0 Comments
0 Shares
18 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Golden FarceThe rain did not fall. It was there. A constant, gray suspension in the air of the city. It coated the cobblestones in a slick, black film. It entered the bones. It settled in the lungs. Elias walked. He had no destination. He had no name that mattered anymore. The rain was his only companion. It was a faithful thing. It never left him. He was a boy. Or he had been. Time had stretched him out....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe oak split. Not with a crack, but with a sigh. It sounded like a bone breaking in an empty room. Elias stood in the yard, watching the great tree shudder. The wood groaned, a low, resonant hum that vibrated in his teeth. He did not run. He had learned, in his years of hiding, that running was a lie the body told to buy time. The truth was still, and it was here. The house breathed around...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe bread is gone. You sit at the head of the long oak table in the great hall of the Ashworth estate, your hands folded in your lap, waiting for the morning light to creep up the stone walls. The air is cold and smells of damp wool and old wood. You are the Constable of the North, a title that sounds grand on parchment but feels heavy on the shoulders in the silence of a winter dawn. You have...0 Comments 0 Shares 26 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant AffairThe glass was already gone when Elias arrived. He stood on the porch, his coat dripping rain onto the welcome mat. The air smelled of wet pine and old paper. Inside, the living room was a tomb of silence, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock that had belonged to his father. He did not knock. He did not call out. He simply walked in, his boots leaving dark, wet prints on the hardwood...0 Comments 0 Shares 9 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded BouquetThe air in the cellar was thick, tasting of wet limestone and old iron. It was not dark, exactly. The gas lamps hissed in their brass cages, casting a sickly yellow glow that made the shadows look like bruises on the stone walls. I stood in the center of the room, my hands trembling slightly at my sides. The silence was heavy. It pressed against my eardrums. "You are late, Mr. Vane." The voice...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundThe ink of the commission was not merely black but the deep, arterial red of dried blood, a stain that had seeped into the very pores of Colonel Julian Thorne’s skin since the day he had signed the paper in the sterile, humming silence of the Ministry’s sub-basement, a place where the air tasted of ozone and forgotten regrets and where the walls were lined with the soft, damp silence of secrets...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe rain hits the canvas with a sound like tearing cloth. You pull your jacket tighter. The zipper sticks. You know the mechanism is jammed with mud and old blood. You do not care. You are walking. Your boots are heavy. The mud sucks at your heels with a wet, sucking sound. Each step costs you energy you do not have. You are a soldier. You know this. You have worn this uniform for ten years. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterThe house stood on the edge of the cliff like a bruise on the skin of the landscape, its white stucco peeling away in long, flaking strips that revealed the dark, rotting wood beneath, a slow hemorrhage of decay that had been accelerating for thirty years since the patriarch’s death, and within its suffocating silence, Elias Thorne stood motionless in the center of the grand foyer, his heavy...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RootThe mud is cold against your shins as you stand in the trench, the rain a constant, gray sheet that blurs the world into a watercolor of despair. You are not fighting for a flag here, nor for an idea, but for the next breath, the next shovelful of dirt that keeps the water from drowning your lungs. Your boots are soaked through to the skin, the leather stiff and unyielding, a second skin of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek