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 Pale PathI Angus Lennox had spent the last three years writing letters that never arrived, his fingers stained with the ink of a man who believed in the arithmetic of mercy. The fog came up from the river at dusk, thick and physical, pressing against the one-way glass of the interview room where the Magistrate’s clerk sat, a man named Finlay who smelled of wet wool and old paper. Angus wanted to secure...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale MistThe pager on the counter buzzed, a sharp, mechanical chirp that cut through the low hum of the fluorescent lights. Ji-min Ahn wiped his hands on a rag, the motion automatic, his eyes fixed on the device that held only one number. He was an ER triage clerk, a man who sorted the dying from the merely hurt, and then, he was sorting his own life into a pile of rejected manuscripts. The wind outside...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded SutraThe letter in your pocket is warm, not from the sun, but from the friction of your own desperate hope, and you tear it open in the grey light of the outpost kitchen while the rain hammers against the tin roof like a thousand small fists. It is a standard Corps notification, form 7-B, regarding your eligibility for the "Exemplary Service Pension," contingent upon the verified elimination of the...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Golden FarceThe brass compass in my hand was heavier than it looked, a weight that settled into the meat of my palm like a stone dropped into deep water. I stood in the center of the Ministry’s main hall, the floor tiles polished to a mirror sheen that reflected the low, grey sky pressing down on the alpine valley. My father had given me this compass twenty years ago, when I was twelve and he was already...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant CrownChapter One Chioma Abubakar, a vacuum welder with twelve years of service in the Accra shipyards, stood in the maintenance airlock of Deck Four, his hands trembling not from the cold but from the weight of the oxygen subscription ledger in his pocket, a document that detailed his debt to a man everyone in the old quarters feared, a man who held the keys to the air filtration systems that kept...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Faded ApartmentThe river town of Qianzhang moves by the rhythm of the millstones, a grinding, ceaseable friction that grinds down the stone and the men who tend it alike, turning the grain into flour and the men into dust before their time. It is the month the water smells of the sea, a brine-heavy fact that settles in the lungs of every flood officer and baker, and I am Qiang Luo, the temple accountant who...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant WoundChapter One Mahsa Yousefi’s fingers, stained the color of rust and dried blood, pulled the shuttle through the warp with a violence that matched the drumming of her own pulse. The workshop smelled of lanolin and the sharp, metallic tang of the Grey Breath, a localized atmospheric pressure that had settled over the valley of Khorram like a wet wool blanket, distorting the sounds of the loom into...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Pale DoorChapter One Min-seo Song stood in the mud of the division fields, his limp dragging against the wet earth as if the ground itself had claimed a debt from his leg, and he looked back at the mission infirmary where the winter light failed to reach the stone walls. He had come to divide the remaining acreage with his brother, but the man was gone, leaving only a packet of love letters, bundled in...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
-
The Distant JokeAct I Chaiya Boonmee stood at the airlock maintenance chief’s desk, a man of thirty-four who had not seen the sun in two years, and watched the meltwater rise in the cellar below the reclamation yard. The water lapped at the base of the dead machines, soaking into the rusted iron and the rotting wood of the floorboards, a physical fact that no amount of wishing could change. He was a warden of...0 Comments 0 Shares 0 Views 0 Reviews
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek