There was, in a time not too long past, a youth by the name of Nikola, who walked within a wood beside his town. The paths were well-trodden. Nikola met many whom he met often. He gave and received greeting. He strolled past green leaves and hanging fruit in spring and summer. He strolled past fire-gold leaves in fall and snow-laden branches in winter.
Then, one day, he almost strolled past the most captivating sight he had ever seen in the wood.
Read More Nikola and the Two Crows
The back of the closet seemed to lead onto a dirt road with a very much open sky above, a sky that looked overcast. Simone felt a chill coming from that direction, but that could be explained by an air conditioning vent.
Simone put her sneakers back on—Evie had insisted she take her shoes off before entering the house. Then she stepped forward and kicked at road, sending out a spray of dirt and tiny pebbles. Some of the reddish dust stuck the front of her sneakers.
Evie stood behind her. “This is like that wardrobe in—”
“Don’t say it.”
Read More The Red Path to the Gray Cabin
“It’s a blue cardinal, look.”
Roy looked as Andre swiped through the photos he’d taken of the bird perched on the branches of the tree near the picnic area of his park he’d visited that weekend.
“There’s no such bird, Andre.”
Andre closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. “That’s because no one has seen him, until now.”
Read More The Man Who Cried Bird
“I want you to teach me how to paint,” Leodoras muttered, rehearsing the words as he strolled down the street that was assigned to his evening patrol.
He gazed up at the monochromatic gray veil of the sky, trying to imagine painting directly onto it, shaking his head at the thought. There were rumors that said it was possible. He’d never seen it nor known anyone who’d seen it. But their realm was vast. Who was to say there wasn’t a patch of gray that had been painted with swirls of indigo and black, and sprayed with blue-white stars, or brushed with a wide swathe of blue patched with soft diaphanous clouds?
Better to paint than to pierce, he thought. Better to live than to die.
Read More Through a Sky Gray