Short Stories

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I find her in a pile of her broken wings. She’s like my grandmother’s drawings from decades ago, from her travels before the gates closed.

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You dream of the stars, regardless of how they tell you not to. You wide-eyed boy, caught up in your fantasies of flight.

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He stands in front of you, an impassable force, not by physicality, but by nature. In the months you’ve been apart, he hasn’t grown an inch.

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There’s sheer beauty in movement. She only recognized that when it was ripped from her.

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Humans are the only intelligent beings. The first and last. They have everything they need on Earth, and no one bothers them.

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The world had veins of tarmac criss crossed over her surface. When the information age ended, everything went black. 

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It’s a ripped apart world. Shattered continents and the skies churn with poisonous clouds. A world where time doesn’t exist.

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It rains acid here. It isn’t bad, but it’s like my eyes are burning out of their sockets. Like most lonely inhabitants of this desolate city, I stay inside.