Clifford Fryman

Patches of splintered sunlight fell through the canopy onto the forest floor, writhing and twisting like flaming souls attempting escape from Hell.
Josh stood dead still, mimicking the statues surrounding him. Shadows bent, blending into the crevices of ancient stonework on the building in the center of the circle as they moved. The slight rustling of [...]

She closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sun and smiled. Breathing in deep, she whispered, “No place like home.”
“Sure you wanna walk from here in this weather?”
“I’ve been gone for too long,” she said, taking a bill from her purse and passing it to the cab driver, “so I wouldn’t dream of passing [...]

This is a short story I wrote quite a few years back (2005) based on something my daughter made one night while playing and her explanation of what it was for. It was one of the first things I wrote after neglecting writing for a long time. It needs a serious rewrite, but I’m posting [...]

Wolf and Twilight is a short flash piece I recently redone to tie in to a fantasy novel I wrote some time back. It mimics the style used by Native Americans to describe the reasoning for something.

The brass lock on the door had fed my imagination for years. As a boy, it had been the curiosity of what lay behind a closed door. As I grew older, it had been the mystery of why I’d never seen anyone open it. Finally, the strange location of the locked door alone had been [...]