Secondhand Heavens
Matthew Burnside
There are caves here, too: little subterranean veins washed in lamplight. It’s a nice place to get lost & stay lost. Starlight falls through cracks like spiders burning & nothing hurts like it once did.
There are caves here, too: little subterranean veins washed in lamplight. It’s a nice place to get lost & stay lost. Starlight falls through cracks like spiders burning & nothing hurts like it once did.
After he left, everything became slanted. The towns the cities, the forests the valleys. The entire earth diagonal.
He never went to school or changed clothes because he was too busy mastering Atari, weighed down by secret histories no book could ever contain.
They belly-crawled to avoid the lightning, and when the gap between rumbles and flashes quickened, they curled up on their packs. Sand stuck in the dry cracks at the corners of their lips.
You’ll sense the chill air of your prison, the sting and burning odor of lasers on flesh, the scorching heat of fires, the blunt impact of falling or thrown objects, and even the weight of your inventory.
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