Adrift in the cold empty of space, white dots twinkling amidst the black, a ship floated as a carcass would down river. Its single passenger inside shivered in the growing chill, a blanket wrapped about her person. She gazed through the front shield as her teeth chattered. Pain soaked in her veins, and even the ...

This tripod has been around. The box was dusty, shoved in a corner of the attic. Three legs. At least there used to be. I see the joints where repairs were made. The first leg is wooden but the break is new. The break is clean; smooth to the touch. No splinters prick my fingers. ...

At two o’clock in the morning, Cassidy stood in her driveway and watched the only home she ever knew burn to the ground. She clutched a thin blanket around her, attempting to keep the cold January winds out, even though she was close enough to feel the heat of the flames. Close enough to smell ...

A dying fire burns in the hearth, grey smoke unfurling and twisting into the open air. Dust particles alight beneath the breaking of a new day. And he sits in his chair, old, decrepit, half-mad, as old thoughts bring fresh wounds. The first thought is of her smile: how it crinkled her face and brought ...

There is a voice Urging me to go on Telling me not to think Of the past and where I came from Quiet yet present In everything that I do It says to keep pushing through For the future holds So much more for me. How do I get to that place The glorious future ...

Life unsuspecting– Silent. Invisible. It sets the world on fire.

A rhythmic beeping permeated the darkness. A warmth squeezed somewhere at something. Then, there was light. An impulse twitched and flicked my soon to be recognized eyelids. In my periphery, a soft blue blur came into focus. It draped over an arm – my arm. My tremoring vision followed my left arm to the source ...

colors vibrant beneath the sun’s light, a clash, a collide, within the scope of your eyes. how bright the world must be to see what you must see, uplifting thoughts to think, always to float, never to sink paint-covered hands grace worn piano keys, count to four and back again; what whispers of music can ...