Monthly Archives: April 2013

Tweeprose: ‘Death Watch’ by A. N. Gretly (for @Shelou3)

The rumbling sound of motorcycles echoed in the streets of Creekwell City like gargles from the burning throat of Satan himself. Three gang members rode in a triangular formation followed by a large black pickup truck. The truck had a … Continue reading

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Tweeprose: ‘A Strike Of Infatuation’ by A. N. Gretly (for @MarwaElBehairy)

Creekwell City was very different at daytime, but the gloom of the night seemed to linger upon the washed up façades of tall brick buildings, and the ragged streets like vivid memories of sorrowful pasts. The streets were void of night … Continue reading

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Tweeprose: ‘The Division Bell’ by A. N. Gretly (for @SherifMohyeldin)

Arcturus Murray sat down one evening after sniffing some powdered magic mushrooms, with an epiphytical smile on his pale face. The stench was unbearable; a crossed-eyed pilot drooped lazily in the mist of his mind, visions blurred. The world was broken, ruined, … Continue reading

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Tweeprose: ‘The One That Got Away’ by A. N. Gretly (for @MonaBassel)

Allen Baker fantasized about it over and over again, he obsessed about it so much that the mere thought of it gave him chills. He realized that he’d been preparing for it all this time with all the others, and … Continue reading

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Tweeprose: ‘Who Owes Whom?’ by A. N. Gretly (for @MariemAmer)

…and so, the rat-faced kid hurdled up and down the ragged alleyways of Creekwell City, holding the blood-stained grey suit close to his chest. He giggled cheerily as he maneuvered his way through the packs of ladies who scattered at … Continue reading

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Tweeprose: ‘The Dead Fisherman’s Hook’ by A. N. Gretly (for @Aadelhassan)

At the age of 17, Marvin McMaster ran away from home, and went on the road looking for answers. He walked and hitched until he was out of town, he walked and hitched until he saw nothing but infinite green … Continue reading

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Tweeprose: ‘Life After a Dream’ by A. N. Gretly (for @Henduccia)

The gentle sound of violins soothed her rapidly beating heart, but the music seeping from the record player could not sedate her steam-engine mind. Emma-Jane Hartnell was like that, always have been. Whenever she did it, that is if she … Continue reading

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