0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful ThroneThe rain drummed against the stained glass windows of the St. Jude’s Industrial Orphanage, a rhythmic, relentless pounding that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of your bones. You stood in the center of the dormitory, the cold tile floor biting into your bare feet, watching the steam rise from the large, iron kettles that lined the wall. The air was thick with the scent of boiled potatoes and...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CellarThe rain had been falling since we left the city, a cold, steady sheet that turned the highway into a river of black glass, and I sat in the back of the armored transport, my hands folded in my lap, watching the wipers beat a frantic, rhythmic time against the windshield while the man who had broken my life sat in the front passenger seat, his head bowed, his silence a heavy thing that pressed...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AtticThe rain hits the windshield in heavy, slanting sheets. You drive with one hand. The other rests on the gearshift, knuckles white. It is a Tuesday. Or a Thursday. Time has become a soft, malleable thing, like wet clay. You do not care. You are going to the coast. You are going to drop it. The box sits on the passenger seat. It is small. Brown paper. Tape. A label in your own handwriting, though...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiThe rain slicked the asphalt of Mill Creek into a mirror that held only the reflection of the streetlamps and the bruised sky. Silas Thorne stood at the edge of the town square, his boots heavy with the mud of a decade he had tried to outrun. He was a man composed of sharp angles and quiet regrets, a private investigator who had traded the grand illusions of the city for the suffocating...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownThe mud sucked at Edward’s boots with a wet, viscous sound, a noise that seemed to rise from the very bones of the earth. He stood in the center of the courtyard, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps that misted in the cold morning air. Around him, the remnants of the siege lay still. The wooden palisades were splintered and blackened, and the air smelled of smoke, iron, and the copper tang...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe house hums. It is a low frequency. Below hearing. I feel it in the teeth. My mother’s teeth. She is dead. The house remains. I am the caretaker. I am the exile. I live in the walls. The walls breathe. They inhale dust. They exhale static. I have measured the voltage. It is precise. Twelve hundred volts. Stable. I check the meters. I check the fuses. I check the silence. The silence is...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsThe letter is in your hand. It is wet. The ink has bled into a bruised purple. You hold it against your chest, where your heart beats like a trapped bird. Outside, the fog rolls in from the moor. It is thick. It is white. It smells of iron. You look at the name on the envelope. Elias Thorne. It is not your name. It is not your face. But it is yours. You have worn it for ten years. You are...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant PromiseThe iron gate of the Blackwood Institute does not rust. This is the first thing you notice, the second being that the air tastes of copper and wet stone. You are standing in the courtyard, but you are not sure how long you have been there. Time here is not a river; it is a stagnant pool, thick and black. You remember the dream. In the dream, you were small, wearing clothes that smelled of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerYou stand at the edge of the city, where the fog does not lift but thickens, swallowing the streetlamps one by one. The air tastes of wet ash and old iron. You are leaving. Not because you wish to, but because the house behind you is no longer yours. It belongs to the silence now. The silence that followed the shelling. The silence that settled into the walls like water into dry soil, rotting...0 Comments 0 Shares 6 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek