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On Their Sleeves1.More Like This
Plaid. Checkers. Stripes {both vertical and horizontal}. Argyle. Obligatory solids of brown, white, red, navy, green. Collared button-downs and zip-ups and pullovers.
Hanna's closet was diverse, to say the least. He didn't have much in the way of clothing {or anything, really}, but what he did have possessed a balance of simple complexity. Or possibly complex simplicity: take your pick. Then again, such a statement could be considered apt for most-if not all-aspects of Hanna.
I'd seen him in each and every article of clothing hanging on the meager, bowed rack in front of me. Somehow, he managed to hold up even the boldest of patterns wi
Broken DoorsA man goes far to find out what he is -More Like This
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
- James Theoroke
One.
There were three of them, three different flashes of shining light that burned themselves into his retina and ruined what little night vision he'd established. They reflected off the polished walls, the glass floor, and were consumed whole by the black pit ceiling. He stumbled into a jutting door frame absent a door, barely managed not to fall flat on his face. He realized, only because he was a scant inches away from it, that not only was there no door, but there was no opening, eith
Sta.sh
