“She was a Princess Once, and Brave” There are eleven statues in the Temple of the Ten Saviors. Ten stand in the shining cathedral, thronged by crowds who sing hymns of thanks to the warriors. The eleventh sits alone, almost hidden, in an alcove, a notched sword on her lap.
The Splotch The starfish-shaped splotch looked so small, like a careless spill of oil on frozen pavement. It wasn’t until the helicopters overflew it that we realized the “pavement” was several hundred miles of the North Atlantic, and that the splotch was growing. One tendril consumed St. John’s this morning.
“We Interrupt the Present…” “I swear, Doug, this thing tells the future!” J.J. ran his hand over the cracked Bakelite top of the tube radio. Doug scowled. “What? No. There’s no way–.” “Yes! They just said the Chargers beat the Raiders to get to the Super Bowl. The Vegas
The Expedition Brighton counted the men assembled outside the teardrop-shaped snow cave then called over his shoulder, “Doctor, we should hurry. You heard the last report.” “I heard”, Arvidsson replied as he zipped up his duffel bag. “The dreams are deeper. The madness more intense. Riots in Paris, London,
I think it’s better if you had been there to watch it unfold live. My mentions sure lit up nicely at certain points! [View the story “The Go-Away House” on Storify]
After the Eclipse The cult fell apart after the eclipse. We expected it, the baker’s dozen of us who still gather monthly in the hidden room of the Senator’s office but, still, it’s a disappointment. We called ourselves a cult as a joke. Our friendship, though, wasn’t…I thought. Over
The Little Girl in the Pond A post shared by Mikayla K. (@mikaylak.art) on Jul 14, 2017 at 2:00pm PDT In a pond surrounded by a green, lush field there lived a little girl. Her eyes were the endless dark of a heart’s worst secret and the depths where
The Crows Know Norman sat alone on the bench in the courtyard, surrounded by crows. He looked down at his phone, fiddled with it once in a while, oblivious to the birds that hopped and bickered from the full trash cans and scrawny trees of the courtyard. He certainly did
When the Cat King Calls “Hey”, the Cat King’s emissary said from edge of my porch roof. “What do you want, Sashay?” I was in no mood for shenanigans and he was shenanigans on cat’s feet. Literally. He shrank back into the shadow of the satellite dish, his ears flat.
One of the things I failed to notice when I started writing stories on Instagram is the annoying little feature the platform launched to kill Snapchat called…wait for it…Instagram Stories. the idea behind that feature is that users — we, really — will post pictures and videos throughout the day