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Prose
The Lindelle Chronicles — a trilogy
Young-adult fantasy · Self-published, 2017
A self-published trilogy of young-adult fantasy novels, written and released in 2017.
Available on Amazon: Book One · Book Two · Book Three
All's Fair
Short fiction
“Let’s go sit by the picnic tables and watch the battle,” she said, smiling brightly at me. I nodded again, and we walked, hand in hand, down the mulch path to the red tables. As we walked, it seemed that our camo-colored uniforms began to disintegrate, replaced with school uniforms—my dress shirt (still carrying her flowers) and trousers, and her blouse and gray skirt with black Mary Jane shoes. The pack on my shoulder was replaced with a small sack filled with sticks and leaves, which had so recently been my weapons and personal items I’d collected as souvenirs. Lucy seemed to feel the same, as she looked at the fields around us, noticing how the ground was not covered with bullets and tattered flags, but new spring grass, and the trees were not broken down and rotting, just budding with new leaves. I checked my shirt pocket as we sat down, and found that the beautiful wildflowers were simply clovers, dandelions, deadnettles, and violets. They were still beautiful, but in a different way, and I set them on the table for her to see as well. She smiled, and we continued holding hands and gazing up at the cloudy, blue sky until the bell was rung, reminding us that recess was over and it was time to go back inside for our afternoon class.
Read the full story (PDF)Poetry
Sea Bird
Poem · by O.N. Gibson
On the rocky beaches between Dover and Calais,
Cockleshells float on salt plastered sails.
Gray feathered bellies shutting out the chill
And singing in low drawn tones to greet the morning.
If you were to paddle out to these little skiffs,
Very early, before the fireflies begin to dot the shore.
You might catch a glimpse of a small black head,
Gazing up at the sky with eyes that barely rise above the foam.
Might you wonder what this loon is doing?
Looking so oddly, so unnaturally, so unrighteous?
As to dip its body beneath the surface so
And barely take a breath to last all day?
You might wonder this and more, of course,
As its eye catches yours and small ripples unroll.
But you’d pass on, assuring yourself it would be free if it wanted,
Why, the others seem perfectly fine!
As you paddle away and sit with the other passerines
Who watch the runt with similar distaste,
You’d miss the chain curled tightly around its tiny foot,
Which hooks onto the anchor sunk in the sand below.
You’d miss the sailors, the night before, gods to this small bird,
Until they tied it and left it there, with barely enough space for air
And blamed its misfortune on its own fool head
So entertaining to their godly boredom.
Under the surface of the frigid water, you’d see,
A mangled foot, a scarred and scaly ankle,
And the chain
Which winds and whines and winds,
So far down it is hard to see, hard to believe.
But it is there, of course it is,
The bird would not do such a thing itself.
It has no choice but to bob its head
And wait for someone like you to let it out.
It will not understand why you do not help,
Why you paddle away with such contempt,
It will merely struggle to take a breath,
And wait for the tide to roll back in.
Publications
| Title | Type | Outlet | Year |
|---|---|---|---|
| The Lindelle Chronicles | YA fantasy trilogy | Self-published | 2017 |