The world is white and lonely.

The first step Dominic takes here ripples in the emptiness. He feels like he has desecrated this place, like he has spoiled a white canvas with a monstrous smear of black paint. He has wasted its potential. When Dominic blinks, skyscrapers puncture city fog and the ground is unforgiving black tarmac beneath his naked ( Read more... )

I SUBMITTED A SHORT STORY TO A RADIO SHOW RUN BY MY UNIVERSITY BECAUSE THEY WERE LOOKING FOR PIECES

AND THEY SELECTED MINE TO BE READ OUT

PEOPLE ARE GOING TO BE READING OUT MY STORY LIVE

ON THE RADIO

I DON'T CARE IF NOBODY LISTENS TO THE RADIO ANYMORE

OTHER PEOPLE ARE GOING TO BE LISTENING TO MY STORY

EVEN IF IT'S ONLY LIKE FOUR OTHER PEOPLE

SO EXCITED I ( Read more... )

A quick note: a typhoon is a tropical hurricane.

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And sometimes I think we could begin again,
when the cataclysmic rush of neon lights old demons rends,
when we live new lives we killed ourselves to create,
when our toxic dependency on one another dissipates
and we can ( Read more... )

His Grief

No parent should live to see their children die
I was told afterwards, my father's voice quiet
like footsteps at the funeral. I don't know why,
her father had repeated, his voice quiet
like silence in solitary confinement.

One by one, our hands found each other's
as the service trickled on.

I don't know why, said her father,
and he would have ( Read more... )