Stories - Morgan Broadhead

I’m Still Reeling…

And probably will be for a while. I grew up believing there was decency in America. There was civility. There was friendliness

I’ve been thinking a lot about this writing life of mine. I wasn’t born with a pen wrapped inside my umbilical cord.

I feel like I owe William Shatner, Gene Roddenberry, the entire cast of Star Trek, and Trekkies all around the world a

“Of course, you have a choice, Mister Stephens, just like everyone who dies.” Stephens sat, or rather hovered, over a thickly padded

“The Dagger of al-Shaytān!” Jemisha jumped up and pointed. We had been enjoying a quiet evening and a glass of merlot. Maybe

Jamari was soaked. The mossy rock hadn’t felt slick when he tested it before crossing. But like everything else in this forest,

“I don’t want you to kiss me,” the toad said, and gave a little croak. Despite his insistence, the princess held onto

I don’t always enjoy sitting down to write. Hard to believe, I know, but it’s true. Most of the time it’s pretty

I was dubious about seeing this one. To be fair, I’m always dubious about watching the second installment of a movie I

The sky took a giant white dump on us, my friends, then farted negative thirty degree arctic winds right into our faces.

Alaina Lambert had just beached her Zodiac landing boat and was walking up the sand when Hunter stepped out from the shaded