It is like an oyster shell, marbled grey and ivory and a red so dark it appears black. Layers curve in little ripples around the edge. It smells, ever so faintly. Not of blood or medicine but with the nauseating aromatic of raw poultry. It is larger than a quarter in diameter, and pocked like craters within craters on the moon's surface. It is ( Read more... )

Cold hard knots unraveled beneath his breast, sighing in grey steam rivulets from parted lips. Tactile sensations were a keener blade here, beyond the crushingly close walls of home. Each brush of snow-flecked lashes lay fine, stinging lines across his numb cheeks. Wool rasped against his palms as they began to tremble ( Read more... )

It's five thirty in the morning and I'm writing a story about a boy who eats the moon.

Sometimes I am so goddamn crazy it's amazing I am not outside barking "oua! oua!" and handing out small bibles to strangers.

Nails tapped impatiently at the smooth stone casement of a window, their jagged pewter sheen catching light and refracting it into the immense, empty room behind her. She was betrayed by her nervous hands; a woman whose calling required an unnatural degree of self-possession, her hands were always aflutter, the still, silent mind distracted from ( Read more... )