The Art of Impalement

His friends called him Jay, because he worked up with the birds. Jay rode skyscraper skeletons, where New York was flickering itself sullenly into being. A taste of steel lived in Jay’s mouth, scars on his arms, and no room anywhere. His world was girders, lines, oil. “Frosty,” they called him. He didn’t understand what love...
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.