To say Graham was elated not to be a father was an understatement. Sure, it was a solitary life, living alone at his age, but he figured some men weren’t built for fatherhood. He was one of them. He’d have frustrated his kid too much, and vice versa. His house would’ve been filled with slamming doors and stomping footsteps, like his own childhood home had been.
Read MoreRain rejects the scorched soil below, desperately reaching toward the merciless clouds above. I wonder what those unfortunate droplets did to be exiled from the barracks. Perhaps they were deserters, parachuting down with silent grace, like those dancer girls in the pictures. Did they fall upon the abrasive farmland and have second thoughts? Could they ever find their way back to the heavens?
Read MoreHe strained his ears as if he could hear anyone speak to him but all that echoed was silence. The longer he sat in the void, the louder the ghosts of his past started to breathe - his mother’s concern, his father’s love, and his son’s innocence.
Read MoreHe grasped the picture tightly to his chest, a tear trickling down his cheek. A sharp wind prickled the tips of his ears, turning the end of his nose a soft crimson. Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, he jumped off the wall, kicking a rock across the sand. Ahead of him, the tide moved in a constant rhythm, moving backwards and forwards.
Read MoreI put my pencil down and hastily washed away the graphite from my hands. It was their anniversary in 2 days, and the drawing was supposed to be a surprise. So I thought, naïvely: There’s always tomorrow, I guess.
Read MoreI looked at the peeling paint on my ceiling, a faded mural of flowers mom had done when I was little. I pressed my head into her chest so I could hear her heartbeat, and tried to imagine who she could have been.
Read MoreI need to be alone. I need to be on my own with my ghosts. I can feel them around me now, shifting among the streetlights, dancing across the faces of deserted windows. I can hear them whispering too, confirming half-truths that I am desperate not to believe.
Read MoreIn my house, there is a mirror. It hangs on the wall above a disused fireplace in a room that is, more often than not, empty.
Read MorePersephone wandered into Hell accidentally. Stumbled, actually, her feet tripping over the entangled vines that clawed their way out of the pit, gasping for sunlight and redemption.
She stared into the void before her. The void stared back.
Read More
