The Arcanist
A young girl chooses between toiling over straggling plants or ancient texts in the hopes of reviving her dying world.
A young girl chooses between toiling over straggling plants or ancient texts in the hopes of reviving her dying world.
I am a year old. My first road trip from Virginia to Florida is paved with oranges, cigarettes, and cops.
Episode one in Stoney River.
A blind boy contemplates the arrival of his newborn sibling without favor based off the whispered experiences of a school bully.
She came from the woods, her hair deserving of jewels and her face as sad as a dying tulip.
“Is it true you do not spank me because I am blind?”
Father said nothing. Only his breathing sounded as Miles’ heart sank. It was true, after all. It was not love; it was because he was blind. Disabled. Different.
He was ten years old and already running from the blaze on the horizon where his parents and siblings, servants and friends burned in the flames.
The place smelled of the smell of sadness; salt mixed with ashes and dead rose petals. A cloak of tragedy settled over all those who entered to walk the paths between the burial plots.
They hold me prisoner deep within the earth. It is a world of death and hate.
I miss the sun. Here in these caverns there is only darkness. Even my thoughts are not my own.
The nursery fell quiet as the children stopped playing to listen to his answer. Miles looked in the direction of the governess’s voice. “I want my mother.”