Still the Sun

by Charlie N. Holmberg

Entisa looks peaceful, though the pallor and stillness of death warp her features, shaping her into a mere shade of who she was.

soul of amaranthine and a heart of glass.

I wonder what shapes his thoughts take, that he’s so comfortable sitting with them.

I never realized madness could be so loud.

Madness has a feel to it. Smooth, subtle. Like the oil nestled in those hinges, but thinner. It doesn’t leave a noticeable mark. No grease stains. When it first starts dripping, it feels wrong, the way I imagine a knife through the gut might feel. But I can see how one could become used to it. Even comfortable. Oiled up and slick and satiated, forgetting there was ever anything else.