Steve Hanson
Stories (72)
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The Woodcut Man. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
When Phaedra first saw the Woodcut Man, he was standing next to an orchard of pear trees, his stark black and white form contrasting with the soft, flowing colors of the trees and flowers surrounding them.
By Steve Hanson4 years ago in Fiction
Doing Bath Salts at Occupy Wall Street
An hour after I took the bath salts the moon had grown pregnant and full during the walk from the Battery to Zuccotti Park, pox marks and needle burns etched along its jagged sides. I remember breathing in the living flesh and fire in the smoke, standing next to the small pond and adjacent fountain in the Battery, watching the water flower in strange angles even though it was already frozen in the cold November air, tracing lines and figures among the frozen lily pads and swamp grass jutting jaggedly into the frosty atmosphere of lower Manhattan. Next thing I know I’m walking through the ensemble of tents, past the small pond still frozen in the mid-winter night, the coughs and snorts of unwashed noses, the smell of body odor and marijuana and flatulence blending with the warm grass and heavy wind and the wildflowers. I used to know where every tent was, every occupant, every story, told by the moonlight, when it was visible against the city lights. The city lights, who I’ve been told mask the high moon above me, but I can see so plainly and so intrinsically falling through the needle points of the buildings and the vortices of wind stirring through them, the Word of covenant blowing across the colors and pulsing tides echoing through the world contained in my vision.
By Steve Hanson4 years ago in Fiction
