![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() |
Angela Woodward Perhaps because of the lingering heat or other atmospheric pressure, the global supply of sleep began to shrink, and sleep itself fundamentally changed its quality. We all complained, and it was scientifically proven, that drowsiness was now more brittle, like rubber seals and gaskets when they wear out. It was friable, dry, like sharp cheddar, a taste craved by some but anyway lacking the former creaminess of deep, blanket-laden slumber. People slept for a few minutes at a time, and strung the episodes out with periods of semi-wakefulness. All night long, old black and white movies played, the heroines of earlier decades looking so stiff now in their belted skirts, their hair crimped into waves. Bankers looked up from their desks at the sound of mobsters’ cars; shiny little boys uttered insincere statements of adoration towards their on-screen fathers; the abandoned girlfriend shrieked as the madman advanced, when she would have done better to stay still and prepare to defend herself.
|
Caketrain is a literary journal and press based in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Our interest is in bringing you, reader, the very best in contemporary creative writing, full stop. Our goals are for each issue of our journal to submerge you in a birthing tank for gelatinous language monsters, young masses of tentacular foci undulating as directed (in all, at once) by our eclectic stable of contributors; for each new book we publish to seduce and ensnare you, sometimes intangibly, always undeniably; and for you, reader, to be able to draw at least one passage from our banks that prods your mind with such precision and power that it feels as if it was written for your eyes alone. To wit and to whet, here is a snippet, a slight nip of our delicious lit mix: Loving
5 AM Mourning Copyright 2003-2006 Caketrain Journal and Press. Rights to literature revert to their respective authors. How's Our Driving? Powered by Blogger |