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 Golden GreenhouseThe bus smells of wet wool and diesel. You are holding your tibia. It is wrapped in gauze, stained with a rust-colored fluid that is not quite blood. It is not quite water. It is the color of old tea. You are in the back row. The seats are vinyl, cracked and peeling. Your knee is pressed against the plastic armrest. It is a small bone. It is light. It is yours. The driver, a man named Galloway,...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe letter was found in the lining of a coat that had hung in the attic of the Whitmore estate for thirty years, its fabric brittle with age and the specific, dry dust of neglect. It was written on heavy, cream-colored stationery, the ink faded to a ghostly violet, and it bore no date, only a signature that trembled slightly at the end: Elara. The handwriting was precise, the loops of the g’s...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CampusThe rain slicked the cobblestones of the old quarter, turning the gaslight into a smear of amber and grey. You walked quickly, your boots heavy with the mud of the streets you had known since childhood, though the city had changed beneath your feet. The air smelled of coal smoke and wet wool, a pungent perfume of the industrial age that you had spent a lifetime trying to refine into something...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe rain against the windowpane was a rhythmic, dull thumping, like the heartbeat of a dying patient. I sat in the kitchen of our old brick house on Miller Street, the one we had bought before the war, before the service, before the silence took root in my chest. The air smelled of wet wool and the metallic tang of the tea I had brewed three hours ago. It had gone cold. I had not touched it. My...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful IncenseThe oak tree stood alone in the courtyard of the Citadel. Its roots had cracked the flagstones long before Aldric’s father had taken command of the garrison. Now, the bark was gray and furrowed, stripped of its green vigor. The leaves were brittle, brown, and few. They clung to the branches with a desperate, skeletal grip, ready to shatter at the slightest breath of wind. Aldric watched it from...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale VerdictIn the dream, the lace was not white but the color of old bone, a translucent web that trapped the dust of a century, and Margaret Holloway stood before a mirror that did not reflect her face but the hollow spaces where her identity had once been, her hands moving with the mechanical precision of a woman who had long since stopped feeling the weight of her own limbs, as she attempted to fasten...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowThe wind tore at the canvas of the tent like a hungry dog. Julian did not sleep. He sat by the dying fire, his hands wrapped around a mug of cold tea. The liquid was bitter. It tasted of ash and iron. Outside, the storm howled through the skeletal pines of the high moor. The rain lashed against the nylon. It drummed a frantic, irregular rhythm against the roof. He was tired. Not just in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe air in the cellar does not move. It hangs heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of old blood, a smell that has seeped into the porous limestone walls and refuses to leave even after the years have passed. You are here, kneeling on the cold stone floor, your hands bound with rope that has long since rotted into fraying strips, your wrists raw and weeping beneath the...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded QuadrantThe rain stopped. It ceased abruptly. One moment, the sky was a bruised purple, weeping cold sheets of water onto the gravel drive. The next, silence. The air hung heavy, wet, and still. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the window. He did not look out at the garden. He looked at his reflection in the glass. The face was older than he remembered. Lines carved deep into the forehead. Eyes that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek