corps insignia on his cloakpin. Young, and with a look of naivete about him that would serve him well, once he’d shaken the naivete itself. Yes, this was the one she’d seen. She put aside her mortar and pestle. “Why, I’m not sure what you could mean. I’m but a simple herbalist. Witchcraft is illegal, love.” She smiled when he blushed. “L-look, I’m not here to arrest you or anything. I know you’re a witch

 The clock ticked a steady, relaxed rhythm that was at odds with the irregular bleeps that interspersed my father's ragged breaths. It was 4:28pm. The hospital room was otherwise silent; an oversized coffin, sterile and filled with Death's presence. Cancer had come for him later than expected, but the old man couldn't stay spry forever. I shifted forward in my chair, gripping his skeletal hand in both of my own. "It's gonna be okay, dad. The doc'll fix you up. Don't sweat it." I knew I didn't really believe it. He knew he was dying. Thirty years of smoking, drinking, and drug abuse will do that to you. "Son…" his voice was a hoarse whis

Gareth stood at the guardrail of the bridge with a cigar in hand. It had been much too long since he'd spent a night out here just looking over the city. He used come by the bridge at least once after work every couple weeks, but he hadn't had a chance to in the past few months. He missed it. A small group of brills roared overhead as another man approached the guardrail beside Gareth. "Trent," he said, offering his fist. Gareth looked surprised. "Knuckling? Don't see that much anymore," he said as he met Trent's knuckles with his own, "I'm Gareth." Trent nodded to acknowledge the introduction. "True, you don't see it much. My father was a