Enter the manor through the main door at the front, the chiselled archway and solid wood. After one of the servants has taken your coat, maybe someone will give you a tour: the grand hall with its huge portraits of the manor’s former masters...
the angle of the sun is perfect as it always is on postcard pictures just the right shade of afternoon yellow so everything is washed clean by the light my friend my traveling companion describes for me the smells and sounds and details— paints the...
Mona Fiori, 9173–9220 Though hailed as a prodigy at age 12 after successfully winning the Academy Prize for the most fully-realized envisioning among children, Mona Fiori disappeared from view, only to reappear in the capitol at age 37.[1] In a...
I lived my life in nineteen forty-two, between the air-raids and the rations, waiting for when you returned and held me close, a forgotten thing, this and this and this a coming spring, a winter that rolled on with bangs and darkness and things...
Mitchell Blount was born in 1962 in Raleigh, North Carolina. His father is a biology professor at N.C. State University committed suicide; his mother is a homemaker in assisted living. An All- Triangle outside linebacker for Millbrook High School...
I’ve never known anything outside the silver-tinged hull of the Shalott. It floats freely in the darkness, drifting, always in gentle, steady motion. Through its thick-paned window, I watch the contents of the universe spill out before me: the...
Soldiers with carbon-fiber skin opened fire in the crowded market. The explosions came next. Staccato beats of a toy drum in the hands of madmen. Afterward, the skies opened up and sheets of rain poured down, washing away the ash. Survivors crawled...
Billie Holiday sings sweetly from the short square radio perched at the corner of my sand-colored desk. I listen to her and stare out the window at treetops and sunlight. If you were mine … I’d take you home with me on breaks and...
Their fashion is meant to intimidate, and it works—boys and girls both. Canine-like buttons on upcycled black coats that reach their knees—pants or kilts also end here so hairy, muscled calves and toughened, street-tarred feet gawk out, abrupt in...
Once more, the child began to cry. To Lt. George Maltin of the United States Space Corps, the noise seemed shriller each time. “Not again!” he bellowed, tossing and turning on his uncomfortable cot. After a couple of minutes, he leapt up, pressing...
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