Maisie Krash
Bio
fiction writer, probably a witch
Stories (6/0)
The Oil of Other Hands
Sunday afternoon, Maya turned up with Kate's destiny wrapped in plain brown paper. It looked like an ordinary package: a rectangular box, tied with white string. A little on the heavy side, judging by how Maya cradled it in both arms and tilted back as if to balance it, leaning on the railing outside Kate's door.
By Maisie Krash3 years ago in Fiction
No Release
We're wandering around Dew Valley campsite at 3 AM, but it’s too overcast to see the stars. No matter how dark the sky gets—no matter how fierce the wind pressing at the flounce of clouds, piercing holes in that thin skin—there’s no clear view of the constellations he promised me. Strangers fumbling in the dark, we just about manage the hills and dips of the field without a light source to keep us upright. To keep us from tripping over all the things we can’t see in the murk. Love could have lit us from the inside out, perhaps, if we had any love left between us.
By Maisie Krash3 years ago in Fiction
Aluminum Metalized Polyethylene Terephthalate
The worst part about the Genetic Incorporations Statute (besides the headache it caused the freelance filmmaking community) was the glitter. Being one of only a small handful of approved, mandatory substance inclusions, glitter was a necessary evil. Tinsel, Beryl found, was too flammable around the rendering engine, and she couldn’t tolerate the heat generated by plushy fabrics.
By Maisie Krash3 years ago in Fiction