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 (457)
Filter by community
Revival Part 4
Jane wasn’t sure whether she should be just as terrified of Aaron as she was of the five deacons who had tried to capture her. She had never seen anyone react with the speed and force that Aaron had displayed. He must have had that large knife on him from the time they met but she never saw it until it was on the lead deacon’s throat. This was twice this mysterious man had saved her from certain death and she knew very little about him. She needed answers but didn’t know how to go about asking the right questions.
By Mark Gagnonabout a year ago in Chapters
Revival. Top Story - August 2024.
Blustery winds buffeted the canvas walls of the little tent causing them to make a cracking sound so loud it woke Aaron and Jane from a deep sleep. While the two were resting the cold weather had coaxed the companions into unconsciously cuddling to stay warm. Now they were awake, both scurried to the opposite sides of the tent, each looking a little embarrassed. Aaron was the first to leave the tent to empty his bladder and start a fire. Jane, still looking a little uncomfortable from her close encounter, left the camp for a short time but returned a little later with some wood for the campfire.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Chapters
Revival
Aaron walked until the setting sun made it too dangerous to carry on. His skid was becoming harder to drag along behind him because the snowpack was melting into rivulets of ice water. He decided that tomorrow he would leave his trusty sled, along with a portion of his supplies, behind. What items he would take and what would be left behind should have been foremost on his mind, but it wasn’t.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Chapters
Revival
Aaron lay on his cot, in the last dry corner of the cabin, wrapped in a couple of threadbare blankets and an old bear skin trying to escape the cold. He listened to the plunk, plunk, plunk sound that each drop of water made as it dripped from the leaking ceiling into buckets scattered around the dilapidated one-room shack he called home. He collected water from melting snow on the roof to use for cooking and drinking. The fire had died while he was sleeping, and just the thought of exposing himself to the cold cabin air sent shivers up his spine. Wind whistled between the rough-hewn planks that served as walls.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Chapters
Masquerade Party. Top Story - July 2024.
At six feet seven inches tall and approximately two hundred fifty pounds, Samael presented an imposing figure when he walked into a room. His physical stature may be impressive, but his demeanor is the opposite. The shy, some might say, reclusive personality that he developed as a young boy followed him into manhood. His favorite job was crunching numbers in a quiet one man back office of a fiduciary firm. He was always polite, greeting his fellow workers with a “good morning” or “good afternoon” as he walked to the back of the office where his little hideaway was located, but never tried to engage in conversations.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Horror
Chaos-Opportunity or Both
The world Lucca had grown up in was no more. The change was as gradual as his transformation from a young boy to a man. There was limited chaos during his formative years, at least none that his parents couldn’t protect him from. Lucca remained shielded from the daily struggles of keeping a job, paying monthly rent, and buying groceries. Occasionally, he would overhear his parents discussing situations that bothered them, but as long as he got to play with his friends and eat when he was hungry, none of it mattered. War and politics were things adults dealt with, not five-year-olds.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
The Artist
Art world traditionalists never see my work. Oh, they may look at it while driving by in a car or bus, but they never take the time to appreciate my creations. The city fathers consider my art graffiti, a blight on every neighborhood I choose for my paintings. They don’t have a clue as to the time I spend sketching out rough drafts, and measuring the wall so that my creation fits with the exact proportions of the surroundings. I’m not some gang tagger marking my turf with scrawled initials. I’m a genuine artist. Banksy may be more famous than me, but that’s temporary.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
A.I. and I (me)
The world is so different now that everyone has agreed to allow implants to control our lives. The title of this story is the perfect example. Before my implant, I would have written A.I. and Me, which we all know is grammatically incorrect even though it sounds better. My implant no longer allows me the luxury of making frivolous phrasing errors. The same is true for spelling. How often have we used the incorrect there, their, or they’re in a sentence? Those days are behind us, my friends.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in 01
Watson’s General Store. Top Story - July 2024.
“Oh, Ricky, I don’t know how you found this place, but it’s perfect. This is going to be the best vacation ever!” “It looks like one of those places you see on a postcard or TV travel ad. I only found out about it while sorting through my grandparents’ attic. They kept so much old junk; I’m surprised the ceiling didn’t cave in from the weight. Promise me we’ll never become hoarders like they were, Deb.”
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
Alter Ego
He knew the man staring back at him in the mirror better than anyone else could ever know him. He was Barnabas, a leader of men, a purveyor of knowledge, a pillar of strength. If he could see these attributes, which the man in the mirror so abundantly projected, why was it no one else could? Things must change. The man in the mirror insisted on it, and that change would happen today. Infused with a newfound self-assurance, Barnabas strode confidently from his one-room hovel, ready to take on the world.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
Fish Face. Top Story - June 2024.
Is it safe? Is it safe? It must be safe. I don’t hear any fishing lures plunking into the water or boats with trolling motors plying the surface of my lake. Yes, I said my lake, even though these air-breathing humans treat it and those of us living in its water as theirs. I have been battling with one of them for almost ten years. He started this war, but he’ll never win.
By Mark Gagnon2 years ago in Fiction
