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 Pale MeridianThe watch is stopped at 3:14. You hold it in your left hand, the metal cold against your palm, the glass face cracked down the center like a frozen lake. It belongs to David. You have worn it for six years, ever since the funeral home handed you the box of his effects, the clothes, the books, the debt. The debt is the heavy thing. It sits in your chest, a stone you swallow every morning before...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesThe dream is not a dream. It is a ledger. Columns of ink bleed into the margins, names dissolving into static. You wake in the narrow bunk of your Ministry quarters, the air thick with the smell of ozone and old paper. Your hands are shaking. You are Elias Thorne, nineteen, a junior archivist in the Ministry of Memory. You have been here for three years. You have been married to Clara for two....0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AsylumThe structural integrity of the Sanatorium for Chronic Respiratory Afflictions was failing in a manner that defied standard engineering diagnostics, a cascading systemic collapse that I watched unfold from the window of my room on the fourth floor with a detachment that felt less like apathy and more like the final, cold calibration of an instrument before it is shut down. The building, a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe ledger was open, its spine cracked and weeping dried ink, and Elias Thorne held the glass vial up to the grey light filtering through the high windows of the Ministry. "You are certain of this, Mr. Thorne?" Director Vane asked, not looking up from his paperwork. His pen scratched a rhythmic, dry sound against the paper, a sound that seemed to drill into the base of Elias’s skull. "Certain,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded DustThe river broke the dam at noon. It was not a gentle release. It was a scream of white water and mud that swallowed the lower fields. Tom saw it from the ridge. He stood still. His feet were rooted in the dirt. The water hit the stone walls of the valley and shattered. Debris flew. Trees snapped like twigs. Tom was twelve. He wore a wool coat that was too big for him. It had belonged to his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale LetterThe fog was thick. It swallowed the lane. It swallowed the stone walls. It swallowed the world. Elara stood at the gate. Her hands were cold. She held a bundle. Inside was her heart. It beat against her ribs. A heavy, wet thud. Thump. Thump. Behind her, the house waited. It was old. The roof sagged. The windows were blind. She looked back once. Then she turned away. She walked. Her boots...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceThe ledger recorded the weight of the pigments: three ounces of lampblack, two of bone ash, and one vial of the silver compound, which the Abbot called *Aurum Mortis*. Elias counted the quills, twelve goose feathers, each cut to a precise angle, and weighed the paper against the grain of the oak table. He was twelve years old, and his hands were steady, a fact he had proven to his father in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful Letter"Arthur, stop fidgeting with that pen and look at me." The voice of Mr. Vane cut through the thick, humid air of the library, sharp as a razor against the damp wood. I stood before the oak desk, my hands trembling so violently that the brass fountain pen clattered against the mahogany surface, the sound echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling. It was the fourteenth of November, 1893, and the rain...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorThe mud of the Somme did not freeze so much as it hardened into a grey, putrefactive paste that sucked at the boots of the men who stood in it. Sergeant Elias Thorne pressed his chest against the damp earth of the trench wall, the cold seeping through his wool tunic until it felt less like temperature and more like a physical weight pressing down on his lungs. In the inner pocket of his...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek