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The Distant JourneyThe roast is pink in the center, a wound of red meat glistening under the heat lamps, and the air in the dining room smells of rosemary, rendered fat, and the heavy, metallic tang of old iron. You sit at the head of the long oak table, your hands folded neatly in your lap, fingers pale and thin as reeds, waiting for the family to gather. The house is silent, a vast and breathing thing, its...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful AsylumI dreamt of a hand. It was my left. The knuckles were swollen. The skin was translucent. I could see the blue veins beneath. They pulsed. A slow, rhythmic beat. Like a clock. I woke. The apartment was dark. The radiator hissed. It ticked. A cold, metallic sound. I lay still. I counted the ticks. One. Two. Three. The pain was there. It lived in the joint. A sharp, white spike. It waited for me...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant JokeYou have walked for three days through the grey, unending rain that slicks the cobblestones of the old quarter, the mud of the road sucking at your boots with a wet, persistent hunger that seems to mirror the hollow ache in your chest, a pain you have carried for so long you have forgotten it was not always there. You are a scholar of the forgotten tongues, a keeper of the dusty archives in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Golden QuestThe rain hit the glass. It sounded like static. I sat in the corner. My chair was hard. The wood bit into my legs. I waited. The hospital room was white. The white was aggressive. It pressed against my eyes. I blinked. The white remained. My brother, Thomas, lay in the bed. He was thin. His skin was loose. It hung off his bones. I looked at his hands. They rested on the sheet. They were still....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant Temple"Did you hear the bell?" It was a simple question. It hung in the air, thin and sharp, like a wire stretched across a frozen lake. Thomas did not answer. He sat on the floor of the cell, his back against the cold stone. The stone was damp. It pressed a coldness into his spine that he had known for three days. Three days. It felt like a century. It felt like a second. "I heard it," he said...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Faded FrontierThe rain did not fall. It hung. A thick, grey curtain. It pressed against the glass of the attic window. I held the jar. The glass was cold. It bit into my palms. Inside, the water moved. It was not water. It was memory. It was the color of the river that night. I sat on the floor. My back against the wall. The room smelled of damp wool and old paper. This was my father’s study. Or it had been....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful WitnessThe rain had been falling on the city of Harrowgate for three days, a persistent, grey sheet that turned the cobblestones into dark mirrors reflecting the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamps, and in the basement archive of the Municipal Historical Society, where the air smelled of mildew, decaying paper, and the sharp, metallic tang of old iron, Elias Thorne sat hunched over a desk that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Wistful MirrorThe ink on your hands is black, but it looks like blood in the torchlight. You are standing in the center of the Hall of Whispers, and the floor is trembling under the weight of your own breathing. This is not a castle in the way you remember castles from the old stories, with their stone and mortar and honest decay. This is a place of glass and wire, of humming currents that smell of ozone and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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The Distant GardenThe rosebush in the corner of the conservatory had not bloomed in three years. Its thorns were the size of needles, blackened at the tips, and its leaves curled inward like fists refusing to open. Elias sat before it, his hands resting on the armrests of his wheelchair, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam of light that pierced the heavy velvet curtains. The house was silent, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
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