a year in stories::forty six

Another story. Wrote this a few days ago, submitted it, and already got rejected! And since they didn’t want it, and it was meant for them, I’ve decided to make it for all of us.

Writing more wikipages for the freelancing gig. There’s something kind of pleasant about doing this kind of work. Oh, I also got another book editing job, and am always looking for more. So if you need a book edited, I’m your man. I’ll do it for a good price, too.

Anyrate, this is a story made of three sentences. It’s quite short, too.

I dreamt of homes for all of us

 

She opened her mouth and fell into the ocean where she fell into the house beneath the waves and in the house she found a bookcase full of books full of words slipping from the pages carried away by the current of the ocean by the schools of fish moving as one in symmetry and as the words slipped off the page to float amongst the sealife she swallowed hard and the ocean filled her lungs and when they were full she read aloud the words swimming away until she closed the book and with it her eyes.

Behind her eyes rose words she had not read colored red that did not swim but flew through sky catching birds catching clouds reaching higher to rest amongst stars where the red turned to bright and the words of ink transformed to constellations writ in galactic calligraphy for all to see so far below with her breathing water in the house beneath the waves of the ocean stretching wide.

Vibrations through the water reached her though the door of the house beneath the waves was closed and locked and made of unrotted wood and the windows of glass held strong and stayed closed but the molecules of water shivered and she along with them shivered being one with the ocean round her and so she opened the book to find the draft and she watched the words slip from the page and float away with the fishes swimming as one though they were many but she did not see where they exited or how but only saw them through the glass of the windows as they disappeared against the surface where fishermen or birds picked them up and made them whole by tying them to different pages with needles and thread and so when the next word slipped off the page she took it in her hand and held on as it tugged her away from where she sat in the house beneath the waves and in the journey she found the walls did not hold words captive but let them through and she too and when she met the surface she found that it was not a barrier but an invitation to the world beyond and in the sky floating high she looked down and thought of the mother she never knew as she entered a new home and wrote a name cursive in the stars

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