Writing… because!
Mrs. Reese, the social worker of the hospital, a middle-aged woman with dark, reddish-black straight hair pulled tight into a chignon, shook hands peculiarly; she stuck her hand out with the wrist bent like a gooseneck, and the two sisters hesitated, not quite knowing how to grasp a hand offered so. Yvette extended her own …
Continue reading “In His House At R’lyeh Dead Cthulhu Waits Dreaming”
by M. Wilson We are building a road. We are a very small Indian village, only a couple dozen people or so, but we need this road desperately to reestablish the trade we formerly had with surrounding areas. As it is, they have forgotten us. Trade has lapsed. The dirt paths that run out of …
by M. Wilson Jesus, who hung on the wall above, happened to be gazing at Miriam when the rays of the very early, very bright sunshine reached through the attic window at an angle to strike her eyes and wake her. She blinked in pain and her fingers flew to her face and pressed at …