Destination Stories

The scorching sun beat down on Randolph Wainwright as he trudged through the endless parched desert. He had no recollection of how he got here or where "here" was. The last thing he remembered was walking home from the library on a crisp autumn evening, and now he found himself in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by an eerie silence. As he scanned his surroundings, his eyes landed on a peculiar sight: rows of poles, each...

Sometimes I think that at the destination waits a toothless lady. Other than her dental deficiency, there are no hints to betray her age. She is dressed in white and her silver hair lies still and heavy around her shoulders. She has overused golden thread; it glints everywhere, at her cuffs and collar and the little star and moon designs scattered across her dress. Her eyes are dark blue, like a slumbering sky or drugged...