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The Distant CrownYou dream of the stone. It is not a dream of flight, but of weight. You are standing in the nave of St. Jude’s, the air thick with the scent of wet wool and old incense. The light does not come from the stained glass; it comes from the floor. You look down and see your own reflection, but it is not your face that stares back. It is a crown of thorns woven from the flagstones. You understand, in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeI woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The fluorescent lights hummed a low, sick note above my desk. It was 6:00 AM. The office was empty, save for the cleaning crew’s distant vacuum and the hum of the servers in the back room. I am a Senior Data Analyst. My job is to find anomalies. To spot the lie in the numbers. Today, the numbers were lying. The file was on my screen. A simple payroll...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant CartographThe iron taste of your own blood is the first thing you notice, a thick, coppery ribbon that connects the back of your throat to the grit of the earth beneath your knees, and you realize that the hand holding the rifle is not yours, or rather, it is yours but it belongs to a man who has long since died in a trench three years ago. You are in the middle of a skirmish, or perhaps a memory of one,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful SkylineThe coffee was cold, a thick, bitter sludge in the ceramic mug, and you knew it was wrong before you even lifted the rim to your lips. It tasted of iron and old pennies, a metallic tang that coated the tongue and refused to wash away. You sat in the back booth of the diner, the vinyl cracked and peeling at the edges, watching the rain streak the windowpane in erratic, weeping lines. The city...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant AffairThe iron gate of the Sentinel Watchhouse was not a barrier so much as a sentence, a rusted grid of vertical bars that held the fog in check and kept the world out, a place where silence had weight and the air tasted of copper and old, wet stone, a position that Edward Ashworth had held for three years, watching the river from the high cliff, knowing that the eyes that watched him were not...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale Exile"You will not speak of the river again," said the Lord of the Ashwood, his voice low and dry as the dust that settled on the floorboards of the great hall where they sat, "for you have drunk too deeply of its secret, and a man who knows too much of the water's mind is a man who has no business with the land, and I will not have you whispering your forbidden knowledge to my servants, for they...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe ink on my fingers was black. It did not wash off. "You see it?" I asked. Margaret did not look up. She was peeling an apple. The knife moved in a slow, circular rhythm. The skin fell in a single, unbroken ribbon. It landed on the table. It curled like a dried leaf. "I see a stain, Thomas," she said. "No. The mark." She stopped. She held the apple. It was green. It was hard. She looked at my...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Pale BonsaiThe soup is cold. You know it is cold because it has settled into a skin of yellow fat, a mirror for the soot-stained ceiling above you. You are holding the bowl in your hands. The ceramic is chipped. The chip is in the shape of a mouth, screaming. You do not look at the mouth. You look at the soldier. He sits across from you. He is wearing the uniform of the King. The cloth is grey, the color...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded ApartmentThe rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the industrial quarter into a slick, mirror-like expanse that reflected the sickly yellow glow of the gas lamps. I sat on the edge of my narrow bed, watching the water drip from the eaves in a steady, rhythmic percussion that seemed to count down the seconds of my life. My body was a cage of pain, a lattice of iron that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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