The building shook. Bits of rotting ceiling tiles rained down around us. Josie was still curled in the corner booth, rocking slightly. The red vinyl of the seat cushion creaked as she moved. I fluffed my hair with both hands, trying to shake out the debris. It was futile, a gesture from before. It had … Continue reading Shadow Ball
Tag: dystopian
A Bit of String
It's the little things that consume me: how to mend a shoe, where to find a bit of string. The bigger questions of governments and domains are beyond my ability to absorb. What use is knowing whose territory you’re in, if they’d kill you just the same? So I focus on the things I can … Continue reading A Bit of String
Before Daybreak
In the last hours before daybreak, everything changed. It was the sirens that woke us. My mother dragged us, tousle-haired and sleepy-eyed, from the room we shared with our grandmother. My brother and I wrapped ourselves in blankets, tugged on boots over our pajamas, while our father helped Grandmother with her shoes. The first rumblings … Continue reading Before Daybreak
Before the Thunder
It is not the thunder of the chariots that draws me to the arena on this day. Nor is it the thrill of watching blood spilled in desperation or defiance. It is the doors. The two enormous portals rise up from the sands, judges in bronze robes. The intent had been simple: a quick, indisputable … Continue reading Before the Thunder
Winter Games
My father loved baseball his whole life. He was loyal not to any particular team, but to the sport itself. "The world may be going to hell in a hand-basket," he used to say, "but there will always be baseball." I must have inherited my love of the game from him.When I was little, he … Continue reading Winter Games
Christine Hanolsy 