A perfect globe, precious and fragile. The only one of its kind. Zoom out: crooked trees with leaves like wax, grasses little more than wires clinging to the ground. Zoom out: a rash of tin roofs overtaken by sand, only dust moving now in empty veins. Zoom out: an iron-hard land, baked and cracked by… Continue reading 100WC – Zoom Out
His body is cracked and bowed, his clothes stiff with dirt. His day is a doorway and an upturned cap, cans of cider, corrugated cardboard. His nights are darkness blotting like ink and the bitter howls of the ghosts of his past.
Joseph Monroe started building the sarcophagus on the day his father fell under a bus. “Fall under a bus?” he said, “No sir. A nice peaceful death, that’s what I want.” It took him six weeks, and when he’d finished he lay inside and announced that he’d remain there until his dying day. He fixed… Continue reading Body – SmallTales