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 Faded RuinThe ink did not smell of iron or rust, as the manuals from the Ministry of Records insisted it must. It smelled of wet earth and old blood, a scent that clung to the wool of my cardigan no matter how often I scrubbed my hands in the cold tap water of the communal sink. I was twenty-three, though I felt older in the marrow, a feeling that had settled into me like damp in the walls of our small,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentI woke with the taste of old iron in my mouth and the distinct, unshakable conviction that I was standing in the center of a room that did not exist, a space where the walls breathed with the slow, rhythmic expansion of a sleeping lung, and before I could even fully register the impossible geometry of the ceiling, which seemed to be made of woven starlight and rotting wood, I heard my wife’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe sound of the shattering glass did not reach you before the impact did, a dull, bone-deep thud that traveled up through the soles of your boots and settled in the marrow of your spine, a silent verdict passed by a judge who had no face, no voice, and no interest in the nuances of your defense, for in the court of sudden, absolute force, there is no time for argument, only the raw, screaming...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe rain did not fall so much as it was pressed against the glass by the sheer, suffocating weight of the night, a solid sheet of grey water that turned the street outside the precinct’s holding cell into a blurred, impressionistic smear of neon and shadow, and inside, the air was thick with the smell of wet wool, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of fear that clung to the skin of every man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaThe rain hammered against the slate roof of the station master’s cottage, a rhythmic drumming that seemed to count the seconds of Arthur Penhaligon’s life. He sat in the corner, his back straight, his hands folded in his lap like a priest awaiting judgment. Across the room, the fire burned low, casting long, trembling shadows against the wallpapered walls. The air smelled of damp wool and old...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe letter lies flat upon the scarred oak desk, its ink still glistening with the heavy, wet weight of the night’s rain, and you sit before it, your hands trembling not from the cold that seeps through the thin wool of your tunic, but from the sheer, crushing gravity of the command that has just arrived from the High Command in the capital, a command that binds you to the very walls of this...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale EchoYou keep talking about the bees. That is the first thing that is wrong. You are sitting in the corner of the apartment, legs crossed, wearing that blue dress you bought last Tuesday, and you are telling me about the bees. You say they are coming through the window. You say they are not bees, actually. You say they are the letters. You say they are the words you wrote in the notebook that you...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathThe fire did not come from the hearth, nor from the lanterns that swayed in the drafty corridors of the high tower, but it rose, a slow and terrible blooming of red, from the very stones of the floor, eating the roots of the oak table where my father sat, his hands folded in a prayer that had long since ceased to be an answer. I remember the heat before I saw the light, a dry, suffocating...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe fog in Oakhaven did not clear so much as it thickened, a grey wool drawn tight over the face of the town until the streets disappeared into a suffocating white. I stood at the center of the square, the cobblestones slick with a damp that felt less like weather and more like a lingering breath. In my hands, I held the ledger. It was a heavy thing, bound in leather that had cracked and peeled...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek