0 Comments
0 Shares
2 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Distant CartographThe elevator bank in the sub-basement of the Halloway Correctional Center for the Cognitively Deviant did not hum; it screamed. It was a high-pitched, metallic shriek that vibrated through the soles of Elias Thorne’s boots, a sound that had become so constant over the last six years that he no longer heard it as noise, but as a baseline frequency of existence. Elias pressed his thumb against...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraI woke in the damp dark, the taste of iron and rot on my tongue. The air was thick, heavy as wet wool, pressing against my lungs. I could not move. My hands were bound with strips of silk, cold and slick. I knew where I was. The Palace. The Hall of Whispers. I had been summoned. Again. The door opened. Light spilled in, harsh and white. It blinded me. I squinted, my head throbbing. A figure...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe watch was already cracked before I handed it over, a spiderweb of fracture lines running across the face like a frozen river in late winter. It was a heavy thing, brass-cased and thick with the weight of hours I could no longer bear to count. I had worn it for twenty years, through the mud of the border skirmishes and the sterile, humming silence of the interrogation rooms. Now, sitting in...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe wagon wheels bit into the mud. Rain fell. Captain Elias Thorne sat upright. His spine was a rod of iron. He did not shiver. Cold was a rumor. Fear was a debt. Behind him, the men packed their gear. They were quiet. Good boys. Scared boys. "Captain." The voice came from the rear. Thomas. His second. Young. Eager. "What is it, Thomas?" "The gate is open." Elias nodded. He looked ahead. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherThe rain in Seattle did not fall so much as it hung, a grey curtain drawn tight against the glass of the tram window. I pressed my forehead against the cold pane, watching the city smear into a watercolor of slate and neon. In my lap, I clutched the only thing I had left of him: his wool cardigan, the one with the fraying cuffs and the single, broken button that had never quite fit the thread....0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SilenceThe stone cracked. It was a small thing, a hairline fracture in the great mirror of the hall. But it was enough. I saw it before the Lord did. I saw it before the crowd. The glass was old, older than my father, older than the king’s decree that made us prisoners of our own reflection. We lived in the shadow of that glass. We slept with our backs to it. We ate with our eyes down, afraid of what...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden SongThe wind does not ask for permission. It strips the bark from the ancient oaks and carries the scent of wet earth into the hollow of your ear. You walk. The road is a ribbon of gray slate, worn smooth by centuries of feet that are now dust. You are not alone, yet you are. Your shadow stretches long and thin before you, a dark finger pointing toward the horizon where the sky bruises purple with...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe banquet hall of St. Jude’s Community Center smelled of wet wool, stale beer, and the cloying sweetness of artificial cherry punch. It was a feast, or rather, a simulation of one, held in the basement of a crumbling brick church on the edge of Oakhaven. The lights were dim, buzzing with a low, electric hum that seemed to vibrate in the teeth. In the center of the room, surrounded by folding...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe rain did not fall so much as it insisted, a grey, relentless curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the only thing that remained sharp and undeniable was the smell of wet wool and the heavy, suffocating silence that hung in the air between the two women sitting on the bench outside the waiting room. Margaret Holloway sat with her spine rigid, her hands folded in her lap so...0 Comments 0 Shares 21 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek