Februaries are made of forgotten things: one glove left on a park bench from overly warm fingers, one lover lying in an empty bed sans the yearly valentines card, one box of Christmas chocolates hidden at the back of the cupboard behind a bag of oats. It was the month...

      There was no doubt he’d changed. People felt repelled by him. His instinct had become rage. He knew it, but pretended he didn’t. Everyone he met felt the heat. Something could go off at any minute. People don’t need that. People seek the shadows when fires burn t...

This country is too flat, she tells me. Maybe it’s because of all the people—like they’ve trampled out all the interesting dips and curves. Maybe it’s the weather. The weight of all that gloom. She has a point; when you’re used to mountains, meadows look depressed.

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Stepping out onto the veranda, Zina opens her mouth to the wind, her lips pursing like the surrounding Zhiguli mountains, her eyes closing with gentle surrender. The dusty remains of dry clumps of grain still cling to the palms of her hands...

Blindness has an unfortunate way of announcing itself. It rarely goes unnoticed. Its presence is often made certain through the uncertain, waving radius of a black stick. Sometimes, there’s sunglasses too. Though, Alfred hated those. He thought they sucked all the sens...

Remember. I remember. dark words, deep roots in the ground, the earth, rising, oh how it is rises. Out of the dirt, growing, grappling up around the trunk. A weed, a weakness never mended, a hole never filled, a gap left exposed. Vacant. Expression…less than before, I...

Solus greatly enjoyed pondering, turning the great questions over in his mind as he gazed out at the waves caressing his front lawn. Surely there was no better view than this. When else, in human history, had there been such a vast expanse of ocean without any unnecess...