Havok Publishing

A. R. Hildebrand


I pulled the handcuffs from my belt and turned to the drug dealer, whom my partner held at gun point. The guy had somewhere in the area of twenty-seven arms and depending on what family he was from might have another—usually with a gun—hiding up one of his noses. I groaned.

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Of Life and Breakfast

The man stood on my front step, white suit hanging over his unnaturally tall, thin frame, my morning paper in his hand. I pulled my bathrobe tighter and blearily glanced from his rainbow wig to my paper as I processed his greeting.
“So… you said you’re the grim reaper?”

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