Casey Kaye
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Stories (2)
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Transmigration
He twists his head backward—she will never get used to this—and angles his forehead to her face, eyes staring at her upside down while his talons grip her outstretched arm covered in black wool. She smiles and brings her arm closer, presses her lips to his downy forehead, shimmering black in the full moon light as he adjusts his feathers, a subtle shiver down his wings.
By Casey Kaye4 years ago in Fiction
Embers
When the black and orange fiery ash fell from the sky, we were already standing on the hilltop watching three houses in the immediate distance catch fire and burn. Flecks of ash floated so peacefully that I reached out my hand to catch the snowflake-like embers, not considering their heat, before they ignited the grasses of the mesa. People imagined out loud that another country started the attack. I couldn’t help but think it was our own president, but I kept this to myself. There were three men in military-like outfits with faux-leather construction boots yelling about treason and insurrection, people I would call paranoid under regular circumstances, but they didn’t seem so outlandish to me now. They, at least, were prepared.
By Casey Kaye5 years ago in Fiction
