Stories
There once was a word who became dissatisfied that its meaning was always considered fixed in people's minds…
The family had gathered at V— Street on 31 December, at grandma's house, to commemorate the year ending and to celebrate the beginning of a new one. The house was large, tall, and statuesque. It was a little worn—since grandpa had died seven years ago, maintenance had halted—but all the cozier for it…
How he arrived at the park, he did not know, but he was there now. The crude light of consciousness shone in the lingering mist of his memories, focusing and dispersing them…
An icy, thorny wind rushed past the bleak wall against which a shivering pigeon was seeking shelter. The touch of the hard concrete against its frayed wings, its brittle and weather-beaten body, offered little respite…
They were yelling again. He knew that they would, he knew when they told him to go upstairs before his usual time, he knew that they would because they were very quiet when he was there…
The lobby was slowly filling with people, most of them clustered in little groups. The last of the day's light clung to the window, through which she could still make out the grass, the trees, and the bronze fountain-statue from which water sprayed in parallel arcs…
