May 12, 2014
I'm working on a collection of interconnected short stories.
Karen blinked. She wondered if the missing brain cells from her hangover made room for psychic visions. Yet there he was, Jesus. Ever the skeptic, she quickly runs through a list of logical answers; must be a hippie surfer in his mother's housecoat, or an escapee from St. Micheal Hospital's psych ward, or Jez and them playing a prank on her yet again. She tries to maintain her eyes on the road and this apparition at the same time, it can't be...it just can't. The dude never existed! He was an amalgam of all the creation stories on earth, and she was a learned atheist. Jesus turned his gloriously glowing head and locks with her curious gaze. Yes, my child, he seemed to say with his aquamarine eyes, it is I. Man, you're supposed to have been a curly haired, brown skinned Jew, not a poor man's Brad Pitt. Karen ain't no fool, it'll have to take more than this to convince her. All right, his eyes say, and just as he levitates above her '91 Honda civic, Karen slams into the red Volkswagen.
I'm a nomad writer here in London for the summer and looking to finish my novel by the fall.