Published by Horla
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"THE stench of wet still clung to earthly bound things the morning Fall made the discovery. The storm the night before had raged like an angered spirit until all that remained was sodden earth and a drizzle like a dying whisper.
The small sack of cloth positioned on her doorstep was damp to the touch. She would have mistaken it for something dead, a prank by local kids, if she had not waited and watched it. Three times it grew in a sort of asthmatic gasp, only to recede until she was sure whatever was inside was not dead but alive and breathing. She said nothing, only turned on her heels and went into the house, emerging less than a minute later with two rubber gloves and an old blanket.
No bigger than a baby, Fall was surprised at how heavy it was as she..." [finish reading here]
Born of Ashes
The Raven's Perch
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“She really loved Phoenix. The city, the people, what it stands for.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this place,” he says, “Phoenix, like the bird. You know it burns up when it dies and comes back from the ashes.”
“I think I’ve heard that,” I say, “but what’s the connection?”
“The native people here way back when. Hohokam, I think they were called. One day they just up and left. Vanished. Left behind irrigation canals I think it was that were still usable hundreds of years later when new people came.”
“Building off the ashes,” I say.
“My wife loved the story,” says Arthur, “She was a big believer in being reborn every day.” Arthur leans into me; “At least that’s what she called it.”
“I like her perspective,” I say, and mean it.
“Me too,” says Arthur, “It’s funny she’d make us wipe our slates clean before bed every night.” Arthur’s eyes are watery but the memory, I can see, is crystal. It lingers for a moment before a smile breaks across his face.
“Your wife sounds like a smart lady.”
“That was just her way of talking. She was a painter.” [finish reading here]