The Candle by Martin Keaveney
Scraps of burnt paper rise around us into the darkness. The bright air whistles, shriller, then...
Read MoreScraps of burnt paper rise around us into the darkness. The bright air whistles, shriller, then...
Read More“Hello—o?” Bailey leaned over the rim of the well, waiting for the echo to fade away....
Read MoreFire harvests my dreams as God is spoken when ashes stir the wind. Women wash themselves in...
Read MoreThe smell of alcohol and burnt flesh filled the kitchen air I glanced at the long thick piece of...
Read MoreCalves on fire, feet blister on wood, they dance. They dance, sweating, fevered, another circle to...
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