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 CartographBerlin in the heatwave did not sleep; it sweated. The streets were a grid of white stone and red brick, baking under a sun that refused to set, the air so thick with dust and the smell of hot tar that it felt like breathing through a wet cloth. In a rented room on the second floor of a building at eighty-four of Stonecutter Alley, Otto Krueger sat at a desk cluttered with surveying instruments...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded AlibiRicardo Bautista remembers the weight of the pen before he remembers the ink. It is a heavy, brass-nibbed thing, the kind the old men at the exchange used to sign away futures with. I am holding it now, in the damp dark of the archive, and the metal is cold against my thumb, a small, sharp ache that travels up the bone. The year is 1945, though the war feels less like a conflict and more like a...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DanceAct I "You’ll find the glass holds, Director," Min-seo Jeon said, her voice steady despite the heat that pressed against her temples like a physical weight. The gala hall in Jeju was a furnace of silk and stone, the air heavy with roasting pork and the sharp, metallic tang of the new atrium’s exposed rebar. She stood near the base of the central column, her left hand resting on her hip, the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant MachineThorne. The voice came from the doorway, low and sharp, cutting through the hum of the heating pipes. Elias looked up from the ledger. The ink was wet. It always was. He had been signing the supply manifest for three hours, and the page was still damp, as if the paper had just been pulled from a bath. The ink did not dry. It moved. Slowly, like oil on water, the black letters shifted. They did...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded MasqueradeThe mill at the edge of the bayou ran on a rhythm of black dust and white breath, a machine that swallowed the men and spat them out gray. It was a place where the slate hills split the flat land like a wound that never closed, and the air tasted of coal and old rust. I worked the usherette booth at the Picture Palace, a job that required me to sit in the dark and count the coins that men...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale Exile"You'll want to check the ledger again. The numbers don't balance, and I don't have time for errors." Opal Waggoner looked up from the needle. The thread was thick, heavy with the weight of the wool, and her fingers were numb from the cold seeping up through the floorboards of the greenhouse. It was the Opium War era, or so the newspapers claimed, though here in the outer boroughs of New York,...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden DowntownDo you remember the weight of a lie? Murata Yui stood in the sterile glass atrium of the Golden Downtown Authority, the low autumn cloud pressing against the panes like a bruised thumb. She clutched the cracked ceramic orchid pot, its soil dry and tight, while Director Kato watched her with the predatory amusement of a man who had already decided the outcome. The light in the room was flat and...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale BannerDon’t touch the edge. You’ll crack it. The dust fell in thick, grey curtains, choking the light from the single high window that remained. I wiped the grit from my cheek, the motion a muscle memory from forty years of cutting limestone. The ceiling of the crypt was a fractured mosaic of broken slabs, a mouth opening to the sky above where the shelling continued its dull, rhythmic thumping. I...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden MirrorThe axe bit into the peat, the handle slick with my sweat, as I hauled the sod up from the bog. My hands, raw and trembling, wrapped around the haft, pulling the wet earth free with a wet, sucking sound that echoed in the hollow of my chest. I was counting the strokes, a ritual as old as the chawl itself, twenty-three of the Bellfounders' Walk carved into the wood grain of the handle, a map of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek