Hannah lifts her skirt above her knees, the blue floral print a harsh, discordant pattern against the smooth green lining the rocks she steps over, and wades into the river. Behind her, the fire we built flickers, threatens to die, and I force my hands against my sides. I won’t reach for her. I won’t. […]
Herewith, the results of our modeling…
Tonight, we shall demonstrate that categories can be usurped by force for a most dramatic effect.
Transitions are mundane: they occur all the time. They are also liminal: suffused with ambiguity, and hence opportunity. Think of this: […]
We launch out of the West End Marina in the pre-dawn fog, navigating the treacherous sands to the Washington side of the river. The Blind Channel popped off yesterday and we limited out before noon. High slack coincided with sunrise this morning. We anticipated another bloodbath. By ‘we’ I mean myself and George. […]
The train runs along my arm, which I have to hold steady and horizontal. The train is tiny, or I am huge. The train is slow and makes the track vibrate, which itches deep in the dermal subgrade. To scratch would be treason, and mass murder if it causes a derail, so I resist the urge. […]
Bird-clawed and bony, we tread lightly in the shadows, accustomed to the dark.
This night, it’s too late to turn back, to break the pattern I follow by rote. Donovan stands against a lichen-edged wall, uneven stones pressing into his back. I hold him, fingers forcing space between his ribs. […]
Till runs her fingers across the angry ridge of skin on her wrist, the latest mountain range to erupt from the fault lines of her veins. Even now the plate tectonics of her bones haven’t resettled, and the carpals grind against each other as she flexes the crust for her audience to see. […]
