The Smallness of Us

There are these moments when I picture myself benevolently aged, a bittersweet smile of the past playing about the crow-footed corners of my eyes.  What I wouldn’t give to have a conversation with her.  The woman who weathered storms.  The woman who brought storms.   What would she think of me with my self-pity and…

The Crimson Key

Alice cradled her head in her hands and felt the weight of it as if she were Prometheus holding up the sky.  She desperately searched her memory for who had given her the key, but she had been stuck in the cavern for three days.  Everything was fuzzy.  Through red-streaked eyes and a mud-caked face,…