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Week ???

"It's been a while since you've spoken to me."

Mussel Ch. 2

The phone clacked against the receiver, cord swaying against the wall. Claire stood there, still holding the handle. It took her five seconds to breathe in. Five seconds to breathe out. Five seconds to breathe in. She wonder if she could see the light move across the floorboards, if she focused hard enough.

Mussel Ch. 1

Waves lapped at the pier struts, gentle save for a chance geometry painting the rafters with ocean spray. Her hands broke the surface, gripping the algal rocks with the fine hairs along her hands, her byssus, that ripped and knit as she tore herself from away from the surf. She climbed until she was free of the waves, beckoning her back. She collapsed in a crevice between two rocks, now pooling with her blood. Fibers sprouted from her skin, anchoring skin to stone, holding fast as the tide rose, ebbed, rose, ebbed. She laid there three weeks, a husk.

Princess Dalloway

It's noon, and she's pale, and from her place in the corner (always in the corner, if possible, but if not that's okay- that's okay) she can see a sliver of blue between the interior roof, ceiling, through the window, above the building opposite, she wonders if the moon is out. She likes to look at it at night, she takes her time to look at it and to see its pocks, to feel its distance as vertigo, and feels some sheepishness about it, thinking herself from the outside to be too wistful, but she enjoys it - looking at the moon, and feeling the vertigo, and praising her eyes (with glasses) for their ability to see so far, before praising instead the moon for its size, and it must be far - for she feels vertigo when thinking of how large in the sky so as for pocks to be visible with the naked eye, through her glasses.

Cigarette

Concrete 1