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No RedemptionThe rain in New Orleans doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I learned that early. Too early, probably, but that's what early means—you learn things before you're ready for them. My name is Edward Cross. I was twenty-seven when I lost everything, and thirty-two when I stopped trying to get it back. That's five years of learning what it means to fall all the way to the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 22 Views 0 previzualizare
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No RedemptionThe rain in New Orleans doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I learned that early. Too early, probably, but that's what early means—you learn things before you're ready for them. My name is Edward Cross. I was twenty-seven when I lost everything, and thirty-two when I stopped trying to get it back. That's five years of learning what it means to fall all the way to the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 36 Views 0 previzualizare
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No Redemption in HollywoodThe rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker. I stood in the service entrance of the Palm Springs estate, tray in hand, heart doing that thing it had been doing for the last six weeks—that fluttering, stupid thing that had no business existing in a chest that had spent twenty-six years learning not to trust anyone. Inside, the party was in full swing. I...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 22 Views 0 previzualizare
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No-Redemption-in-Los-AngelesNo Redemption in Los Angeles ACT I The rain in Los Angeles doesn't fall like rain anywhere else. It doesn't pour or drizzle. It hangs in the air like a curtain of glass beads, catching the neon from the signs below and scattering it into a thousand colored fragments. I watched it from my office window on Sunset Boulevard, sipping coffee that tasted like it had been sitting on the burner since...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizare
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Rust and RedemptionRust and Redemption [OTMES:TI=60|M=(50,61,60)|N=(30,33,40)|K=(0.3,0.5,0.2)|A=165|TL=0.6|STYLE=Post-Apocalyptic_Western|] The horse was the color of rust, which was appropriate, because everything in the Wasteland was the color of rust. The sky was rust. The earth was rust. Even the people, after enough years under the burning sun, took on a reddish tinge that made them look like they'd been...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Alchemist's RedemptionIn the shimmering heat of 1924 New York, the city was a cacophony of jazz and desperation. Julian lived in a walk-up apartment in Greenwich Village that smelled of sulfur and old parchment. While the rest of the world danced the Charleston and drank bathtub gin, Julian chased a ghost: the lost art of spiritual alchemy. He wasn't seeking gold—gold was the obsession of the vulgar. He sought the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 16 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Anchor of RedemptionThe night Marcus Johnson first heard about the floating community, the Hudson River was the color of hammered lead and the jazz from a corner bar on 125th Street drifted across the water like smoke. He was sitting on the dock behind his office, a small wooden building that smelled of mildew and ambition, counting the week's receipts. Twelve boats. That's all he owned. Twelve barges and cargo...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 48 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Art of RedemptionThe galleries of New York were monuments to the expected. They were spaces of curated silence and predictable beauty, where art was a commodity and the artists were brands. Adrian Thorne was the glitch in this system. He was a "Destructive Artist," a man who believed that creation could only happen after a total, violent erasure of the old. His work did not consist of paintings or sculptures,...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 11 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Ashes of RedemptionThe red clay of Georgia was a mirror of the blood spilled during the war, a landscape of scorched earth and broken promises. Caleb was a man of the new world, a surveyor trying to map a land that refused to be tamed. Ruby was the daughter of General Vance, a man who had survived the war but refused to leave the battlefield of his own mind. Vance lived in a fortress of a house, ruling over his...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 24 Views 0 previzualizare
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The Golden CompassThe Golden Compass Arthur Pendelton stood in the rain outside St. Bartholomew's Hospital for fourteen minutes before he realised he had stopped counting. The rain in London did not fall so much as it lingered — a persistent, grey presence that seeped through wool and bone alike. He pulled his collar higher and walked the remaining three blocks to the lodging house on Dean Street, where the...0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare
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