Tag Archives: catastrophe
Revival
He says “Remember” and those navy eyes fly open, and her mouth opens, and both song and light pour from her eyes and mouth, and she laughs, delighted, throwing her arms around him, kissing his lips. She has not laughed, … Continue reading
Remember
In a hall of jade (and then it is subway tile and then it is sandstone and then it is glass) there are rooms (and then there are none and then there is one and then there are multitudes) and … Continue reading
I Keep Hearin’ You
“It’s me,” comes the voice on the recording, rough and shaky. “I know I said I wouldn’t call. I know. But m’pretty sure y’don’care one way’r’th’other, specially if’s’versus not callin and endin up in a dumpster.” Her voice is alternately … Continue reading
Rose-Colored Glasses
She was shivering in the dark, in the cold; the rain beat down, had been coming down for days, then, and left her feeling like she’d never, never be warm and dry. Never again. The stink of the hot summer … Continue reading
The Voice MailBox is Full
He stands atop the tallest building he can find, facing the sunrise, cigarette at his lips, too-blue eyes staring out against the mix of colors that signals dawn. Some freakish salmon, an indigo, a weird greybluebrown, soft lavender, and pale … Continue reading