The last few years has seen trans characters in mainstream media move from being defined by their transness to being incidentally trans. And that’s important....
Here’s a small sampling of stories that I have written over the years. I’ll add more from time to time. They will often be slightly older stories as once they are published here it reduces the possibility of them being accepted elsewhere. Read, enjoy, and let me know what you think of them.
Alex Cartwright meets up with an old friend and finds themselves drawn back into a world they thought they had left behind.
Chuck had messaged me as I was pulling into town. He was taking a shower but would leave the door ajar, and I should just come on in when I got there. It felt a little strange, but there wasn’t room for me to argue on the matter. When he had said that he was in a hotel a fairly traditional image had come to mind, and I was a little surprised when he provided a building number. The complex I found myself in was a maze to drive around, and I had to guess that this was one of those extended-stay places. Strange, given he said he was only planning to be here a few days. But maybe it was just the best deal at short notice. I eventually located the right building and pulled myself, my bag, and my coat out of the car. It was late March; crusted snow hung around in the shade up here. I found the door of the first-floor room and checked the room number against my phone. The door was standing slightly open, so it must be the right one. I checked the number again. Hesitantly, I pushed my way in.
The story of a man’s love and loss on the way to the end of the world.
Where once there had been lush forests, streams, and the constant chitter of wildlife, there was now only an empty expanse. The ground was laid bare, cracked and dusty, as an unrelenting sun burnt down.
The weathered man sat on a rock, surveying the scene, hands clasped tightly, elbows propped on knees. It felt like he’d been here a long time. He wasn’t even sure where here was anymore. This place felt like a whole other world to him now.
A woman reflects on a traumatic event, too late to affect the outcome.
I’m not sure if I locked the door.
I was in such a rush out of the house that I don’t really remember. It would have been easy to forget. And we live in such a bad neighborhood—well, I think we do. Kevin says there’s nothing to worry about. But if I could just go back and check.
Although, if I could, there’s a lot of things I would like to do, things I wish I had done differently. I think I’d already started going over some of them as I drove away, pushing the gas pedal into the floorboard. I’d needed to get out of there, but once you’re on the road there’s only so much you can think about. The speed gave me some release.
Part of an in-progress interconnected short story collection Beyond the End – There are more Beyond the End stories available right now on Faefyx’s Fiction Patreon!
A stranger finds a curious kind of welcome and hears a foreboding story in a growing settlement.
The wind whipped a gust of sand across my face again. I could feel the coarse grains lash at my cheeks while others got caught in my stubble. I’d tied a makeshift scarf around my face some miles back, but it had slipped down and now hung loosely around my neck. I could pull it up, but it was caked in the smell of sweat and dirt, made my face too warm in the afternoon sun, and made my breathing heavy. It would just fall down again anyway.
In this empty waste, I found myself confronted with a road sign that had been left standing by some grace of…well, whatever. It announced a welcome, but the name of the town to which it welcomed me was broken off—it seemed fitting, given that the town itself was long gone now as well. But I didn’t need the name. I recognized the sign. If I went round to the back of it, I’d find my own initials etched there, along with those of a high school sweetheart’s who had probably gone the same way as the town and most of the rest of the population.
America has a very strange relationship with immigrants. A nation built on immigration will eagerly elect politicians that denigrate them at every turn, and you can see the symptoms of that mindset out in the wild every day.
Faefyx weighs in with a perspective on living as a Brit in America on the Fourth of July, particularly in times when national injustice has become so visible.
The duplicity of the American use of language knows no ends. I’ve ranted on here before about Guinness and tomatoes, and this is certainly in the same vein. However, given not only the magnitude of the disappointment perpetrated by this particular issue, but also the repeated occurrences in which I forget that it is a thing and make the same mistake again, I feel that it requires its own post.
I am an immigrant to this country and this morning I woke up to find several messages on my phone from people in other countries checking that I am safe, some from people I have not spoken to in years.
Thanks for coming by! Have you enjoyed my short stories, non-fiction articles, or Unramblings content? Everything that you see on this site is something I make because I love doing it and I hope that it can bring a little bit of joy to somebody’s day. If you want to help support what I do (then first of all: thank you!), there are three great ways to help out.
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The last few years has seen trans characters in mainstream media move from being defined by their transness to being incidentally trans. And that’s important. …
Have you heard of Agatha Christie’s eleven missing days? It’s a real life mystery that comes up from time to time in popular culture and there’s never been an airtight solution put forward. I don’t know if I have a solution, but I think I know why so many solutions fall short.
As a term, “popular fiction” has always bothered me. Or, perhaps it’s fairer to say that the term “literature” has always bothered me. Or, perhaps the issue at heart is that these terms are set up to suggest that the two things are in any way different.
Today The Guardian broke the news that Rolling Stone magazine would be giving people the opportunity to write for its website and giving them the chance to “shape the future of culture,” referring to such people as “thought leaders.”
America has a very strange relationship with immigrants. A nation built on immigration will eagerly elect politicians that denigrate them at every turn, and you can see the symptoms of that mindset out in the wild every day.