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 Golden CircuitThe brass compass in Kofi Garba’s pocket had stopped spinning, which was a new and terrible silence, and it had happened only after the glass face shattered against the hard earth of the Niger delta, a sound like a small bone breaking in the quiet of the night. He remembered the day he left Lagos, standing at the edge of the fence where the bamboo hills swallowed the sound of the city, holding...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale AltarThe ledger was cold, its leather spine cracked like old skin, and Elias Thorne held it with the care of a man holding a live coal. He sat in the basement archives of the Meridian Insurance Company, the air thick with the smell of damp paper and the faint, metallic tang of the gas lamps flickering overhead. It was 1904, and the silence of the room was broken only by the rhythmic scratching of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe ink is wet, Clara, and it smells of you. Do you hear me? The pen is scratching against the parchment, a dry, rasping sound that cuts through the silence of the Archive, and the scent is so thick it burns the back of my throat. It is not a metaphor. It is the lavender soap you used before the winter of ’91, preserved in the fibers of the paper, rising from the well of my inkpot with every...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MythI was grinding the last of the mutton when the floor gave way beneath my father’s weight. He hit the linoleum with a sound like a sack of wet stone, his head striking the iron base of the vintage meat grinder, and the kitchen went cold. The machine, rusted and stubborn, stood silent above us, a golden myth of industry that had never truly worked in this house. I am twelve. I know the weight of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe bridge over the river gorge stood as a single, trembling span, its ropes creaking under the weight of the toll that Concepcion Vargas owed to the Duke. Below, the water churned with the silt of the recent rains, indifferent to the commerce that passed above, while in the workshop at twenty-three of Candlewick Row, the furnace roared with a silence that was louder than the storm. Concepcion,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale PathChapter One Who owes the debt when the creditor has died? Kourosh Ebrahimi sat in the cold, loud hum of the server room, the air thick with the static of a wet season that refused to end. He was forty, a watchmaker by trade, though his hands now trembled over a silver gear no larger than a lentil. The mainspring of his late master’s final commission was broken, a fact that had haunted him for...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CipherWho was the King? Tariq Fahmy woke with the taste of salt on his lips, a sharp, metallic bite that lingered long after he had rinsed his mouth. He sat up in the dark, the damp wool of his blanket heavy against his shoulders, and listened to the rain hammering the tin roof of his quarters. It was a steady, punishing drumbeat, the kind that made the eaves drip like a broken clock. He knew the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaAct I I remember the weight of the ceramic before I even held it, a heaviness that felt like a promise I couldn’t keep. It was a Tuesday in late autumn, the kind of day where the air in the parish hangs heavy with algae and cold iron, and I sat in the back office of the tax preparation firm, trying to make sense of the eviction notice pinned to my corkboard. The paper was yellowed, the ink...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe air in the sugar cane fields tastes of burnt sugar and wet iron. I am Roseline Boudreaux, and I have been walking the rows for three weeks, looking for the orchids that are supposed to be here. My brother, Desiré, owed the mill forty dollars for his funeral, and the foreman, a man named Thibodeaux with hands like cured hams, said the cargo of rare blooms was hidden in the lower rows to pay...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek