Triangle of Uncanny

Triangle of Uncanny

I had Allan’s notebook tucked away in my overcoat. The chain on my lapel glowed in the miserable street light. The gas flame hissed like a feral cat. It barely chased away the darkness, or the autumn fog carried in with the wind from the Hudson.

I popped the chased golden lid of my pocket watch under the glow. The dial showed 10:30 pm. Time to wind up, my gloved fingers twirled the key clumsier than usual. It smelled like it would snow.

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The Midnight Flower

The Drabble published my poem:

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By The Story Hive

A place, where the sunlight

isn’t allowed to go,

and where the starlight

falls to ground, swimming

through endless dreams,

taking refuge to shadows …

A place, forbidden to the sun,

protects those unborn, unseen,

neglected and hidden.

The most beautiful flowers

bloom under the midnight sky …

The most unique blossoms

in the land of twilight …

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