Fiction
Each of these began as a place that wouldn’t let go.

A winter kitchen, a table to hide under, and a blue summer dress waiting over a chair upstairs. A story about the way a house keeps a child — told from underneath the tablecloth, where the whole world arrives first as shoes.
Publication link coming soon
A man in a hospital bed considers his index finger — the one that pointed his daughters toward the constellations, held a lock of his wife’s hair over an Aegean sunset, dug potatoes, defended a dissertation — and now rests on the red call button. A whole life, measured out in one fingertip.
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Eight minutes past five in a cool underground garage in the Portuguese summer: three young men, a duct-taped speaker, and a greeting offered across the space between worlds. The music doesn’t stop — but the world does. A story about the courage of a single word.
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Above the lake stands a nameless headstone, and beside it, another. An Englishwoman far from Brighton, a childhood encounter with the Ojibwe near Rice Lake, and the pebbles we place so that someone, someday, knows a life was witnessed. A story about the arithmetic of remembrance.
Read the story →New stories are currently in circulation with literary journals. For editors and publications interested in E. K. Moore’s fiction: ekmoore.writer@gmail.com