Drift
The city had forgotten what it was supposed to look like.
Solitude
The Corner Store
Fouad’s hands were flat on the counter.
True Dead
The ping came in the third hour of daywatch.
The Canvas
The rock cut through her gloves at the third handhold.
I Made It Right
The steam wand hisses.
Station Seven
The air tastes like ammonia and bleach and something underneath both.
Deconstruction
The box says forty-two pieces. I’ve counted three times
Free-Fall Forward
She whispered it aloud. Her voice. Lower, gruffer.
The Voicemail
Forever now. Somehow that made it matter less.
Calum in the Forest
Every shot taken draws the forest closer.
Haley Alone
Nothing but a trail of broken bone and rotten flesh.