A Little More Time

In retrospect, she should not have made the bargain.

She believed she'd gotten the better end of it. Time was, she thought, linear. But it is not. It is not a line, but a circle, or a sphere, or the shape of a wiggly straw.

The promises, for things in the future, for more time, for a space outside of time, are as strong as damp paper. They fold and fold and collapse under pressure.

She keeps out of time, now. Running from clocks. She fears clock towers, jumps at the sound of an alarm. Runs from the rising sun. If she cannot avoid time here, she will avoid time there.

She did not think it would take so much work.

She did not think it would involve falling from day into night, from earth into sky, from old into young.

She is sure that space and time, whatever strange creatures they are, are laughing at her. She wonders over the strange creature that she is now, leaping between times and spaces, while the universe dances on, along the circle or sphere or wiggly straw, giving little consequence to a foolish girl who made a bargain for more time and space.

Art by Anonymous

Text by Lucie MacAulay

Black Oceans: Crane Maiden

She stared at it’s the back of the card, as though she had already flipped it over. Her features were schooled into intense concentration. She flipped them over, slowly, one by one. Each card held scenes drawn in black and gold, with more precision than I’d ever seen. She couldn’t have gotten these cards anywhere. They were expensive, more than anyone working underground could afford. I wondered who she’d been before she’d come here.

“These seven cards,” she said, licking her lips. “I’ll use them for the interpretation. Past, present, and future. I’m not always good at specifics, but I’ll try. Is that all right?”

“I suppose.” I’d never really had a reading before. They were a common way of earning money back home, but I’d never had to resort to it. I wouldn’t be able to, anyway.

“I might see some things that you don’t want me to. Are you sure it’s all right?”

I hesitated. There were some things that I didn’t want to remember, but I wasn’t sure they would matter to others so much. And whatever she found out about me, I was sure she’d keep it secret. I had the feeling that there were some things I couldn’t remember, or didn’t want to. If she saw them, I hoped she’d keep them to herself. I nodded.

She gave me a faint smile. She touched the cards carefully, not like she was handling china, but like she was handling something old and well-loved. These cards were still a part of her. She tapped the first card. On it, a man was impaled by two swords. One through his chest, the hilt against his breastbone, the other sword was thrust through his back, the pommel perpendicular to his spine. I couldn’t tell if his face was twisted in agony or ecstasy. She closed her eyes. “There’s a man. Someone important to you, though you don’t know him well. This is your past. Perhaps you know him better now. He doesn’t mean you any harm. It’s possible that you are one of these swords.”

“My brother,” I said.

“You’re trying to get him to go somewhere. He doesn’t want to. He’s busy. You can see that. You’re starting to panic.” She frowned and drew her fingers across the card’s surface. She came to the second card. It was the world, upside down. I saw America, and Europe, far away. They were golden continents in black oceans. The card was bordered with gold. Without opening her eyes, she traced it. “Someone made a promise to you,” she said. “They said everything would be all right.” Quickly, her hand moved to the next card. King of swords. “They lied.”

Art by Anonymous

Text by Lucie MacAulay

Pack

She pulled the car forward, holding her hand over the stick, foot poised over the gas. The rumble from the engine vibrated in her bones. She turned up the music, just south of deafening. The bass was angry and fast enough to dissolve her thoughts. From the corner of her eye Alexa made an expression in her own car. It was a smile. Or something like it. The corner of her mouth lifted. She kept her eye on the red light.

Yellow now. Piper look ahead at the empty road. Sparse with lights, it looked as dark as the woods. The black shapes of trees twisted at the side of the road. It was hard, looking at the road, to remember that it had ever been day. Piper’s hand clenched on the stick. The car was a beast beneath her. It didn’t care that she was about to run it ragged. It was on her side. It wanted to win.

Green.

The cars burst forward, hurtling down the road toward the highway. They were streaks of light, electric and feral as animals. Piper pressed on the gas, throwing the car into second gear as she did so. Alexa was abreast of her; but Piper could tell that she was a few inches behind. She might make up those inches on a turn. Piper shifted gear again. The car roared and spat dust.

Art by Martin Masai Anderson

Text by Lucie MacAulay