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While walking home from work, I noticed a small pile of clothing on the skinny ocean of grass between the sidewalk and the road. A pair of glitter-striped tights, a yellow sweater, a necktie. I wondered why the clothes, which seemed new, even clean, h(more)

Without answering Freya, Atlas straightened his bent back, shifting the sphere of wailing souls he carried to hold it high above his head. He closed his eyes and murmured a low, strange song. His clothes, those gossamer rags bolted to his flesh, stirred in a breeze I(more)
The boat sputters, then stalls, falling silent. As I lilt alone through the waves like an animal carcass, I can't help but think of a story my grandmother used to tell about a time she went swimming with her older sister Rose. As she tells it, the two of(more)