Fatal Serendipity
Bio
Fatal Serendipity writes flash, micro, speculative and literary fiction, and poetry. Their work explores memory, impermanence, and the quiet fractures between grief, silence, connection and change. They linger in liminal spaces and moments.
Stories (85)
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Habit of Light . Content Warning.
Dana walked the same route home every night, past one of the many underpasses the city kept upright to prevent collapse, indistinguishable from the others except for proximity and repetition. The concrete was scarred with old repairs, seams darkened by water that never fully cleared. Lights fixed along the wall cast a blue wash over everything, flattening color, softening edges, turning faces into shapes before they became people. It was enough light to see and never enough to settle what might be.
By Fatal Serendipity16 days ago in Fiction
Syncope
The clinic looked like nothing. It had no windows, no signage, and no presence except the faint antiseptic tang that clung to your skin even after leaving. The walls inside glowed with a colorless intensity that didn’t register as light so much as pressure.
By Fatal Serendipityabout a month ago in Fiction
Eclipsing Eternity
ACT I: THE AWAKENING Scene 1: The Prophecy and The War (Stage washed in deep crimson and gold. A massive celestial wheel hangs suspended in the backdrop and turns with slow gravity. Low fog creeps along the floor. Thunderous drums build beneath an orchestral swell. Stylized combat unfolds as soldiers from the Empire of Dawn and the Kingdom of Dusk collide in ritualized movement. Steel flashes. Flags burn. The entire field pulses with a harsh and beautiful rhythm.)
By Fatal Serendipity2 months ago in Fiction
Clearance
Thursday came with a familiar pulse. The buses rolled through their route. Children waited at the corner with their collars raised while frost shifted under the first steps across the grass. The bakery warmed before sunrise and emptied by midday. Teenagers crossed the park and carried their noise through the cold air. Leaves broke under their feet. Main Street held its usual pace. A man worked holiday lights onto the post office. The city crew filled a pothole. Mrs. Alvarez swept her doorway and said her daughter earned her license. I told her it was good news and kept going.
By Fatal Serendipity2 months ago in Fiction
The Night You Stole the Stars
You push open the door of the last video store in America and the bell jingles like an echo raised from a dead decade. The scent of plastic cases and carpet dust wraps around you, familiar as a half remembered dream. BLOCKBUSTER VIDEO glows above the counter, although half its letters remain dark. BLO K ER lingers there like a cryptic message left behind by a vanishing world.
By Fatal Serendipity2 months ago in Fiction
