The apartment was filled with debris from years of neglect – many moons’ worth of dust accumulated on every surface. All manner of hairs – at least a half a dozen types of animal – had settled throughout the cramped and rancid space. Betty Donovan swore she’d clean it up one of these days. Particulate […]Read more "Betty Donovan – a story circle"
She’s got no sleeves, but gloves, to protect the worn callouses on her hands. A man in a red cap strolls by but he doesn’t see her; she’s behind a bunch of concrete blocks, just another bobbing yellow hard hat in a site full of them. The foundation is rocky still and she needs a […]Read more "bugs on arms – a story circle"
Cresting a frothy wave, Lionel B. Thretkaut salutes his crew. Black water spills into the boat, rising to the men’s knees. His forehead itching, LBT salutes again – a hasty, ill-formed thing hardly befitting the gravity of the situation – and cannonballs into the ocean’s freezing depths. He swims a few kilometres until he comes […]Read more "Lionel B. Thretkaut’s Protein Deficiency – a story circle"
she’s a yoga teacher with a yawning diastema and her hydro bill is coming due – a political topic, yes, but one of great importance. at the windowless Government Edifice downtown she applies for a place in a queue. a bespectacled bureaucrat guides the crowd with a pair of light-up airport runway batons, apparently at […]Read more "bills – a story circle"
Sandles, painted toenails parched throat a stand at the edge of the beach selling sodas and popsicles off-brand but sugar-saturated all the same a pack of shredded gum with flavour particles “guaranteed” to last “all day” a taste like rosehips and the texture of chalk dust moisture in the throat, though as the sun reaches […]Read more "moisture in the throat, though – a poem of sorts"
sassafras scar mansion subterrannean pleasure dome messes made unapologetic destiny slept in today — Logan BrightRead more "destiny slept in today: a poem of sorts"
Communications consultant Sara Herfstadter pulled out of the concrete parking garage and onto highway 9, with little traffic impeding her. When she came to the Chipesten Bridge, though, she found it closed. Cursing softly, she made an aggressive U-turn that caused a driver in a beige Civic to lay on the horn. Sara knew there […]Read more "the Chipesten bridge: a story circle"