A little something in case you can’t sleep.
Delicate, Fingerless I found some 3 a.m. turbulence in pitch black sleeping beside the railroad tracks off Wilson Road. Is it yours? I followed it through the alleyway down Dead House Row, then it stopped and stood still. I tapped it on the shoulder and it turned. Its face: a drawing of someone standing in a window. It made a grand sound. A low moan. No skin and all gloom. It became a hungry woman with hissing hair and scales for scalp. Does it need medication? Do you miss it entirely, like a cut-down breast misses her blood engine? It wants to remember you. I talk to it. Offer names that might bring comfort. When I say William, it licks its lips. When I sing Mary, Mary it sways and sways. When I ask where it came from, it mouths that empty girl. -Rachel McKibbens
And if you think you’ll be up for a while, she puts some pretty sensational writing prompts up on her blog.