The circular room has only one window. Coated with a thick layer of grime, the light comes through dimly, as if it’s always the twilight hour. Shelves which stretch all the way up to the ceiling line the walls. There are ninety-nine bottles of various shapes and sizes sitting along these shelves, as well as …
Tag Archives: Memory
Fiction: ‘Eyes of the Beholder’
I’ve wasted years thinking about them, picturing how they look in as much detail as I can summon, and yet the harder I try the more elusive they become. I can see them before me, clear and mesmerizing. Whether my eyes are open or closed, I can still perceive them just beyond my reach, drenched …
Writing on Tangents 