This morning, when the Human-Shaped-Gods signed my discharge plan, I had a moment where I didn’t believe it was really happening.
“But my head used to hurt so badly that I’d contemplate taking an icepick to my occipital lobe. Now I just feel like an ice-picked ice sculpture,” I told them.… Read more ““Deforestation and Other Side Effects” by Tiffany Promise”
The city never slept but its nights and days sounded different. The days were bright and burning and belonging to the masses; the nights, a cacophony, were his, the cars passing outside, shattered windows in back alleys, wild cats climbing on dumpsters, nails scratching metallic echoes. Gunshots cut through dark air, distant sirens resonated, groups of drunk college kids walked in packs, rocking back and forth up the streets, the homeless huddled beneath awnings in secluded corners of cracked sidewalks with splitting knuckles holding Styrofoam cups, shaking them so that the change at the bottom rattled between the empty spaces, buried deep in mountains of dumpster clothing.… Read more ““anatomy of a burning thing” by Monica Robinson”
We open with a shot of our main character, a humble young man, something between busker and beggar. He sits, reposes, on the last step of the stairs leading up to his one-room apartment. Light drops from a single hallway bulb; it glances off his forehead, a thinking man’s forehead.… Read more ““The Year of Internal Optimism” by Laura A. Freymiller”
I remember lying in the snow, trying to preserve each snowflake that landed gently on my nose, a soft, huge silence stretching through the forest. The cold blanket buried me, soon covering even the tips of my boots, sapping my strength as the towering trees collected white frosting. I should’ve left when I first heard the dragon growl—while I still had the power to return to the back porch where a bright light kept its vigil.… Read more ““Snowfall Sarcophagus” by AJ Cunder”
I’m going back in time, you’re coming with me. But we won’t be observing dinosaurs, watching the Spanish Armada burn, or meeting Cleopatra. We’re going back in time to look at a ceiling.
I can see the cogs turning. You’re thinking Sistine Chapel, or maybe Grand Central Station. You’re wrong. We’re going back in time to look at a white ceiling somewhere in rural Nottinghamshire.… Read more ““Storytelling” by Jack Croxall”