0 Comments
0 Shares
1 Views
0 Reviews
Directory
Discover new ideas, create new connections and make new friends
-
Please log in to like, share and comment!
-
The Wistful WitnessThe archive smelled of dried lichen and old fear. Caitriona Whelan sat at her desk in the Imperial Archive, the silence of the room pressing against her eardrums like deep water. She was thirty-two, a scribe of the lower rank, her hands stained a permanent violet from years of handling the iron-gall ink. The task was simple: transcribe the border massacre reports into the official ledger. It...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitChapter One Ying Yang wrote the date in the margin of the requisition form, a small, precise act that felt like sealing a wound. I am thirty-four years old, and I have not slept a full night since the ice storm felled the elms on the north ridge, the trees crashing down with a sound like the world breaking its own bones. I am writing this to Mei, though she has been dead for five years, a fact...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BridgeThe parish of Sääksjärvi was a sprawl of wet oak savanna, the air thick with the drone of the power station that hummed beneath the mud, a sound so constant it became a second pulse for anyone who lived there. I was thirty-four, a municipal archivist working a graveyard shift in the flooded basement of the old probate office, and my hands were numb from the cold. The deadline for the pension...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GardenThe highway cut through the coal country like a fresh wound, splitting the town in two, and the trucks idled in long lines, their exhaust thickening the air with diesel and wet wool. On the north side, the flood plains lay flat and grey, waiting for the spring melt that never came, while the laundromat on the corner bled quarters into the rain, one by one, into the gutter. Seo-yeon Jung stood...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful LetterChapter One Georgi Gevorgyan sat in the damp, candlelit scriptorium of the Abbasid court, his hands trembling with a fever that no physician could name, as he sought to complete his master’s final illuminated manuscript to secure his freedom from the temple’s crushing debt. The air smelled of rot and old ink, a viscous black fluid that bled from his quill not as pigment but as a physical...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful CrossroadsOsman Polat’s left hand shook, the bone fragments inside glowing a faint, sickly blue against the dark of the cabin. He was thirty-two, and the weight of the sealed decree in his right pocket felt heavier than the rifle he had carried for a decade. The sleet hammered against the windows, blurring the pine land outside into a gray smear, the trees gone to beetle kill, their needles falling in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful AshesAct I "Extraction Order 402-B. Subject: Elder Ravi. Status: Terminal. Medium: Sharma, N. Quota: 100%." The ink on the form was still wet, drying in the chill of the room. I held the card between my thumb and forefinger, the paper rough against my skin. Outside, the fog pressed against the window of the chawl, a grey wall that seemed to breathe. The air inside tasted of copper and damp wool. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded RoadChapter One In the Punjab canal colonies, the light did not arrive so much as it settled, a heavy, dusty weight that pressed against the glass of every window in the pawn-and-payday strip mall. Amit Chatterjee stood in the back of the laundromat, watching the quarters bleed from the machine’s slot into his palm, thirty-one of Gallows Corner visible on the faded sign outside, a number that had...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostYou think the ink is dry, but it is not. Chapter One "You think the ink is dry, but it is not," the magistrate’s clerk sneered, his fingers stained black with the very pigment that bound our fate. I looked down at the parchment in my hands, the royal seal a red smear that looked less like authority and more like a wound. It was 1932, or perhaps 1347, for time in Hanoi’s old quarter had long...0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek