-
173 المنشورات
-
0 الصور
-
0 الفيديوهات
-
Male
-
04/07/1974
-
متابَع بواسطة 0 أشخاص
التحديثات الأخيرة
-
The Needle and the ShadowThe Needle and the Shadow The man arrived at half past ten on a Tuesday, carrying a bundle wrapped in brown paper that cost more than Eleanor's entire studio. He stood in her doorway like a man who had forgotten why he came and was afraid to ask. "I require a burial shroud," he said. "For my wife." Eleanor Ashworth set down her thimble and looked at him properly. He was a man of means — the cut...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 715 مشاهدة 0 معاينةالرجاء تسجيل الدخول , للأعجاب والمشاركة والتعليق على هذا!
-
The first time Hazel Delaney heard herself sing in front of another human being, it was in the basement of Longworth Academy, and she was nineteen years old, and the piano was out of tune, and the girHazel stopped. "Was it bad?" Roxy opened one eye. "You sounded like your mother." That should have been an insult. Coming from Roxy, it was the highest compliment Hazel had ever received. Her mother had been Billie Delaney—Billie Duval, born in Harlem, raised on jazz and cigarette smoke and the kind of music that didn't care whether you were good, only whether you were honest. Billie had died...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 579 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Sacrifice of the BoundThe village of Oakhaven was a place where the sea didn't just touch the shore; it claimed it. Clara lived in a cottage that smelled of salt and old grief, caring for her younger brother, Leo, whose lungs were filling with a fluid that no doctor could name. The Mariner was the reason for the village's fear. He was a ghost of a captain who had crashed his ship on the jagged rocks a century ago....0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Mark of the Nightborn: Southern Gothic Magical RealismThe Mark of the Nightborn: Southern Gothic Magical Realism Batch 9 - Work ID 85840: The Mark of the Nightborn Tensor: TI=7.1, M=[9.5, 1.0, 2.0, 3.0, 8.5, 11.0, 8.5, 8.0, 9.5, 10.0], theta=60.0° Act I The delta remembered. I know this because when I walk through the cotton at dawn, my boots sink into soil that is warm in a way that has nothing to do with the sun. It is warm with exhaustion. Two...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 5 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Gentleman Servant: Or, How Charlie Briggs Outwitted Lord AshworthAct I: The Spark The bell at Ashworth Mill struck six on a morning in February 1847, and Charlie Briggs walked through the factory gates as though he were stepping onto a battlefield. He was nineteen years old, shorter than five feet, with eyes like steel needles. He carried nothing but a small canvas bag containing a half loaf of bread and a tin cup. He had eaten neither. He would not eat...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Iron Ark of Blackwood ManorI was born in the year of the Long Dusk, when the sky stopped moving and the great furnaces of the earth began their terrible breathing. My mother told me that the last sunset lasted three days, that the sun hung on the horizon like a wounded animal refusing to die, and that I arrived into this world as the final ember slipped beneath the hills. She said I cried then, though I have no memory of...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Increments of ReturnGuilt is not binary. It does not switch from zero to one, from absent to present, from unforgiven to forgiven. Guilt is a continuous variable, a spectrum, a gradient that shifts by increments too small to measure. Arthur Blackwood had been sliding along this gradient for sixty-seven years, and he had never noticed the movement. He thought he was in the same place: guilty, static, unchanged. But...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
THE QUIET ENDFrank O'Malley woke at six in the morning. It was not an alarm clock that woke him. It was the habit of waking at six, established twelve years ago in a base camp in the Ho Chi Minh Trail and never broken, even after he broke everything else. He lay in the dark. The apartment was small—one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen that was really just a corner with a stove and a refrigerator the size of...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
THE PARANOIA ENGINEDr. Henry Webb was giving a lecture on cognitive asymmetry at the University of Chicago when a woman in a dark suit handed him an envelope during the question-and-answer period. The lecture hall was mostly empty — it was a Thursday afternoon in April, and most of his students had better things to do. The envelope was plain white, unsealed, and contained a single sheet of paper. The paper held a...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
THE DEEP LEDGERACT I: THE WOMAN IN FUR (20%) The office smelled like old paper, old whiskey, and old mistakes. Frank Callahan liked it that way. It reminded him that everything in this city had a history, and most of those histories involved someone doing something they couldn't take back. The door opened without a knock. Frank looked up from his desk. The woman standing in the doorway was dressed in black...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Nodes Between New York and San FranciscoThe network was invisible, but it was everywhere. It connected the dispatch office in Omaha to the baggage room in Grand Central Terminal. It connected the baggage room to the third dining car of the Western Star. It connected the dining car to the conductor's office, and the conductor's office to the observation car, and the observation car to the platform at Salt Lake City, and the platform...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
-
The Scale of SilenceI spent four days watching the city. I didn't speak to them. I didn't try to save them. I just sat in the grey dust and watched. Through the lens of my magnifier, I saw a man arguing with his wife about a piece of fruit. I saw a child crying over a broken toy. I saw a poet writing a sonnet on a flake of mica. Their joys were small, and their sorrows were microscopic. But as I watched, I...0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة
المزيد من المنشورات