Category: Fiction

Demon Days

Demon Days

Author’s note: This is the short prologue to my collection of short stories, provisionally titled Demon Days: Nine Urban Tales

The Genizah

A dark hall. At the far end the slats of a broken louver filter the cobalt blue of city midnight across the wainscoting. Nobody is about, nothing stirs. All the remaining descriptors, the vivid features of the musty hall and dun floorboards, recline on imagination to fill them in.

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A Unicorn Called Rachael: Biblical Allegory in Blade Runner 2049: Parts I & II

A Unicorn Called Rachael: Biblical Allegory in Blade Runner 2049: Parts I & II

A Unicorn Called Rachael: Biblical Allegory in Blade Runner 2049: Part I
By: Drake Dunaway

Meditations                       

In the livid heat shimmer of the deserts the silhouette of a weary traveler appears before you like a merging orbit of inkblots. This dusty wayfarer hails from far away, venturing this parched and desperate land to flee to his kindred. Behind in Canaan he leaves a dramatic tale that goaded him hither; a slighted brother, a stolen birthright, and a desperate flight as a pauper before the mercies of the frontier. Cue the sheer panoramas of deep deserts, whipping winds, and all the B-reel our minds conjure. That’ll do.

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Forever in Tomorrow

Forever in Tomorrow

By: Drake Dunaway | © 2017

The quaint shtetl of Rosava lay alone in the wide and grassy country of Russia. The sun was tracking toward evening behind the clouds on a drear Friday. The cows lowed as they headed back to the barns. Shabbat preparations were in full swing.

In the barn, two boys and a girl argued about killing a snake they found in the corner of one of the stalls. It was long and black.

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Skidbreak

Skidbreak

An excerpt from Axis Mundi, sequel to Fringe Blue | © Drake Dunaway, 2017

Ravenna DiPatri was a stately frau with the luscious tresses of a baroness, moving quietly through the house like a Victorian whisper. In the noonday, she leaned in the parlor reading alone. Her awareness would pique at a certain time of day when the brass doorknob would fidget. She could sense the antsy twist of the knob in its socket or the telltale awkward thumping of elbows on the door and ascertain that it was not at all Alan, but instead her brave little Squanto overeager to get inside.
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