A sudden lurch— the ground not steady but spilling, my body caught between leaning and falling. I move before my mind does,
By Whitney Blackburn5 months ago in Poets
And the ache is sudden, not sharp, not clean, but heavy— like a rope pulled too tight inside the ribs. The room is the same,
Clara didn’t remember placing the ad, but there he was—standing in her studio doorway like a portrait waiting to be painted. Rain dripped from the hem of his coat. He smiled, soft and curious.
By Whitney Blackburn5 months ago in Fiction
Nobody came to Clinic 9 without a diagnosis. That was the rule. If a patient was here, it meant every test, scan, and specialist had failed. They were mysteries—sent to Dr. Elara Myles for unraveling.
