The following is a Portfolio of Short Stories, Essays, and Poetry by Zechariah. 



word count: 3375

genre: memoir



It is fascinating to hear what people who’ve never been to Burning Man think Burning Man is. Isn’t it that rave that takes place in the desert? It’s like a hippie art festival right? Isn’t it some bullshit utopia commune thing?

Not exactly, but the problem is that none of these ideas are completely wrong, so it’s hard to correct the perception. There is dancing, yes; there is art, yes; and there are utopian commune-esque ideals, but what exactly is Burning Man? I don’t know. I’ve been struggling to figure it out. As it turns out, it’s difficult to talk about, like trying to tell a friend about your dreams; it makes sense in the moment but upon recollection it falls apart.

That said, I think the one thing I can say that Burning Man is, is a city.

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Talking to Neil Gaiman in My Dreams

word count: 1503

genre: fictional memoir

I’m asleep and I’m dreaming. The first part is important because I’m not always asleep when I dream.

So I’m sleeping and I’m dreaming and I’m sitting in a warm room with my family. I don’t know it’s a dream, though.

The room we’re in isn’t that big, but somehow they’re all there--my mom, my dad, sisters, grandparents, aunts and uncles, the whole gang--they’re all there. Everyone’s wearing knitted sweaters and drinking from porcelain mugs crafted with purposeful asymmetries. We’re all sitting on couches and big comfy arm chairs, talking to one another. It’s a pleasant after dinner conversation full of laugher and smiles.

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Ōsu was an interesting place. At one end sat an ancient Buddhist temple, Ōsu Kannon, and behind it lay an enormous shopping mall—the old gods and the new side by side. People spent an afternoon buying clothes and then dropped by the temple to burn some incense. Oddly, it flowed better than you’d think.

The district itself, was a strange combination of an indoor/outdoor mall. The main walk way was covered by a roof that connected to the stores on either side, yet there were no doors at the entrances and the buildings seemed to have sprouted up independent of one another, with differing heights and architectural styles. The whole place felt less like a mall and more like a neighborhood with a giant umbrella over it.

Entering beneath this parasol we found the first café just off the right.

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word count: 3391

Genre: Memoir

How to Murder Your Wife and Make Marinara Sauce

Word Count: 927

Genre: Humor

Published in "Sparkle + Blink 44"


It’s all about the ingredients, you see—that’s what most people don’t realize. Yes, everyone knows it somewhere in the back of their minds but people always obsess over the wrong things instead – the tools, for example. Gas stoves versus electric ones, Chef’s knives made by former Samurai Sword crafting masters, copper bottomed pans for even heat distribution – they’re all great yet ultimately superfluous. Whether you make your food in a ten-dollar Teflon pan or a hundred dollar cast iron skillet the most important thing are the ingredients. The ingredients are Key. Read More

I am From

Genre: Poetry

Word Count: 334


I am from America.

Land of the immigrants

where traditions come to die.

            I cannot speak the tongues of my fathers

            So I no longer know this that they once knew

But from this death all things are born a new

            Or so they say


So from the fifth generation remains of an Irish, Scottish, English family

            There is me.
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This Morning I Found a Lamp

Word Count: 561

Genre: Fantasy

This morning I found a lamp – an old dusty lamp – and it had a genie inside.

“Who dares disturb my eternal slumber?” boomed forth the voice of the genie, ten stories tall.

“I do,” I said.

The genie scowled down at me, crossing his arms and puffing out his muscular chest. “And what do you want?” he said.

I paused, biting my lip. “I wonder if you could answer my questions?”

“What would you like to know?” demanded the genie.

Looking him deep in his orb eyes, I collected my thoughts, and began:

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Blue Is

Word Count: 349

Genre: Experimental

A gull cries in the distance as the two walk hand in hand down the shore, the tide lapping at their feet. They pause and turn towards the ocean, the breeze ruffling their hair as the sun shines bright. He squints; she does not. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Yes, it certainly is.”

“Tell me,” she says. “What does it look like?”

He looks to her for a moment, then turns back to the sea. “It’s gorgeous. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the light’s hitting the water just right so that is sparkles like a million blue diamonds.”

“Like blue diamonds,” she says quietly.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Sometimes I forget.”

“Its alright, sometimes I do too,” she pauses. “The color blue, what does it look like?”

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There was a Tiger Outside My Window

Word Count: 740

Genre: Fantasy

There was a tiger outside my window and the moon was shining brightly into his eyes. He was sitting – there, on the other side of the street – and watching, watching me. I did not live anywhere that tigers should be so I did not know how he came to be there. But he was: sitting, and watching.

For a long time he said nothing – so neither did I – until at long last he spoke. He did not open his mouth. His lips did not move, but he spoke. He said he had been traveling for a long time, that he was tired, and that he was not sure he would make it through the night. He asked me if I would come down and lie with him. Read More