Author: Francisco Leyva

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The Malevolent One — Part Four

Serial Fiction Story   Joe followed his father down the beautiful white steps of the historic building, staggering his steps. A servant opened and closed the awaiting car door for them as they slid...

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The Tramp – Part Three

Dystopian Short Story The tramp walked slowly around the table, fingers twitching on the handles of his blades as adrenaline entered his bloodstream. “Samantha, please keep your voice down. I’m not going to hurt...

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The Tramp – Part Two

Dystopian Short Stories Trent Coy was a man of 20 by the time the Tramp came knocking on his door. The young man had worked hard and fast. He already was married and had...

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Freak – Part Five

Serial Short Story “Hey!” Any of the gallantry he had only moments ago was whisked away in an instant. Freak felt as his bowels clenched and then loosened. A smidgen of urine now streamed...

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The Malevolent One – Part Two

New Fiction Stories   The decapitated head of the woman dangles lifelessly. A metal pole shoved up her neck where her spine normally would be keeps her suspended in the air. Her face represents...

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Freak – Part Four

Serial Short Story   Attention now turned toward his wounded hand. He didn’t have any bandages and he was without the energy left to rip off another shred of shirt. The sharp taste of...

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Freak – Part Three

Serial Short Story   What he discovered was unsettling to say the least. It wasn’t a lengthy gash, by any means — but it was substantial. Yet, it wasn’t the size of the injury...

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Freak – Part Two

Serialized Fiction   Pain. Pain. Pain. When he woke up all he knew was the excruciating pain, all along his body it tormented him but the majority of it resonated from his left thigh....

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Freak – Part One

Short Story   He was cold as he always was and starving in the only way he knew how. He had dwindling supplies so the next few days would be rough as his body...

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Why?

Gothic Fiction   I feel compelled to answer the question that has been long been asked. In my experience, it is the one I hear most often of all. Why? Always…why? Whether their sulking...

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Sane

Short Story   Kit’s face and clothing still drips with blood. Chunks of raw flesh reside in his hair, he walks hands cuffed, his head held high. Jon screams and wrestles with the officers....