Microfiction
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues
Dust, Rust, & the Sifting Sand Blues "It’s not about losing; it’s about the sovereign act of starting again." This visual album is a 26-year "blues scheme" finally brought to life. I first built these dreams in a sandbox back in 2000, but it took two decades of sifting through the dust of the river and the rust of the city to truly hear the melody.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 18 days ago in Fiction
The Third Floor Stays Warm
The thermostat in Apartment 3B had read 91 degrees for six weeks. It was not an aggressive heat. It didn’t press against the skin or suffocate the air. It existed the way a number exists on paper—quietly, insistently, without asking permission.
By Lawrence Lease18 days ago in Fiction
Relic
Every Saturday morning I write her a letter in place of a cup of coffee. The kettle can wait. The stove can click itself awake without me. What matters is the scrape of the chair across the tile and the pen uncapping with that soft, hungry pop, like the day taking its first breath.
By SUEDE the poet18 days ago in Fiction
The Third Knock
Every year on the night they met, Mara and Julian knocked three times on a stranger’s door. They did not speak about why three. They did not remember deciding it. The number had arrived the way habits sometimes do—half joke, half dare—then calcified into something that felt older than both of them.
By Lawrence Lease20 days ago in Fiction
The Moment Before You Finally Move
The first sign wasn’t a sound. It was the way the light behaved. Mara noticed it while she stood in her kitchen with the faucet running too long, her hands held under the stream like she could rinse off a thought. The morning should have been clean and ordinary—gray Dallas daylight, thin and patient, the neighbor’s sprinkler ticking somewhere outside—but the sunlight coming through the blinds didn’t land right. It didn’t stripe the counter in neat bars. It hovered, softened, like it was deciding whether to commit.
By Lawrence Lease20 days ago in Fiction
