In the attic, I discovered an ancient pocket watch. Its hands moved backward, taking me through time. I witnessed battles and royal affairs, but it was on a cold winter's night in 1925 that I met her. Our love story unfolded, and we cherished every stolen moment. When the watch finally stopped, I was left longing for a time I could never return to.
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181 Keeping Watch
Each day she watched through her window. Watched? Perhaps an exaggeration: a monochromatic nuclear aftermath remaining of the world, blurring into a blindness--loss of contrast and depth of field. Achromatic aberrations displayed a waste-scape stratified in grays.
By Gerard DiLeo7 days ago in Fiction
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