Mark Gagnon
Bio
My life has been spent traveling here and abroad. Now it's time to write.
I have three published books: Mitigating Circumstances, Short Stories for Open Minds, and Short Stories from an Untethered Mind. Unmitigated Greed is do out soon.
Achievements (1)
Stories (462)
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No Respect!
I don't understand. People are always calling me a pane. Just what have I done to deserve such disrespect? I let in the light while blocking the wind and cold. I can enhance a room's beauty while protecting people from storms. So, what is it that has garnered me this moniker? I know people don't enjoy cleaning me but is getting dirty my fault?
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Fiction
Huracn
The Carib Indians called me Huracn, Mayans knew me as Huraka. Whatever name you choose; just know I am to be feared. When I blow into town, exhibiting my full fury, the sturdiest tree will bend and snap, roofs will be torn from their anchors, and waters will rise to engulf the land that normally holds them at bay.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Fiction
Gift from the Sky God
Oogh peered at the ominous black sky from the relative safety of his cave, watching the brilliant sky snakes arcing across the heavens. A blinding flash and deafening crack forced him to retreat as several sky snakes shattered a nearby tree. Baby snakes eagerly fed on shattered tree limbs. Oogh summoned his courage and hesitantly approached the devastation. He felt warmth as he advanced, but pain when attempting to touch a snake. He picked up a long branch with a glowing snake on one end and returned to his shelter. Oogh would stay warm tonight.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Fiction
Fate's Plan
She was born in the East End of London, post-World War II. The youngest of four children, she was part of a close-knit family and neighborhood. Her playground consisted of city streets and heaps of rubble created by the bombing raids and V-2 rocket attacks from the Nazis. It wasn’t an easy life for the children of that time, but like all kids, she and her friends adapted and flourished.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Journal
The Great Divorce
Judging by my limited view of the sun through my cell’s skylight, it must be close to suppertime. Some days I can see the rich blue cloudless sky, other days my room emulates the grayness of the outside world. I’ve been in this cell without a trial for days, weeks, months? I’m not sure. Every day is the same as the one before. Except for when my meals are slid to me through a pass-through door, I am devoid of human contact. As far as I can tell, the only people living in this South Texas town is me and the jailer.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in The Swamp
XXI Volume 2
I must admit, the last chapter of Volume 1 was not as satisfying as I had hoped. The universe had given me four subjects to choose from: a homeless man, a girl in her early twenties, two street musicians, and a man walking a dog. All four were acceptable candidates. The homeless man wasn’t my first choice to complete the last chapter, but I’ve learned to accept any gift the universe sends me. Had he not approached me looking for a handout, I would have taken the girl, but it’s all in the past now. The world has moved on and so have I.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Horror
Connections
I am an only child, as were my parents, which meant unless I eventually have children, my lineage ends with me. Some of my classmates thought it was great to be an only child because I received my parents’ full attention while they had to share everything with siblings. What they didn’t realize was if I did something wrong, there was no one else I could blame. It wasn’t until both my parents passed away within months of each other that I realized what being alone truly meant.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Fiction
The Opportunist
Witnesses standing along the perimeter of the small regional airport said the commuter jet didn’t appear to land unusually hard compared to other planes that had touched down just before. At the debriefing, the pilots claimed to have inspected the tires during their pre-check and found nothing wrong. No matter the reason, two tires on the right main landing gear burst on impact with the runway.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Criminal
The Write Stuff
Signs began appearing on abandoned K-Mart stores and other large empty buildings around the country. The Write Stuff, a play on words to be sure, was the name of a new company designed specifically for the aspiring writer. For a cost similar to a gym membership, the budding author would have access to resources unlike anything their predecessors could have dreamed of. The large buildings were divided into categories: Sci-Fi, Thriller, Mystery, Romance, Horror, Fantasy, Historical and Non-Fiction. Like-minded new authors would meet in their specific room’s conference area to exchange ideas. Writers could change from genre to genre as their stories or interests developed. The rooms were further divided into private cubicles where authors could create in complete quiet, but have access to tutors and reference materials as needed. All works were saved by the company server and published in the author’s name for the public to read, review and critique.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Fiction
In My Sights
It was an unusually warm September evening. Sweat slowly trickled from Zack’s hairline over the ridges of his wrinkled brow, through his bushy eyebrows, ending its journey directly in the marksman’s eyes. The salty perspiration stung, blurring his vision. It was a distraction, but so were the lights, the loud music, and the jostling crowd. Distractions were something to be tuned out, and there was no one better at doing that than Zack.
By Mark Gagnon3 years ago in Psyche
