The city at night sounded like his ribs when they broke, his body as it caved in on itself and snapped in half so loudly they heard it downstairs and thought it was a gunshot, another bullet hitting its mark, eating into the flesh of another broken soul, unwanted — unwanted, yes, disowned, in a room no warmer than the frigid air outside, shivering under layers, skin stretched too tight across bones.
—-Monica Robinson, “anatomy of a burning thing”
Point of View – Stream of Consciousness – Reliability of Narration
You can play with this stuff… if you have the chops.
Read it here:
from Blanket Sea