Fictive

• The Pillow and the Blood-Eyed Woman

  The apartment was different than I remembered. Not the building itself—that was the same tired facade, the same cracked walkway, the same buzzer that never worked quite right. But inside, the walls had shifted.…

•  The Loop at the Red Gate

  The farm is not a place of growth. It is a launching pad for a sanctioned loop. It sits on the coast, pressed between the impassive mountain and the indifferent sea, a sliver of managed land from which all rout…

• The Paralysis at the Party

  There is a house on Rosemary Street. It exists outside time, a fixed coordinate in the geography of memory and dream. In this house, conversations happen—about men, about nothing—and then, without warning, peop…

• The Smirk at the Gate

  There is an estate at the edge of all maps. You will not find it by traveling. You arrive by failing elsewhere . The estate is not a refuge. It is a taxonomic exhibit. Its grounds are curated not by a gardener,…

• The Summons at the Smokers' Bench

  There are dreams you wake from laughing, dreams you wake from screaming, dreams you wake from with your body still vibrating from the touch of a creature made of paralysis. And then there are dreams like this o…

• The Wings and the Current

  The place is not a location. It is a condition of possibility. It exists at the bottom of a descent, a deliberate climb down from the ordinary ledge. The "river" there is not water; it is the substrate of poten…