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 Golden CrossingThe river ran black and thick through the heart of the city, a vein of ink that refused to dry, and Elias Thorne stood on the bridge with his coat buttons undone, watching the water churn against the iron pilings with a sound like wet wool being pulled apart. He was a man of words, a professor of etymology at the university, and he believed that language was a structure, a bridge one could walk...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe ink had dried on the ledger, but the stain remained, a dark, arterial bruise spreading through the grain of the oak table. I sat alone in the study, the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the encroaching London fog, listening to the tick of the mantel clock. It was a sound I had learned to love in the silence, a metronome for a life that had long since lost its rhythm. My hands, once...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe rain had been falling for three days, a steady, grey static that blurred the world against the window. I stood in the hallway of the apartment, holding a device that hummed with a low, electric frequency. It was a spectral resonance scanner, a piece of hardware I had built in a basement in Ohio, designed to map the decay patterns of matter over time. I was not here for the furniture. I was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe fog did not lift so much as it thickened, a grey wool drawn tight over the face of the valley. Elias walked with his head bowed, the weight of his satchel digging into his shoulder, the leather strap worn smooth by decades of use. He was a scholar of the old texts, a man who had spent his life cataloging the dead, but here, in the borderlands between the known world and the mist, he felt...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe bell in the steeple did not ring; it screamed. It was a sound like tearing silk, a high, thin shriek that tore the sky open over the town of Oakhaven. It happened at the moment the first frost bit the earth, when the air was so cold it felt like swallowing glass. Silas stood in the center of his apothecary, his hands trembling around a mortar made of black basalt. He was a small man, dry as...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe fire in the hearth did not burn so much as it consumed, a hungry, orange maw that devoured the seasoned oak and spat out sparks like embers of a dying star. We were seated at a long table of dark mahogany, the varnish worn smooth by centuries of hands that had once been powerful, now reduced to the ghosts of memory. The feast was laid out with a precision that bordered on the surgical:...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe dream was a river of iron. It ran cold and black. It ran fast. Elias stood on the bank. The water was not water. It was steel. He looked down. He saw his own face. It was not his face. It was the face of the man he had killed. "Stop it," Elias whispered. The voice came from the water. It was his voice. But it was older. It was tired. "Wake up, Elias." He woke up. The room was white. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe train slows. You watch the trees blur into a gray smear against the window glass. The air inside the car is stale, thick with the scent of wet wool and old paper. You sit in the corner, your hands folded in your lap. They are cold. You do not move them. You do not shiver. You are Margaret. You are the witness. You are the keeper of the path. The door opens. A man steps in. He is tall. He...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain hits the pavement. It is cold. You feel it on your face. You are standing in the alley. The smell is wet asphalt and rust. You look down. You see the boots. They are muddy. They are your boots. You look at the sky. It is grey. It is always grey here. You are a man of the Law. Or so the papers say. The Law is a word. It has no weight. It is a ghost in a white shirt. You walk through the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek