-
Weekly Writing – March 8 2025
We all stood together on the deck, dumbstruck by still being alive. The world had been storm and death for so long, blood-warm rain and then blood in place of rain when our harpoons rammed deep enough, it didn’t feel… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – March 1 2025
I told her (how many times now?) that I hate when she rewinds time at the end of our arguments. I hate having something to say, a grievance weighing down my gut, and I take a breath to tell her,… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – February 22 2025
None of us ever fought in the war. We were made for it, but only because no one was there to turn off the machines at the end. The sun still shines on the station’s arrays, the same way it… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – February 15 2025
When he had been a boy, he had thought that stretch of the tunnel was glass because the view outside was beautiful. He had gaped through the train’s windows at the shivering fathoms of water outside, the floodlights standing like… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – February 8 2025
The freeze had come hard and fast, stilling the world like a game of Grandmother’s Footsteps under the sudden glare of the sun. It turned the trees and ponds and the last of the golden grass to frosted glass, and… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – February 1 2025
She had to pull herself out of the wreckage, dragging herself through the jagged, sparking crawlspaces that were all the crash had left of her ship. Cold, sensible metal crumpled into an unsolvable puzzle, a way home she would never… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – January 25 2025
Travelling by the right route, through the emptiest spaces, you can go for days without seeing anything amiss in the world. Anything of a fine enough weave to unravel, anything you would recognize going wrong. Maybe the world is still… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – January 18 2025
His radio wailed and shrieked where he’d thrown it into the farthest corner of the room. Static bursts of distorted agony blurting through the dark, do you copy and the wet, forsaken screams of dying alone when no one answered.… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – January 4 2025
Will it hurt? she had asked, lying for the first time with her neck bare and open to the gold-plated plug in his hand. He had laughed, looping the cable around his arm in affectionate coils, leaving none of it… Continue reading
-
Weekly Writing – December 28 2024
Not all of the blood that Evelina’s staff stamped in perfect circles on the sidewalk dripped down from her hands. Its braided black wood had split at the seams, trickling from crown orb to concrete, making it a slippery, unreliable… Continue reading
