When I was 20 years old, I was in a creative writing class in college. I was obsessed with my cat, Triple Trouble, a giant tabby who loved bringing us both living and dead things from his safaris. The only Stephen King work I’d read was Firestarter in high school before I wrote this piece of flash fiction. So, he wasn’t an …
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to The (s)Word Slinger to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.