The cult section of the literary world
by Cornell R. Nichols Night 1Hanging. Glowing.Hanging. Glowing.Hanging. Glowing.Waiting for dawn. Night 2Hanging. Glowing.Hanging. Glowing.Hanging. Glowing.Attracting moths. Night 3Hanging. Glowing.The layer of dead moths caking my tubes has darkened one of my letters. It’s a complete disaster.I start to blink an S.O.S.I realize there is no O in the name […]
by Cornell R. Nichols I’m not quite sure how it happened but, at the age of thirty, I found myself stuck in a dead-end job, with virtually no prospects for my dead-end life. I guess my ideas were to blame. I have foolishly dared to dream of becoming a journalist, […]
