Category: SSS
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20.10: Glintmere – The Liturgy
25 of 27 Glintmere – The Hesitant Harmony of a Road Trip with My Sister I. The PreludeA road trip does not begin with music —it begins with the space between music,that heartbeat when the radio cracklesand neither of you reach to change it,when Paul Simon’s voice is a third passengerand the silence stops being…
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17 Oct: A Six Sentence Story
Carrying the Weight The old man carried the village’s silence up the mountain each morning. Not in a sack, but in the hollow humming of his throat. It was the weight of unmade decisions, and need left unsaid. At the summit, he’d open his mouth, and let the wind take it all. The valley below…
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14.10: A Six – The Book of 27
23 of 27 — Wraithborne: A Glance Mistaken for Something Else The Taste of Almost Brigid notices the smudge first — a violet-ash on her teacup’s rim, still warm, the shape of a thumbprint, the weight of an unfinished thought — and this would mean nothing, except she lives alone, and has done for many…
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13.10: Wraithborne – The Liturgy
23 of 27 – Wraithborne: A glance mistaken for something else The Liturgy for Wraithborne I. The GlanceNot a ghost — just time’s stutter,a flicker where the light bends wrongand suddenly, you’re staringat a face you almost lovedin a life you almost lived.Wraithborne grins.You blink.The crow swallows the evidence. II. Its ColourAsh-lit violet is the…
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9.10: Thundershade – The Liturgy
22 of 27 · Liturgy for the Unseen Sky I. The Unseen We knew the sky existednot because we saw its blue,its vastness,its sea of stars —but because we heard the storm. We felt its breath upon our faces,cold and electric.We heard its voicein the groan of the pines,the shudder of the shutters,the long, low…
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8 Oct: A Six – The Book of 27
22 of 27: Thundershade – a Colour once felt, not seen—Faith in resonance, sight through storm Thundershade — Faith in resonance, sight through storm The night was blind-thick with silence and hidden behind clouds — then came thunder crawling through the walls, low and certain, and she knew the storm was already standing on the…
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8.10: A Six Sentence Story
The Small Matter at the Aire de la Clermont-Ferrand Rest Stop The cubicle door springs open with a bang, and a woman emerges; our eyes meet in a flash of mutually accusatory side-eye, wads of loo roll fill both of her hands. “French toilets,” she drawls with a weary little heaven-tilt of the head, the…
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25.09: A Six Sentence Story
Seven Seven: prime, indivisible, stubbornly herself. She is a parenthesis of grace, a question mark of sunlight — “Can you do this?” she asks as she unfolds into a perfect split on the kitchen tiles, a compass toward joy and impossibility. Her hair is a midnight river streaked with ribbons — not just purple, but…
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23 Sept: A Six – The Book of 27
21 of 27: Mourngale – The Colour of Unbroken Song Mapping the Riverbed Winter had settled into the seams of the house that morning—our quarrel lost to the iron’s hiss, as I pressed three shirts, their cotton wrinkling like elephant skin under my restless, riverless hands. Life was steady, yes — he worked, I worked…
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22 Sept: Mourngale – The Liturgy
21 of 27 Liturgy of Mourngale: The Unbroken Sons I. The First NoteIt begins not as sound, but as silence outgrown—a wound too vast for quiet.This is not a cry;it is a hymn threaded through the ribs,a melody that remembers your namewhen you have forgotten your own. II. The Colour of Dusk-FeatherMourngale is the blue…
It's Still Life 