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 NightmareThe rain in Chicago did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a suspended gray mist that clung to the wool of my coat and seeped into the marrow of my bones as I walked the length of Wacker Drive toward the old municipal building, a structure of limestone and shadow that had stood there long before my father’s generation and would likely stand long after mine, its windows dark and reflective...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe feast was a lie. We sat at a table long enough to hold the dead, the living, and the ghosts who refused to leave. The candles burned low, their flames trembling in a draft that did not come from any window. I watched my daughter, Elara, across the mahogany. She was seven. She ate the roasted pheasant with a solemnity that belied her age. She did not look at me. She looked at the space where...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the world outside our house into a blur of indistinct shapes. I remember the smell of the damp earth, thick and heavy in the air, mixed with the stale scent of the old mahogany furniture in the study where I sat. It was a room I rarely entered, a sanctuary of silence that had belonged to my father before him, and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe velvet had worn thin at the elbows. Miles stood before the mirror. The glass was cracked, a spiderweb fracture running from the top left corner down to his reflection’s chest. He ignored it. He focused on the coat. It was midnight blue, once. Now it was a bruised purple, faded by decades of sunlight and smoke. The buttons were gone. Two holes gaped like missing teeth. He looked at his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful WitnessThe sky splits. It is not a cloud. It is a wound. You feel the cold before you see the light. You are standing in the field. The grass is tall. It is white. Not green. White. Like bone. Like ash. You are a soldier. You are not a soldier. You are a guard. You hold the line. The line is made of silence. The silence breaks. Your brother is there. He is ten feet away. He holds his rifle. His hands...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe cold in the stone corridors of St. Jude’s Asylum for the Incurable was not merely a temperature but a presence, a living entity that seeped through the mortar and into the marrow of those who walked its endless, vaulted halls, a damp chill that settled in the joints and whispered of damp earth and buried bones, and it was here, in the shadow of this ancient, crumbling institution that stood...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RuinThe rain hits the glass. It sounds like static. I wipe the condensation away. My hand shakes. I check the badge. It is heavy. It is cold. "Report," I say. My voice is flat. I force it flat. "Nothing," he says. His name is Eli. He is young. His eyes are red. He looks at the floor. He looks at the wall. He does not look at me. "Nothing," I repeat. We stand in the apartment. It is small. The air...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe letter was short. It was written in ink that had dried to the color of dried blood. Thomas read it three times. His hands shook. Not from cold. The cellar was warm. Too warm. The air smelled of damp stone and old meat. "Go," it said. "They are coming for the boy. Leave now. Do not look back. Do not save him." Thomas looked at the cage. Inside the cage sat a small bird. It was a thrush. Or...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CompassWe walked for three days along the white stone causeway that cut through the heart of the empire, the dust of our own feet rising in a slow, grey cloud that seemed to swallow the horizon before it could reach it. I was a captain in the High Guard, a title that carried more weight in silence than in speech, and I walked beside my friend, Elias, whose face was mapped with the deep lines of a man...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek