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 AlibiThe mud was cold. It soaked through Elias’s boots, a heavy, gray sludge that smelled of iron and old rain. He held the rifle with both hands, his knuckles white, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Across the trench, the enemy line was a blur of smoke and motion. Bullets whined past his ear, tearing chunks of earth from the parapet. Elias did not flinch. He had stopped flinching years...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale CircusThe lamp was brass. Heavy. Cold to the touch. Elias held it tight. His knuckles were white. The metal bit into his skin. He did not let go. The room smelled of coal dust and wet wool. Outside, the rain hammered the slate roof. It was a steady, relentless drumming. The factory floor was silent. The machines were still. The workers were gone. "Put it down, Elias." The voice came from the shadows....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden EchoesThe storm broke not with thunder, but with a silence so profound it felt like the air itself had been sucked out of the city of Ostrava, leaving only the hollow echo of wind through the iron spires of the Cathedral of St. Wenceslas. It was a night when the cobblestones shimmered with a wet, oily sheen, reflecting the gaslight in fractured, trembling ribbons, and the fog lay thick as wool on the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe train hummed. It was a low, bone-deep vibration. We were late. The delay was not an accident. It was a choice. I held the bag. My fingers were white. The leather was cold. It was my grandfather’s. No, that was a lie. It was my father’s. He gave it to me when I was seven. He said it held the weight of the world. I believed him. I am a fool. I am always a fool. The station was empty. The...0 Comments 0 Shares 25 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeThe smell of burnt almonds hit me before the alarm did. It was thick, cloying, sitting on the back of my tongue like a bad penny. I woke up in the common room of St. Jude’s Asylum for the Mentally Infirm, my head pounding with a rhythm that matched the dripping of the broken pipe outside my window. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a keeper here. Or, rather, I was. The air in the building was...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrontierThe coat is red. Not crimson. Not scarlet. Red. Like a wound. Like a stop sign. You wear it. You have always worn it. It is too heavy. It smells of wool and old iron. You are a police officer. Your name is Elias. You live in a city of glass and rain. The sky is grey. The streets are slick. You walk. Your boots click. Click. Click. People look away. They see the red. They see the badge. They see...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe rain had been falling for three days without pause, a steady, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the narrow street into a slick, reflective mirror of the damp sky above. Elias Thorne stood in the doorway of the small, rented room on the second floor, his fingers wrapped tightly around the fraying edge of his coat, watching the water drip from the gutter with the patience of a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale TowerThe air in the hall of the old textile mill hung thick with the scent of stale beer and the damp, metallic tang of autumn rain that had been drumming against the high, arched windows since dawn. It was a celebration of sorts, a forced merriment that the town of Ashworth had been compelled to endure, marking the retirement of the local constabulary’s most senior officer, a man named Elias...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe cup was chipped. Not broken. Just a small, jagged mouth on the rim where the glaze had flaked away to reveal the dark, unglazed clay beneath. It was an ugly thing. A heavy, matte black cylinder that absorbed the light in the dim hall. Thomas held it in both hands. His fingers were slick with sweat. He was twelve. His knees knocked against the stone floor, a dull, rhythmic thud that seemed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek