Catherine Collins

Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Literature
2026-06-03 15:28:03 -

The Survival Lottery
Manhattan in 2112 was a city of two worlds. Above the clouds floated the Aether-Spires, where the air was filtered and the wine was vintage. Below, in the "Sump," the rest of the population lived in a permanent twilight of smog and neon, fighting over scraps of synthetic protein. The crisis had arrived not as a bang, but as a decree. The "Ark" was coming—a fleet of ships capable of escaping the...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Dance
2026-06-04 10:52:43 -

Ashes of the Wasteland
Ashes of the Wasteland The body was found behind a gas station off Route 62, the kind of place that had survived the collapse of the town by selling gas and lottery tickets and things you could not get anywhere else anymore. Maggie Hart found it on a morning that was no different from any other morning in this town: gray, cold, the sky pressed down low like a lid on a pot that had been boiling...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Autre
2026-05-31 09:09:49 -

The Ashen Heir - Postcolonial Gothic
The Ashen Heir - Postcolonial Gothic Batch 9 - Work ID 85833: The Ashen Heir Tensor: TI=7.0, M=[8.5, 2.0, 1.5, 9.0, 7.0, 7.5, 9.5, 8.0, 7.0, 9.5], theta=315.0° Act I The letter came on a Thursday, which in Trinidad is neither here nor there because the week moves the same way everywhere but the heat makes everything feel like it is moving through something thicker than air, and the letter...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Jeux
2026-05-30 17:26:58 -

The Alchemist's Familiar
The heat in Georgia does not merely exist. It occupies. It moves through you like a slow tide, filling your lungs with magnolia and rot and the memory of rain that hasn't fallen in weeks. Eli Whitfield stood in the mill's drainage ditch and looked down at the white cat struggling in the mud. It had three tails, each torn and bleeding, and eyes that held the intelligence of something far older...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Jeux
2026-06-04 02:36:08 -

The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything clean. It just made the grime slicker, turned the dust on the sidewalk to a thin brown paste that tracked into every doorway and left every shoe print like a fingerprint.
Jack Morrison stood at his office window on the fourth floor of the building on Hill Street and watched the rain fall. The window didn't close all the way, and the water found its way in anyway, running down the sill and pooling on the desk where it mixed with old coffee rings and cigarette ash. Jack didn't bother wiping it up. Water on the desk was just one more thing he'd have to deal with...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Jeux
2026-05-31 23:54:38 -

The Patient from Below
Part I: The Lock Henri Leclerc was thirty-three years old, the youngest mathematics professor at the Ecole Normale Superieure in Paris, and in the spring of 1893 he was on the verge of a discovery that would have changed the course of mathematics. He had been working on hypergeometric functions—specifically, on a class of functions that extended the concept of infinity to higher dimensions. In...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Autre
2026-06-04 16:51:42 -

The Blackthorne Laboratory
The laboratory occupied the basement of a Georgian townhouse in Bloomsbury, and it smelled of copper, carbolic acid, and the particular dampness of a London cellar that had been breathing its own breath for three hundred years. It belonged to Dr. Alistair Blackwood, a pathologist at St. Bartholomew's who had become, by general consensus, a man possessed. Thomas Webb had come to London in the...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Jeux
2026-06-02 09:24:39 -

THE PATIENT FROM BELOW
Dr. Arthur Voss could not remember how he had arrived at the hospital. This was not, strictly speaking, true. He remembered driving through Vienna on a February evening in 1896, the gas lamps casting amber pools on the wet cobblestones, the carriages bouncing over puddles that reflected the windows of the cafés where men sat drinking brandy and talking about the future of the Balkans. He...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Literature
2026-06-03 14:34:22 -

The Aesthete's Flame
The letter arrived on a Thursday in October, though Arthur Davenant would not have been able to tell you which Thursday, or which October, or anything else that required precision. It was from the Soho circle, and it was polite, which in Victorian London was the same as being brutal. They had enjoyed his poetry, they said. They had admired his courage. But perhaps his latest work—too extreme,...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Literature
2026-05-28 03:51:56 -

The Blood-Scented Ledger
(V-05: Film Noir) Los Angeles in 1947 was a city of neon lights and deep shadows, where every smile was a transaction and every truth had a price. I’m a private investigator, but I don't look for missing persons. I look for the things they left behind. I have a gift—or a curse, depending on how much you've had to drink. When I touch an object, I don't see its value. I see its history. I see the...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Jeux
2026-05-27 15:07:22 -

The mansion on blackwood hill
The house had been dying for one hundred and fifty years, and Atticus Blackwood was its last physician. Or perhaps its last mourner. He was not sure which. Blackwood Manor stood on a hill above the Savannah River in South Carolina, a sprawling Victorian structure of faded white pillars and purple ivy that had grown over the cracks like a scar tissue trying to hold the building together. The...

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Catherine Collins Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Jeux
2026-05-28 11:08:02 -

THE LAST LIGHT OF NEW CARTHAGE
I found Grandfather's diary in the cellar on a Tuesday in October, 1872. The house was cold—the coal fire had been banked too early, as it always is when one lives alone—and the smell of damp stone and forgotten things rose to meet me as I descended the narrow stairs with a candle in my hand. There, behind a stack of water-stained furniture covers, in a tin box whose lock had rusted solid, was...

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