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The Iron SaintThe mist on the Yorkshire moors did not lift so much as it gave up, dissolving into a damp gray surrender that seeped through wool and bone alike. Thomas Blackwood pulled his coat tighter and drew his bow, the familiar weight of it against his shoulder grounding him in a world that had stopped feeling grounded three months ago. His left arm burned. The black vein had crept past his elbow now, a...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 32 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The artillery barrage lasted seventeen minutes. When it stopped, Lieutenant Patrick Hayes was dead, and Thomas O'Brien was staring at a commission paper that said he should be dead too.The trench at Belleau Wood was a wound in the earth—muddy, broken, filled with the dead and the dying and the men who didn't know they were dead yet. Three officers had been killed in the barrage: Hayes, Lieutenant Brennan, and Captain Whitfield. Their bodies were scattered across the trench floor like discarded toys. Among the debris, Tommy found the commission paper. Hayes's commission....0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 42 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Geography of HungerEleanor Vance woke at seven in the morning in a garret apartment above a bookshop in Montparnasse, and the first thing she did was brew weak coffee and stare at the sentence she had written the night before. It was bad. It was always bad. She had written thirty-seven pages in three months, and not one of them was good. But she kept writing because the alternative was staring at the ceiling and...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 31 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The email arrived at 3:17 PM on a Tuesday. My microwave clock has been stuck at 3:17 for eleven days. Twelve paragraphs of polite language: Arthur Levine, you are no longer employed. Budget reductions. Restructuring. We wish you well.I read it seventeen times. Each reading a ritual of denial. I called Mike O'Connell. He writes a culture column for the New York Post. "Come drinking. I'm buying. It's in the contract." The friendship contract neither of us signed but both observed. I passed the piano in the corner. Nina and I bought it ten years ago. Walked past without looking. Six months since I opened the lid. "You look...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 42 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Thing in the HillsI didn't want to write this down. I wanted to forget it. But the rain in Missouri doesn't wash things away the way it does in Seattle, and the memory of what happened in those hills has stuck to me like tar, and I figure if I'm going to carry it, somebody else should know what it weighs. His name was Captain Arthur Mercer. We called him Seven. Not because of any rank or merit—Captain Mercer had...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 12 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The Things We Don't BakeGrace Kowalski woke at 10:30 on a Thursday morning, ate cereal standing up in her kitchen that was actually her mother's kitchen in the basement of a house on East Jefferson Avenue, showered, put on her Walmart uniform, and drove to the store on Outer Drive where she would scan items for eight hours and earn eleven dollars an hour. She did not hate her life. She did not love it. She existed in...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 42 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The roof leaked into a coffee pot. The coffee pot sat under the leak. It had been there for three weeks. Ray had meant to move it. He hadn't.His trailer was on the edge of Youngstown, Ohio — not the Youngstown of the old newspapers, when the steel mills employed twenty thousand people and the downtown was full of people who believed in something, any something, at three in the morning. This was the Youngstown of now: a town that had been hollowed out and filled with dollar stores and vacant lots and a community center where Ray...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 37 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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File Number: Earth-3I have evaluated two thousand, four hundred and seventeen civilizations. My job, as an archivist of the Interstellar Bureau, is simple: scan each civilization's knowledge transmission metrics, assign a score, and file the results. Most scores are predictable. Most civilizations score in the same range—competent in some areas, degraded in others. A few are spectacular failures. A rare few are...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 31 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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The fog hung over Leeds like a woolen shroud, thick and yellow with coal smoke. Arthur Pendelton adjusted his collar and pulled his hat lower. He had two hours before the performance at Lady Catherine's townhouse, and he was already late.Billy was waiting outside the boarding house on Kirkgate, leaning against the brickwork with a paper cup of tea. He looked up when Arthur approached, and something in his face made Arthur slow his step. "You look like you've seen a ghost," Arthur said. "I have," Billy said. And he wouldn't say another word about it. --- The townhouse stood on the wealthy side of the city, where the streets were...0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 45 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen
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