and the light was hope

He watched the light of hope fade into the night sky as it took its place with the stars and planets. The domed backset to a picturesque evening felt free and the light breeze felt cool and inviting, but he felt nothing but captivity and exclusion – the need to be part of something larger than himself, but also the incapability of achieving freedom. Continue reading “and the light was hope”

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houdini

The atmosphere is electric with excitement. The lights flash and flash and the audience unknowingly holds its breath, as if baiting the thunder they know to be coming. You can almost smell it. Like the child playing God under the blanket at night, whispering his fingertips across the textured fabric, making storms of lightning and thunder only he can see and hear.

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whiskey

He sits in the empty casino in the death-dry desert.

Drinks aren’t proper drinks without someone to share them with, but at this point, whiskey is whiskey.

Millions of bottles of whiskey, and not one proper drink.

But he drinks anyway. Continue reading “whiskey”

in this dust that was our city

it’s all over

The War had ended. The nuclear strikes and endless wars had long since finished. The dust had settled. Gunshots didn’t monopolise the global soundscape any more now than they did in the peace before the War. The Premier and the President, for all their petty difference, had each passed on to the next life, whether Inferno or Paradiso. There was no one left. Not anyone. Except her. But she didn’t count, did she. She’d be gone in a matter of time anyway.

Continue reading “in this dust that was our city”

ichor

The dust of shattered stars hung heavy on the air and in his soul. He glanced up towards the unforgiving heavens and their unfeeling ruler, the sun. He pondered subconsciously how something so hot could be so cold. He looked down at his broken feet, bare, bruised, and bloodied red from miles upon miles of fruitless pilgrimage. His blood had been golden once, a remnant of a different time in his life. But now even that was gone, replaced with the crimson red of the dirt and the brutal sun overhead.

Continue reading “ichor”

wrote my way out

i wrote my way out

 

It’s a dark stage, even for a night like tonight. A glimpse at the hunched over back of a dedicated and focused writer sitting at a desk on the northern wall of the room reveals that he is scribbling something on a piece of paper with his right hand, while keeping his canvas in steady place with his left. He pushes the paper out from under his pen and gets another from the dwindling pile to his left, all in one smooth motion.

Continue reading “wrote my way out”

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