A secular example of a memory and the sort of irony that only a ghost might think is funny

She remembers light moving fast in spidery fractals across the floral patterns of her sundress—nine or ten years old and her father was however old her being nine or ten made him. The fractals of light danced across space and spheres between leaves and through the shatterproof glass of the Volkswagen onto his cheek, knuckles at...
Flaming fiddles, it looks like there’s a roadblock here! If you’d like to finish reading this piece, please buy a subscription—you’ll get access to the entire online archive of F(r)iction.

The Ruin of the Wind

Two More Days Till the Angels There is an ocean, and a shore, and a man with a cat. The lighthouse looms strangely on the tallest part of the bluffs, the only thing man-made for long miles, crafting that beam to keep (most) ships away. It is an easy thing to think of and a...
Flaming fiddles, it looks like there’s a roadblock here! If you’d like to finish reading this piece, please buy a subscription—you’ll get access to the entire online archive of F(r)iction.