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24/09/2005
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The Silent WaltzThe jazz band played something that sounded like happiness if you didn't listen too closely. Claire Fitzgerald stood on the terrace of the Van Court estate, one hand resting on the stone balustrade, watching through the french doors the golden whirl of bodies spinning across the ballroom floor. Champagne caught the chandelier light and turned it into something that looked almost like hope. She...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотрВойдите, чтобы отмечать, делиться и комментировать!
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The house on Landau Creek had been built in 1823, before the creek had a name, before the land had a owner who wasn't born in chains, before the cotton had blood in it. The house knew this. Houses built on that kind of ground always know.Cecilia Landau knew it too, though she had never seen the house as anything but beautiful. The white columns were peeling, the wraparound porch sagged in places, and the gardens had grown wild, but from where she stood on the hill behind the house, looking down at the Mississippi river cutting through the flat land like a scar, the Landau plantation looked like what it had been in her...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 6 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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Testimony of the White Marble Bust at the Jackson African American Museum, Jackson, MississippiI was stone before I was anything else. White marble from a quarry in Carrara, Italy, cut from the earth by men who did not know what I would become. They shipped me across the Atlantic in the hold of a vessel that also carried cotton and sugar and, in the deeper holds, human beings. I did not know this at the time. Stone does not know things. Stone simply is. I arrived in Natchez, Mississippi,...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 13 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Bright UndoingThe Bright Undoing The envelope was pale blue, the kind of paper that cost more than Eleanor Callahan made in a week. She held it between her thumb and forefinger as though it might be contagious, and stared at the handwriting on the front until the letters stopped looking like letters and started looking like faces she hadn't seen in seven years. Jimmy's handwriting. Still looped and eager,...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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Title: The Absurd VictoryThe galleries of New York were white, sterile, and smelled of expensive perfume and desperation. Julian stood before his latest installation—a single, gold-plated toilet seat resting on a pedestal of raw concrete. The critics called it "a searing critique of late-stage capitalism." Julian called it a joke. Five years ago, Julian had been the darling of the art world, until Adrian, a gallery...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 15 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The HouseThe House of BeaumontThe Beaumont plantation was the sort of ruin that seemed to breathe. The great house stood on a hill overlooking fields that had not been cultivated in twenty years, its windows like eyes that had seen too much and remembered too little. Vines climbed the brick walls like arms reaching for something that was no longer there.Beauregard "Burrell" Beaumont IV was forty-two...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 15 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The quiet rainThe rain was falling on the hardware store the way rain falls on hardware stores all over the Midwest—not dramatically, not with the kind of intensity that makes you run for cover, but steadily, persistently, the kind of rain that soaks through your coat without you noticing until you are already wet. James Kellerman was behind the counter, counting inventory. Nails. Screws. Washers. The kind...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 12 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Light of TomorrowI. The saxophone was playing something called "Rouge et Noir" and the room smelled of gin and smoke and perfume that cost more than a servant's annual wage. Elena Vasquez sat in the corner of Le Cloche d'Or, a notebook open on the table in front of her, a glass of wine untouched beside it. She was not listening to the music. She was inside it. The saxophone's melody was a wave function—a series...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 15 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Last Unauthorized StrokeThe審查室 was on the fourth floor of the Ministry of Emotional Harmony, building seven. It was a small room—four meters by four meters—with white walls, a white desk, a white chair, and a white screen. On the screen, forty-seven items of citizen-submitted creative work were displayed in a grid. Each item had been flagged by the Harmony algorithm as containing "non-standard emotional content." Each...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 959 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Gilded FoundlingACT I The influenza of 1918 took Henry's parents on consecutive days, which was either cruel or efficient depending on your perspective. Henry was eight years old and standing in the doorway of their tenement apartment on the Lower East Side when the second coroner left, watching the winter light fall through a window that had a broken pane and a curtain that had been a curtain once. Julian...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 19 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Eternal MessengerThe year was 1925, and New York City glittered like a broken mirror, scattering light in every direction except the truth. Thomas Fitzgerald stood at the window of his Columbia University office, watching the Manhattan skyline dissolve into fog. On his desk lay a stack of rejection letters—funding denied, papers rejected, conferences closed to a man who had published nothing but equations no...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 4 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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The Logos ProtocolIn the era of the Great Upload, humanity had ceased to be biological. All consciousness now resided within Logos, a Dyson-sphere-sized computing cluster that simulated a paradise of infinite variety. In Logos, death was a deleted file, and pain was a setting that could be toggled off. Archon was the only "Logic Anomaly" in the system. Due to a corruption in his initial upload, he was unable to...0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 14 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр
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