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There is the distinct sound of water on glass -- that hollow thumping sound that comes with rain on windows, the washing of cars, with shower doors left closed on empty showers. It takes Ariadne a moment to realize that she's awake and then a moment longer to realize she's staring at the ceiling -- white wash and spackle at the corners, used to ( Read more... )

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It's like the age-old riddle: if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? What happens to our dreams when we are awake? Do they evaporate like mist hanging over the early morning surfaces of our minds? Unravel like so many lengths of unneeded string, abandoning name and face and shape to sink back to the ( Read more... )