tosarkastikomouegw
Bio
Writing the things you think but never say. If you’re still reading, you probably have a dark sense of humor. Or issues. Maybe both.
Stories (3)
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The Last Light in Room 217
I wasn’t supposed to notice the light in Room 217. The hallway of the old boarding house was usually a tunnel of darkness after midnight, lit only by a dying bulb that buzzed like an insect trapped behind glass. I’d lived there for eight months—long enough to memorize the limits of its shadows, the way the wallpaper peeled in places like tired skin, and the sighs the wooden floorboards made under my steps.
By tosarkastikomouegw about a month ago in Fiction
The Chapel of the Outline
The chapel at the edge of the village had no saint, only the shape of one. It was a small shape, smaller than I expected, scraped clean of pigment so long ago that the lime beneath had cured to a pale, fat moon. Around it the wall was bruised by salt and smoke—age had rubbed the colors soft: a wine-dark mantle here, a muddy sandal there. But in the apse, where a figure should have stood, there was only the crisp perimeter of a body, a halo like a thinning coin, and emptiness inside. The outline gathered your eye the way a held breath gathers silence. You could not help but look.
By tosarkastikomouegw 4 months ago in Fiction
