Author: Daniel Thompson
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Welcome to the Between: Chapter 3
This is the third installment in an anthology series, all taking place in the fictitious Between. Read Chapter 1, here. Reach Chapter 2, here. Read Chapter 4, here. Read Chapter 5, here. Read Chapter 6, here. The Writer “Poor Jack.” The thought lingers in Sarah’s head as she watches Jack slowly walk back to June and…
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I know I’ll hit the ground this time.
When I was a kid — like many all across America — I’d pretend I was Superman. Nearly every night, you could find me wearing worn-out, Christover Reeve-era Superman pajamas and a cape running through the living room, into the TV room (the same room, but we acted like they were different), turning right through…
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The Pleading Deep
He’d felt its eyes on him most of his life. The first time was at North Beach in Racine, Wisconsin, along Lake Michigan. He can’t remember his exact age then, but it was before the age of 12. He can at least pinpoint it that much. But he remembers clearly the rope that was strung…
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Welcome to the Between: Chapter 2
This is the second installment in an anthology series, all taking place in the fictitious Between. Read Chapter 1, here. Read Chapter 3, here. Read Chapter 4, here. Read Chapter 5, here. Read Chapter 6, here. The Lovers My wife is the first person who found me here. I was standing in the middle of the city —…
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The sky is always blue.
The sky is always blue some place, That’s what they always say A platitude wrapped in the guise of caring So they can stop looking at your sad face But it is true: the sky is blue And gray and gold and purple and even green In the vastness of the expanse above, The rest…
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Welcome to the Between: Chapter 1
This is the first installment in an anthology series, all taking place in the fictitious Between. Read Chapter 2, here. Read Chapter 3, here. Read Chapter 4, here. Read Chapter 5, here. Read Chapter 6, here. Part 1: ‘New Arrival’ I’m standing on a street I don’t know, in a town I’ve never seen. I don’t know…
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Darkness, my home
It’s hard to describe this place inside of me. Think of yourself as standing in a dark room, but only your side is dark. Just beyond the edge of the darkness you stand in are other people. People smiling, laughing, living, falling in love, having children … just being human. But there you are, standing…
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“The old poets would hate us.” (explicit language)
All of the old poets would talk shit about all of us poets now. There’s too much fighting and fucking in our poetry. And our fucking isn’t even poetic and proper like theirs. We don’t take our time to paint sex in simile, or “making love” in metaphor. We literally just call it “fucking” And…
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After the Fall
I think, if Humpty Dumpty could still speak when all the king’s horses and all the king’s men were trying to gather together all of his broken pieces and put him back together again, that he probably begged them to just let him die instead. Sure, if they put him back together again, he may…
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Little God
When I was young, one of my favorite spots was the middle of my basement stairs. It wasn’t because the carpet — worn down over years by children’s running feet — was at all comfortable. It wasn’t because I could sit there and watch the TV, which was actually on the wall that I was…