0 Comments
0 Shares
0 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant PromiseThe rain slicks the cobblestones. You walk. The mud sucks at your boots. Cold. Wet. Heavy. You are Eleanor. You are a clerk. You have a ledger. You have a fever. The fever is the master. It sings in your blood. It whispers of the bone. You must find the bone. The old bone. The one that heals. Or the one that kills. You do not know which. The doctor said both. He spat. He left. You have a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MetropolisThe rain did not fall so much as it was forced into the world by a sky that had forgotten how to hold its breath. You stood on the threshold of the stone archway, the damp cold seeping through the wool of your cloak, a garment that had once been the color of autumn but now wore the grey, mottled face of a bruised plum. In your hand, you clutched the iron key, its teeth worn smooth by...0 Comments 0 Shares 14 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe dream began not with light but with the specific, suffocating weight of damp wool, a sensation that permeated the very marrow of Elara’s bones as she lay in the narrow cot of the observation wing, the air thick with the sterile, chemical scent of antiseptic and decayed lilies that the night nurses left on the sills to hide the smell of the patients who no longer smelled of life. She was...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe hall smelled of roasted boar and old stone. I sat at the low table. My brother, Silas, was beside me. He held a cup of mead. His hand shook. I did not shake. I was a soldier of the Warden’s Guard. We were bound by blood and by the King’s seal. The room was full. Lords in furs laughed. They drank deep. The fire crackled. It was a feast for the New Year. I watched the smoke rise. It curled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe bucket was heavy. It had always been heavy. I swung it over my shoulder, the leather strap biting into the raw skin of my trap. The wood groaned. It was an old oak pail, the kind my father used to fetch water from the well before the pipes came. Now the pipes were dry. The well was dry. We drank from the taps that ran from the ceiling, a constant, thin trickle of brown sludge that tasted of...0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe house was breathing. That was the only way Elias could describe the slow, rhythmic expansion of the walls, the way the floorboards creaked in time with a pulse he could feel in his own teeth. He stood in the hallway, his suitcase abandoned by the door, watching the dust motes dance in the grey light that filtered through the tall, arched windows. It was a contemporary home, all clean lines...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe jar is on the shelf. You know it is there. You have always known it is there. It sits between a tin of dried peas and a rusted hinge, a small, square thing of glass that was once green, is now only dark. It is the only object in the room that holds a silence heavy enough to crush a man. You are in the cellar. The air smells of damp wool and old wood. Your hands are shaking. Not from cold....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe rain did not fall. It hovered. A thick, gray mist clung to the windowpanes of the municipal archive, turning the glass into a mirror of broken faces. Elias stood before the desk. His hands shook. Not from cold. The room was heated to a sterile, bureaucratic seventy degrees. He shook because he was looking at the object. It sat in a plastic tray. A small, ceramic bowl. Pale blue. Cracked...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe bell in the steeple of St. Jude’s did not ring on the hour anymore. It tolled only when the bread was ready. In the village of Oakhaven, which sat in the hollow of a valley that time seemed to have forgotten, the people did not look at their watches. They looked at the sky, at the color of the light, and at the windows of the bakery where Thomas Bradshaw stood behind the counter. Thomas was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek