At first, she sang to remember. It was a way to pass the long, dark time, a way to drown out the buzz in her head when the earth shook and the bunker rattled, a way to live outside the bars of her cage, to be a woman who smoked and drank, flirted and pined, flipped her pin curls and married a man for his car.
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The first time he sees the Royal Observatory he is three days shy of his twelfth birthday. It’s spring, a clear night, the stars unveiling themselves in small groups as the sky overhead grows dark.
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Master told us that the earth was hollow, and that we lived on the inside of it, clinging to the top of the crust. Below us was another world, a world inside the world, a glowing bright sun of a place. What Master called the summerlands.
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It’s been a long time since I’ve had a chance to catch up with Brandon Massey. We first met at HorrorFind IV where we were on what was probably the first “black people who write horror” panel.
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Shambling through the streets,
Are we alive, or just existing?
Almost all the buildings are empty.
A testament to unceasing need.
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