Bleeding Seconds_Folding Shirts_The Way Things Should’ve Ended_Paradise Lost
Catalog Guide:
Bleeding Seconds
“I never really thought of myself as a vindictive person." - Liam MountebankLiam sunk his shovel in the grave, leveraging his weight against the frozen soil. Even though he took a measure of pride in his conditioning, the work was still tasking. Perspiration would coat his forehead, and then be whisked away by the chill, prevailing winds. He soundlessly tossed another heap of dirt to the growing pile beside him. The ground felt almost like stone, so much so that Liam still wondered whether he had found the right spot. The tombstone had a holy symbol like the crazed doctor had said, but judging...
Folding Shirts
“Hey, you; what’s your name?” demanded the young man. There were only so many ways to survive and over the years Liam had seen them all. Tilting his head in an ambiguous fashion he shifted a stack of newly folded shirts aside so the fellow could sit if he wished. He was careful, but still one slid from the pile and swished to the ground. Retrieving it, Liam recast the thing carefully on the lines he had established before. It was not too difficult. Once you had creased a thing properly, folding it precisely five times, or a dozen, or a hundred, it practically arranged itself. His nimble fing...
The Way Things Should’ve Ended
Six twenty. Six forty-five. Seven fifteen. No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. The flighwww.onedoor.cct was suppose to land at six o’clock, giving Clara an hour to make it to her connection. She’d be off the plane and waiting in the lobby for her next by at least six thirty. She’d have time to kill. She would have no time to kill. She may not even make her connection. The plane landed promptly at six twenty. That’s alright, she thought, as long as we’re off of here soon, I’ll have plenty of time. Only it was seven fifteen and they were still sitting in the plane at the gate. Maybe her connection ha...
Paradise Lost
The sound of muffled steps slithered along the floor, accompanied by nothing more than the blind stare of the stars, pinned against the night sky. The darkest blue, where the lone figure was walking, was one with the fabric of the firmament, perfectly still and unchanging. Time itself had never touched that space, a room without ceiling or walls, a boundless expanse made of the same velvet of the pitiless sky. In that endless blue an infinity of pedestals stood scattered in all directions, reaching way beyond what the eye could see. Above each of the pedestals rested a glowing orb of mother pe...