“We were germs, it said, or we were dust.”
Chew.
Weird Fiction
Tweet of War.
“One hundred-forty characters lay dead and buried. It was as good as over.”
CURTAINS!
“Old and forgotten theatre curses slither and skitter through the frenzied carnage...”
The Slow Death of A Thursday Morning.
“The walls crawl home to the quarry, the keyboard now a wave of carbons and electrons flittering in the chill air.”
Silence is Golden.
“The resplendent song of the dawn chorus died a quiet death.”
The Bones of This Land.
“The bones of this land are a conduit to a thing we cannot name; primal and endless, without beginning or end.”
A Whisper in the Weeds.
“It had been The Devil himself who had stood in the place of that curious dog, atop a burning pyre the very shade of a weeping willow in Spring, his sly grin like an open vent, and out did spill a damnation song with it's fill of utter loathing.”
