The Artist’s Winter

dust covers every key on the piano spiders have taken over the easel no one creates here anymore rain pattering window’s glass even on a sunny day the doors stay closed no one comes to knock or call newspapers stacked outside the door recall how long it has been thus a cat wanders this floor’sContinue reading “The Artist’s Winter”

Broodwood

Part One. Now’s when you tell me why you killed me, the man says from his resting place, slumped and halved and bleeding against the wall of the cabin. The walls and floors and roof are cedar, and they smell fragrant in the summertime, but in the winter they smell like the bitter, indifferent coldContinue reading “Broodwood”

The Magician

The day started off normal enough, I muse to myself falling heavily into the chair pulled up to my kitchen table and gripping the cold bottle of lager freshly procured from my fridge. Thinking back on the events of the day, I find myself scarcely able to accept they actually occurred. Life sure can beContinue reading “The Magician”