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 Pale BonsaiThe count began at dawn. I counted the cracks in the stone floor. One, two, three. Fourteen in the corner where the damp crept in. I counted them again. The light was thin, a pale gray slice through the high slit. It touched the pot on the shelf. The bonsai sat there, a twisted thing of white wood and dry soil. It had been my father’s. He gave it to me when I was seven, a gift from a market in...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful DinnerThe drill bit screamed against the granite, a high-pitched whine that Arthur Vane felt in his teeth before he heard it with his ears. He gripped the railing of the observation platform, his knuckles white against the rusted iron, watching the dust settle in the shaft of the headlamp. The smell hit him first, a thick, metallic tang of wet iron and ozone that coated the back of his throat,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant GhostAssunta D'Angelo stood in the counting room of the merchant house, her hand resting on the ledger, waiting for the ink to dry on the signature that would secure her family's debt-free future. The air in the room was heavy with cedar and old paper, a dry, dusty scent that settled into the creases of her uniform. She was thirty-two, a border patrol officer in a coastal town called Vico, and she...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful ShowChapter One Lurdes Teixeira hauled the wet clay across the threshold, her boots slipping on the slick stone as the dry season wind tore at the hem of her tunic. She was forty years old, her hands mapped with the white scars of iron burns, and she carried the amulet of river clay in her pocket, its surface gritty against her thigh. The valley of the Alentejo lay flat and parched outside the...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful SagaErnestina Renteria was thirty years old, and her back had not been straight in two days. The cellar of the textile mill smelled of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of old blood. She clutched the silk sash in her hands, the fabric fraying at the edges, its deep crimson color dulled by the damp that seeped from the stone walls. The gaslight above flickered, casting long, trembling shadows...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden OathIbrahim Idris knew the cost of a man before the man knew his own worth. It was a calculation he had perfected over twenty years of service, a ledger of debts and dues that balanced the chaos of the port with the cold arithmetic of survival. He stood at the edge of the dunes, where the sand had begun to reclaim the old road, watching the gritters grind their way out of town before dawn. The air...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Wistful VoyageThe sugar cane stood in rows that looked like the ribs of a dead thing, and the air in the stable loft was so heavy with damp straw and animal heat that breathing felt like a physical labor, a constant, grinding effort against the weight of the world. Antoine Gaspard sat on a crate of molasses, his hands wrapped around a cup of bitter, medicinal tea that he had brewed himself from dried roots,...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded GuestAct I "You're indispensable, Crescencio. Don't be a child about it." Sergeant Crescencio Solórzano stood in the corridor outside the Major’s office, the cold air of the barracks biting at his knuckles. He had spent the last three days polishing the brass on the front gates, the metal growing warm under his cloth, only to be told that his transfer to the coastal garrison was a waste of...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden CircuitThe brass is weeping. It starts at the main steam valve, a thin, red line that tastes of old pennies and regret. I am in the boiler room of the *Aethelgard*, and the fog outside is not just weather; it is a living thing, pressing its wet wool face against the portholes, humming a low chord that vibrates in my teeth. It is 1912, and I am Elara Vance, twenty-eight years old, and I have three...0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek