Coming around the edge of a collapsed roof, I nearly run into a writhing mass of coloured clouds, bits of tech twinkling in their gaseous innards as they swirl and pass through each other, with hypnotic grace. It’s impossible to say precisely where one begins and the other ends, as the colours meld and form gradients at the edges; yet each cloud is clearly a separate entity.
Written by Russell James Being free felt wonderful. And the death certificate in his hands represented Jared’s freedom. He’d demanded a certified copy be delivered as soon as one was ready. His hands trembled with joy as his eyes traced each letter of the name of his dead wife, Denise. By week’s end, the boat… Continue reading Ashes and Paint