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 Distant PromiseThe water was black, thick as oil, and it rose against your shins with a patience that felt deliberate. You were not supposed to be here. The Blackwood Mill had been condemned since the flood of ’89, a rotting carcass of iron and slate jutting out of the riverbank like a broken tooth, but you had come for the journal. Margaret’s journal. It was the only thing left of her, a leather-bound volume...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded PortraitThe blade of the executioner’s sword caught the grey light filtering through the high, arched windows of the fortress courtyard, a thin, cold line of steel that seemed to vibrate with a frequency only Elias Thorne could hear, his gaunt hands trembling not from fear but from the sheer, exhausting weight of the forty-five years he had carried in his bones, the rain-slicked stone beneath his boots...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SkylineThe invoice from the structural assessment firm, dated three days prior, lay spread across the warped floorboards of the attic, its crisp white paper a stark, offensive contrast to the soot-stained darkness surrounding it, and I traced the jagged line of the red 'UNSAFE' stamp with a thumb that trembled not from cold, but from the deep, grinding ache in my left knee that had become my constant...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BonsaiThe letter from the University Press lay on the oak desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry heat of the office, and Elias Thorne read the final line three times before he set his pen down, the ink still wet and dark against the paper. The deadline for the definitive history of the Oakhaven textile mills was set for the first of November, a date that had already passed in his mind, leaving a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant SummerThe letter lay on the steel tray of the hospital cart, its edges crisp against the linoleum, bearing the official seal of the Bureau and the dry, bureaucratic scent of toner. Elias Thorne, thirty-four years old and currently confined to a bed in Room 402 of St. Jude’s, stared at the signature line where the Director of Operations had scrawled his name in a looping, authoritative hand that felt...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded Guest"Put the trowel down, Elias." Your father’s voice does not come from the doorway. It comes from the plaster itself, a vibration that travels up through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your shins. You drop the tool. It clatters against the concrete floor of the cellar, the sound sharp and final in the heavy air. The wall beside you is weeping again. A thick, viscous black sap...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful GridThe ink was still wet on the blotter when Elias Thorne looked up from his ledger, the quill trembling in a hand that had spent the last hour trying to calculate the depreciation of the estate’s timber rights, but could no longer trust the numbers to hold still. It was late October, 1924, and the light in the study was the thin, grey kind that filters through heavy curtains, turning the dust...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ThroneThe cellar was cold enough to make the stone sweat, and the air smelled of damp earth and the sharp, peppery bite of the root Elias had been grinding for three days. He stood over the heavy oak table, his forearms aching with the familiar burn of labor, his hands buried deep in the pale, yielding mass of dough. In the shadows behind him, Mara watched. She did not speak, but her eyes were fixed...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MachineThe ink in the ledger was still wet when I heard the scream of tearing metal, a sound so violent it seemed to rip the silence from the throat of the outpost. I looked down at the page, where my own handwriting recorded the daily intake of coal, a neat column of numbers that suddenly meant nothing against the shriek of the boiler rupturing in the machine house. The heat died instantly, replaced...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek