somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com
fifty-two: the puzzle.
http://somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com/2011/06/puzzle.html
A year full of short, short stories, once a week. The lines, cut without saw or scalpel but drawn achingly by hand, barely let slip the slightest of light. Pieces slid along the grain, so many slender fingers hewn from wood, locking soundlessly into place. Fingertips tracing the surface would only find a box where a puzzle had been, a coolness lingering on the skin that spoke of warmth and its absence. Outside, a beautiful voice calls through the wood, distorted by the echo of memory, a thousand voices u...
somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com
fifty-two: June 2011
http://somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html
A year full of short, short stories, once a week. The lines, cut without saw or scalpel but drawn achingly by hand, barely let slip the slightest of light. Pieces slid along the grain, so many slender fingers hewn from wood, locking soundlessly into place. Fingertips tracing the surface would only find a box where a puzzle had been, a coolness lingering on the skin that spoke of warmth and its absence. Outside, a beautiful voice calls through the wood, distorted by the echo of memory, a thousand voices u...
somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com
fifty-two: May 2011
http://somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com/2011_05_01_archive.html
A year full of short, short stories, once a week. She couldn't handle the suspense," she mused, longing for cigarette smoke to mingle with the steam. Quivering fingers raised the porcelain to her lips, doing her best to hide the shortness of her breath, the hint of saline around her eyes. "So goddamn impatient.". Each sip was a silent threnody, lost in the din. He fell to the floor. Only his knees kept his chest from heaving itself apart. Somewhere, someone secretly wondered if she was. You were ready, b...
somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com
fifty-two: March 2011
http://somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com/2011_03_01_archive.html
A year full of short, short stories, once a week. How long until sunrise? She asked, her chest tightening each moment spent waiting for her wanderer's eyes, so focused on her satchel. soon, that carefree smile would steal her breath, the one that could melt the midwinter snow, as she felt her light frame grow heavy at the inevitable thought. She asked, as another piece of the sky fell from its home, to be gingerly caught by a calloused fingertip. Her frail arms thrust themselves around the traveler's bac...
somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com
fifty-two: April 2011
http://somefiftytwostories.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html
A year full of short, short stories, once a week. She curls up again, the rain's delicate tapping on her window growing all the more impatient. She doesn't need to open her eyes to see the glowing red numbers screaming at her, their stern admonishment almost as loud in its silence as the blaring alarm to come. That beneath her pillow, she clutches a one-eyed teddy bear, is irrelevant. She could still be a badass in the dreams, even if said dreams were off cozying-up to the ball of fur elsewhere. One last...
