Remember that she’s the most elemental of women—made from the oldest & purest of things—and has spent most of her life trapped beneath layers of sand, with no way to externalize her angst or express her suffocation.
Rite of Passage: Camus and the Turtle
The Navy pilot’s manual did not provide a strategy for this. It happened quickly. Despite that, it unfolds slowly in your mind as you lie paralyzed on your back in some sort of oily gray phlegm-sludge.
Walter Benjamin’s Flight through the Pyrenees Up to the Bluffs of Pure Language
In a drawer at the Bibliothèque Nationale in Paris, Klee’s angel holds his clustered smile in place. His eyes slide sideways, though there’s nothing to see in the dark.
The curtain is thin in New Orleans. The beyond closer, the dead nearer. You hear it in the wailing music, you see it in the grey mists off the river, you feel it in cold air radiating off sunbaked bricks.
A haunted Keno screen still flashes inside the bar. Some allege that the landlord’s wife goes in there to play and drink wine, as was her habit when the bar was open.
The Girls Shop at Hot Topic
Flash Fiction by Frederica Morgan Davis