The Walking Tree: Chapters 7-9

7. The Buried Knife  When Noah went into the woods again, she went the opposite direction of the giant tree. The golden sun, where it came crashing through the clouds, made everything it touched too bright to look at, especially the glossy white pages of Noah’s book. She had to retreat regularly to the shade of the nearest tree, just to make out the words, but by the time she did the pages were already seared into her eyelids, a bright blue negative.  She was doing her level best to read Great & Small, determined to learn the names of … Read More

The Walking Tree: Chapters 1-3

1. The Blindfold 1. The Blindfold Beneath her blindfold, Noah felt the red van ease to a rumbling stop. Before Papa could fully remove the key from the ignition, Nico had already opened his door, and Noah heard the sound of his shoes crunch down on gravel. She could feel the atmosphere of the car change as the sweet, fresh air from outside poured in.  Noah stayed right where she was, her fingers gripping her armrest, until she heard Papa open his door and then hers. Her heart squirmed anxiously in her chest until Papa’s hand touched her arm.  “Are … Read More

What We Keep Behind Glass

Chapter One: You, and the Reason it Exists By JD MillerPhoto by Natalie Bruno It is my firm belief that there are some people of whom this world is not worthy. I don’t know if that’s a popular or unpopular opinion, I just know that I believe it. And for anybody who knows me (like you do), you know that I don’t have all that many firm beliefs. I have some in you, in God I guess, in my mom, and not a lot else.  I feel like I should be clear about the fact that I don’t know what … Read More

The Human Café

The Human Café By JD Miller Introduction: A picture of a café:  Let me tell you a story.  It’s not a very pretty story. But there aren’t very many stories that are pretty all the way through and still worth telling.  It starts with a bench, beside a window; vinyl and ketchup and ceiling fans basking in lethargy. The dull glow of neon and forgetfulness, a table steeped in coffee-stains. Home. I loved it and it loved me back—almost as living as I was.  There is no small part of me that thanks that place for keeping me alive. But … Read More