The short fiction of j hardy carroll
the window is the window: the glass, the same the wall, the same the same house the same sea, never the same, not for a moment not the air, nor the water. when I close my eyes to the window’s glow the sea takes everything: my lungs, my hair, my hands on the table the…
I know this place. Of course. You have been here many times. Countless. But why am I here again? You do not remember? Is that world you cared so much about already gone from your recollection? It seems like a dream I had as a child. You have said that before. How do you feel?…