For the full pieces, click on the titles in white; The passages in quotation marks are excerpts.


To be Adam or John published by Unlikely Stories Mark V literary magazine.

"He has trouble moving his gaze from her as she moves briskly to the back. Her white shirt cut long at the tail, mimics her black, pressed hair, in a snaky, billowing gesture and she disappears behind the closed door. He turns to the glass window and catches his reflection against the city. He makes out strands of his honey blonde, shoulder length hair, the edge of his straight nose, his long chin, a glimmer of his green eyes amidst moving cars and people and lights. The city is back to a steady life. 3:20 on his watch. Not long till Jones comes in. John Jones, John Jones… The entrance door rings, a woman enters. Their eyes meet and she's not looking away. They both move toward each other in a silent understanding and he catches a healthy cleavage from the bottom of his eye. Smooth ebony and braless. Nipples erect. Nice dress. Almost the color of her skin."  


Mannequins published by Unlikely Stories Mark V literary magazine.

When she got to work all she saw was a nightmare of people and clothes in an endless stretch that had her looking obsessively at the time. Even the good business from the upcoming fourth of July sales and the new merchandise hadn’t boosted her numbers. Lately she'd been thinking about Maurice's first tour with the Army, how great it was; he was getting paid well and her life had been in order. He had been thinking of going back and possibly getting a career with the military and the idea pleased. In Afghanistan one of his friends that she had known died right in front of him the second day he got there. Maybe he shouldn't go back. Right when she needed the distraction, Alfonso walked by her department wanting to flirt. Good enough for now, she thought.

“Hey Alfonso,” she said quickly and smelled his excess of cologne before he reached her.

"Tayyylor," he said and leaned his head towards her. His voice was very deliberately sweet, melodic in a way that sought gain and smelled faintly of garlic buttered steak.


The works and quotes cited are the intellectual property of Darryl Wawa.