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Transience
Snow piles up outside the windows, glistening in the moonlight as it tumbles through the air. The house is warm and smells like ginger and clove. She’s been baking all afternoon and now the gingerbread is finally cool and hard as brick. She takes the cookies and the candy and the icing to the table and she nestles her toes under the soft belly of her dog who curls up at her feet. And then she gets to work.
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The Lost Hours
Melodic chimes resonate from a chorus of chrome-rimmed clocks mounted in every room. The final tolls of the temporal hivemind that infest the house sing in an inauspicious harmony. In each identical face, bold blue numbers suspended in darkness display the time. 10:00pm
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The Observer
The call is strong tonight. Stronger than it’s been in a while. But I don’t know if I’m ready yet. I don’t know if I can face whatever lies beyond. Rainwaters batter the roof while thunder and violent winds threaten to crumple what remains of this castle. It’s been raining for days. The air is thick with moisture that makes the wood swell and feeds the mold. The walls were strong once; nothing could shake them. It was a little fortress against all the evils that lurked in the world. At least, that’s how I thought of it when I was alive.