The Fate of the Forest_Behind the Looking-Glass_The Weapon_Icebergs
Catalog Guide:
The Fate of the Forest
THE TREEThe morning breeze sends my arms into a sway, waving back and forth as I greet the day with delight. As my needles drop to the forest floor, they are interrupted mid-flight with the sound of a soft plop-a noise I have yet to hear throughout my several decades of existence. As I look down, I do not notice the green blanket of grass and sun-browned earth at my feet that I am used to. I notice instead a man-made structure of triangular shape; bright orange in colour, and satiny in observable texture. I feel the delicate weight of the structure resting atop the earth above my deeply plant...
Behind the Looking-Glass
“I am a mirror.” The doctor crossed her legs and scribbled something down onto a worn, leather notepad. Brows scrunched together for a moment, wrinkling into the shape of a frown on her forehead. I’d been seeing her for a few weeks now, but this was the first time I was taking it seriously. The way she scribbled with that pen made me think the doc was on the same page. Honest words, candid words, have a particularly sour taste when they leave your lips. Why? I haven’t the faintest idea, but perhaps the taste is just something foreign. Rare foods surprise the tastebuds the most, and god knows i...
The Weapon
The Weapon ByJoan Fiddle-Ferder I never was one for parties. I would rather put my foot on the third rail of the 42nd street "A" train than be at a party with dull, dreary drinkers whose sole purpose in life is to post selfies all day, and swipe Tinder for hook-ups at night. But it was Harper’s 30th birthday and of course, according to her, she was throwing herself “the party of the century”. Forwww.onedoor.cc weeks she was calling me to remind me that I had to go. I couldn’t stand listening to her wag her tongue one more minute, so I caved in and said I would. The Sunday morning before the party, we met ...
Icebergs
“You have to understand,” he whispered, as he brushed my hair behind my ear. “I can’t stay.”I lifted my head and shook it so that the hair came loose and rolled onto my back. He was propped up on an elbow looking down at me, smelling of sweat, his chest hairs thick and dark on such a pale body. I had pulled them before and called him a werewolf. “It’s not my fault,” he said. “I’d stay if I could. You know that, don’t you?”I smiled, but for him more than for me. I was feeling tired now. I wanted to sleep. I turned back onto my side. The window was open and the bottom of the curtains danced like...