Skip to main content



I've been writing short fiction for eight years. 
My published work is spread out across the internet. I've collected the stories here - all in one place. It's my equivalent of 'one-stop shopping' just for you!

Browse to your heart's content, enjoying what you choose to read and making a note of a story or two to read at a later time. I hope you will tell your friends about my stories and invite them to drop by. 

I will be adding to this blog as each new published piece of my writing becomes available. Some editors have exclusive rights that extend well beyond the published date; others let me post it on this page as soon as my story first appears in print. All of this to say that you will need to check back to 'Don Herald Stories' from time to time to discover new stories.

Please respect that I've retained legal rights to each of my stories. Therefore they cannot be copied and posted elsewhere. But ask me if you want to do something with one of my stor…
Recent posts


A middle-aged man stands alone on a darkened stage. A bright spot holds him in its cone. He is immaculately dressed in a well-tailored, light grey suit. A silk tie, deep red, nicely compliments an expensive shirt. There is a small flower on his lapel, a lighter shade of the tie. All of it is understated, elegant.
Silent, the man gazes out toward us, occasionally pulling at his French cuffs, more out of habit than nervousness. Several times, he touches his right cheek as if sweeping away an unseen fly.
He smiles. It’s as if he is remembering something important he wants to share with us but is unsure if he should.
He pulls down upon his suit coat and then casually re-folds his hands in front.
He begins to speak to us.
The voice is cultured; his words soothing and confident. It’s a voice each of us has heard before but can’t remember when, where or who. _________________ 0 _________________
When I look into the mirror every morning, I’m reminded of other times. And, if truth be told, it was …


“Dawson? Get your ass over here. Now.”
“PK? Jeezus old man, it’s 330 in the effin’ morning.”
“So what? You’re young. You don’t need a shit load of sleep anyways. Besides, got somethin’ here you’re gonna wanna see. In thirty, boy. Out.”
PK hung up.
This was just too important to wait until the kid rolled out of bed at 10, maybe even noon. It could be all over by then. He couldn’t tell for sure. But the kid would know what to do. Dawson was young, but he had the smarts for this sort of thing. Kinda reminds me of when I was younger and in the squad. Hernandez thought I was the best damn code breaker he’d ever worked with.
Phillipe Kayson. 71 years old and looking way worse for wear than he rightly deserved. Fondly known as PK to all his Armed Forces buddies and a couple of close, non-military friends.
PK hadn’t slept much in the past few days. Might even be longer, but he wasn’t sure. Not that he cared. No, sir, this pill stuff had to be solved right soon so he could get on with the mission.…