Gordon Brewer

The guard flipped the small cover shut after she looked in on Owen Price. The prisoner leaned back against the wall, adjusting his position while he waited for his execution. Between his fingers, a cigarette slowly burned, which he occasionally took a drag from. Surprisingly, his hands weren’t shaking

A Short Story from Morbid Ink Magazine The silver moon shone through the leafless branches of trees, casting eerie shadows over the quiet neighborhood. Mr. Shaver stepped out of his apartment at precisely nine o’clock, feeling the chill of the October wind rush against his face. The scent of