Where there is no imagination, there is no horror. -Arthur Conan Doyle “A Cosmic Concerto”- Bradley Ramsey Alfred was

I was a bird once, made of paper and thin air flying over the arid landscape of my soul. My

How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes

The third day of my brother’s death, I sat in my kitchen. The sun shone through the window, painting

This work originally appeared in Backstory Magazine. since middle school, when i’ve had an interpersonal conflict, i’ve handled

I think I was lying in bed when my chest burst open – was Sigourney there? I read that her name

I. You’re walking down a semi-congested road a few days after the year has rolled over. It’s not

I will tell you of my encounter with the Shape on the moor. It is a dark tale, and for

“There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.” Edgar Allen Poe In this chapter, we will explore

sunlight awakens the slumbering couch bringing to a boil its simmering rage likewise the carpet, the tables and chairs on