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The Pale CircusYou wake up in the dust of the old textile mill, not with a gasp or a scream, but with the slow, grinding realization that your hands are not quite right, that they are too long, too pale, and that the fingers seem to have an extra joint that clicks when you try to curl them into a fist, and you remember now, or perhaps you have always known in the marrow of your bones, that you are not a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded QuadrantThe air in the Grand Hall of the Ministry of Cultural Preservation tasted of stale dust and expensive perfume, a cloying mixture that clung to the back of Eleanor’s throat as she stood before the glass case, her fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of her own ambition. She was not there to observe the artifact, a faded quadrant of silk from a wedding dress dated...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded BouquetThe train hissed into the station at Blackwood Hall with a sound like a dying animal, a long, ragged exhalation that seemed to pull the mist off the platform and wrap it tightly around Margaret Holloway’s ankles. She stood there, holding her small, battered suitcase against her hip, her knuckles white, watching the steam dissipate into the gray, industrial twilight that hung heavy over the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AtlasThe porcelain bowl sat on the polished oak table in the center of the command room, a stark white circle amidst the dark wood and the hum of the air conditioning. It was not a trophy, nor a decorative piece of art, but a piece of evidence, a fragment of a dinner set that had been shattered during the raid on the warehouse district. Captain Elias Thorne held it in his hands, his fingers tracing...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant TempleThe wool was thinning. It had been thinning for a decade, perhaps longer, but only now did the gaps show through. Like holes in a sieve. Like time leaking out. Eleanor sat in the corner of the waiting room. The chair was vinyl. It peeled under her elbow. She wore the coat. It was beige. It was always beige. A shroud of camel hair. It smelled of lavender and dust. Of old books. Of her mother’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant MachineYou dream of the road. It is black and wet. The mud sucks at your boots. You are walking. You do not know why you are walking. You only know you must walk. The air is cold. It bites your nose. You see a light ahead. It is not a lantern. It is not a fire. It is a shape. It stands in the middle of the path. You wake up. The room is gray. Rain hits the glass. It sounds like fingers tapping. You...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded AlibiThe train smelled of rust and wet wool. I stood at the window, watching the blur of fields slide past like water over stone. My uniform felt tight across the chest. It was a new coat. It fit perfectly. That was the problem. It fit too well. My name is Elias Thorne. I was a sergeant in the county constabulary. A good man. They said so. I heard them say it. I heard it in the taverns and the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ParadoxThe train pulled out of the station just as the first drops of rain began to fall, a heavy, grey curtain descending upon the platform. Elias stood at the edge of the carriage, his hand resting on the cold iron railing, watching his daughter’s figure shrink into the distance until she was indistinguishable from the gray mist. He did not wave. To wave would be to acknowledge the severance, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale MeridianThe radio crackled, a dry, static hiss that cut through the sterile silence of the station house. "Unit Four, you’re up for shift. Check your gear." It was a simple command. It was the first time he had heard a human voice in three days. He did not answer. He sat in the corner of the interrogation room, his back against the cold, painted cinder block wall. The fluorescent light above him buzzed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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