Fiction: “Elves Are Douchebags,” by Robert Lowell Russell
Floriel’s eyes were gold, her hair silver, and her features so fine, Jack thought they should be chiseled in marble: paint and canvas would be too temporary. Her smile made him ache. Braless, she wore a bright pink t-shirt several sizes too small that proclaimed her the World’s Greatest Grandmother.
Loriel’s beauty mirrored his sister’s. He wore an Armani jacket with the sleeves ripped off and was bare-chested. Muscles rippled across his pale flesh.
I could totally go gay for him, thought Jack. “Our appointment was for ten,” he said aloud, tapping his watch. “It’s noon.”
Loriel smiled. “Your temporal distinctions are so quaint. A thousand apologies, my mortal friend, but my honor has been challenged.”
“All you can eat pancakes at IHOP,” explained Floriel.
Jack sighed. Why are elves such douchebags?
[read the rest of the story]
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Robert Lowell Russell, a native Texan, lives with his family in southeastern Ohio. By night, Rob is a cardiac nurse. By day, he’s usually a sleeping lump. When prodded awake by his family or his cats, Rob likes to write about all sort of things but frequently includes action and humor in his work. Not satisfied with writing stories of questionable content for adults, he’s also working on a series of middle-grade books incorporating his love of not-so-super heroes and toilet humor. For links to more of Rob’s stories please visit robertlowellrussell.wordpress.com.
If you like this story, check out "I Live the Warrior's Life," which is the cover story in our March issue, and watch for his upcoming novella, Star Heart.
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