Catori ran through the woods, her arms and legs pumping as hard as her sixteen-year-old muscles could move. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and her lungs burned with the effort to suck in more air. …

Piotr Kowalczyk lived by a simple mantra, “Sweep and live.” He was an old man, nearly sixty-five, in July 1943 when the Nazis had rounded up all two hundred and thirty-five people in his small village of Michniów and executed all but the two dozen or so who were sent…

Reed gripped the Mossberg shotgun in his hand as he quickly moved through the brush. A cruel smile crossed his lips as he heard the nearby whimpering and snarling that signaled he had caught a wolf in his trap. …

Katerina turned her head to hide her tears in the straw-filled pillow as she clutched her favorite doll, Sarah, close to her chest. She always tried to be brave for her parents and older sister when they hid in the cellar. …

Folklore has always fascinated me; they echo our ancient past. Tendrils of truth interwoven into our oral and written traditions; changed and re-written over the millennia. However, I have always wondered what it would be like to pluck that tendril of truth from our cultural tapestry. The victors always write…

Artemy breathed in deeply as he walked out onto the porch. The winter air felt cold and fresh in his lungs as the scent of pines filled his nostrils. …

The mountain pines swayed gently in the cold December breeze as the moon’s bright light shone through the branches. Whispered voices mingled with the night and carried upon the wind. Their words were deep and ancient as they repeated “Waní-Wí-Iphá,” the Lakota name for the crest of the winter moon…

I am so fortunate to have so many of you read and enjoy my stories here on Medium. Every day I am encouraged and inspired to write by the incredible response I have received to my short stories. I want to thank the readers who continue this journey with me…