Issue Four (Jan 2009)
It was in September, long after the summer crowds had scattered, flocking back to school and work, that Daniel went down to the beach. The long walk down the sandy hill that led to the water was difficult. The wind whipped up and around him in great gusts and bursts, spitting flecks of sand in his eyes. The ground beneath him was soft, and it gave way with every footstep as he trudged slowly downward.
At the edge of the galaxy, the Cosmos sings.
The Cosmos sings to her, sometimes with wails, sometimes with whispers. And she, the Oracle, awaits in her tower, on her lonely isle amidst a bitter sea.
It had been three days without soup, and the painted sign on Eydie’s front door was still turned to the “Pot’s Empty” side. She had never gone this long without brewing up a cauldron. I didn’t think she could. I thought she physically needed to chop and saute and simmer and stir, to ladle her concoctions into bowls and hand them, free of charge, to anyone who came by the house.
Baker looked up, wiping the blood from his hands onto his already soiled smock. The air soon filled with the agonized groans of the wounded as they were brought in on stretchers. Another shelling, this new batch. Not much he could do for any of them.