0 Comments
0 Shares
4 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful ShowThe sky did not fall so much as it bruised, a vast, swollen contusion of purple and charcoal that stretched across the concrete canyons of the city, pressing down on the shoulders of the men and women who moved with the frantic, disjointed rhythm of ants sensing a flood, while in the heart of the district, where the old brick tenements stood shoulder to shoulder like weary sentinels, the air...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe explosion did not begin with a bang but with a sound like tearing canvas, a violent rip in the fabric of the afternoon that sent a shockwave of displaced air through the double doors of the municipal planning office, shattering the glass of the panoramic windows that overlooked the gray, rain-slicked parking lot below. Thomas Bradshaw, a man whose posture had been so rigid for twenty years...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerThe train moved through the valley with a grinding, rhythmic patience that seemed to mock the frantic urgency of the men who had boarded it at the last stop, and Elias Thorne stood pressed against the cold metal of the vestibule door, watching the familiar landscape of the mining district slide away like a bruise fading in the early morning light, while the weight of the rifle slung across his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MasterThe air in the library always tasted of dust and dried lavender, a scent that had settled into the very fibers of the mahogany shelves over the past century, but to Arthur Pendelton, it smelled of rot. He stood before the mirror in the reading room, a tall, silvered oval that stretched from the floor to the high, arched ceiling, and watched his own reflection with a detachment that bordered on...0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestI woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was not blood, not yet. It was the copper tang of old pennies, of rusted hinges, of the air before a storm breaks. I was in the house. The white house with the shutters painted the color of a bruise. The city outside was silent. Not the silence of sleep. The silence of a held breath. The silence of a thing waiting to be said. My mother sat in the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe rain had not stopped for three days, and it drummed against the high, soot-stained windows of the Blackwood Station with a persistent, rhythmic insistence that seemed to mimic the steady, unyielding ticking of the clock on the wall, a sound that Colonel Elias Thorne had long since ceased to hear as mere noise but now recognized as the heartbeat of a place that was slowly, inexorably eating...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded FrequencyThe rain fell on the city like a gray shroud. It was a cold, persistent drizzle that slicked the cobblestones of Kensington and turned the streetlamps into blurred halos of amber. Elias stood at the window of his study. The glass was cold against his forehead. He watched the water bead and slide. He thought of the oak tree. It had been his sanctuary for forty years. Now it was gone. Only a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RiverThe rain hammered the glass. It sounded like teeth chattering. I was alone in the cell. Or I thought I was. The air smelled of wet wool and old fear. My uniform was soaked through. The badge felt heavy on my chest. A cold stone. A dead weight. I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. Not from the cold. From the silence. "Are you listening, Miller?" I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythThe glass breaks. Not shatters. Breaks. Like a bone. You hear it before you see it. A sharp, wet crack. Then the sound of falling. Tinkling. Scattering across the floorboards. You look up. The chandelier is gone. Just dust. And a hole in the ceiling. The room is silent. Your father sits at the head of the table. He is not looking at you. He is looking at the hole. His face is a mask. Smooth....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek