0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Pale GardenThe dream has no walls. Only the fog. It presses against your lungs, thick as wet wool, tasting of iron and rot. You are standing in the yard. The gate is open. It has always been open. You know what you are. You know what you did. The uniform is heavy. It sits on your shoulders like a stone coffin. The brass buttons catch the grey light. They shine. They do not reflect your face. They reflect...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe road does not end; it merely forgets the path it was once, dissolving into the grey mud and the whispering reeds that line the riverbank. You are walking. You have been walking for so long that your feet have ceased to be your own, becoming instead two blunt instruments of penance, worn smooth by the friction of miles against the earth. The air is cold, sharp as a blade drawn across the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MachineThe ink was still wet on the page when the house shook, a deep, tectonic groan that rose from the cellar and rattled the teacups in their saucers, a sound so visceral it felt less like a vibration and more like a collective exhale from the bones of the earth. I did not look up. I could not look up. To look up was to admit that the machine in the basement, the one I had built with hands that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale FractureThe sky splits. It happens at 08:00. You are in the lab. Glass shatters. Dust falls like snow. You blink. The wall is gone. Wind screams. It is not wind. It is breath. The Institute stands in the valley. White concrete. Sterile air. You are the Chief Engineer. Your name is Arthur. Your hands are steady. They are always steady. You build the containment. You maintain the seal. The seal is a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe rain did not fall so much as it settled, a gray veil that dampened the stone walls of the fortress and the souls within them. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the edge of the courtyard, his fingers tracing the hilt of his sword. The metal was cold. It was always cold. He looked at the man kneeling before him. The prisoner’s hands were bound with rope, the fibers biting into the skin. “Who are...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MachineThe letter is written on paper that smells of damp wool and old candle wax. My hand shook when I held the quill, but I forced the ink to stay straight. I am writing this to you, Thomas, though I know you are gone, and I know that the world has shifted its axis while we were not looking. It is the night before the solstice, and the wind outside the window of the infirmary is howling like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestHarold Ashcroft-Edwards was a man who lived entirely in the space between what was said and what should have been said. For twenty-three years, he had inhabited the ground floor flat above Mr. Whitcombe's apothecary shop on Charing Cross Road, a room no larger than a drawing room that smelled perpetually of lavender water and old paper and the faint medicinal tang of the remedies Mr. Whitcombe...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden GreenhouseThe ceiling of the archive room was not a ceiling but a membrane, a translucent skin of synthetic glass that breathed with the slow, rhythmic expansion of the atmospheric processors outside. You stood in the center of the circular chamber, your fingers hovering over the haptic interface, feeling the phantom vibration of data streams that were not quite data, but something older, something that...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JourneyThe rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended gray mist that clung to the windows of the station platform like a memory refusing to dissolve, and I stood there holding the brass compass in my hands, feeling the cold weight of it press against my palms, a small, solid anchor in the drifting fog of my exile. It had been three days since I left the house, three days since I walked out...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek