Author: translunartravelerslounge

Jeffreylynn was working the counter at Universally Sweet Cafe when the other dimension opened right on top of hers.

Chief Adewale always said his wheelchair was faster than most people’s legs, and he had seventy-two years of evidence to back it up. Every morning, while Ibadan’s streets clattered awake with danfo horns, roasted plantain smoke, and market women shouting “Oya, bring your money here!”, Adewale positioned himself at the top of Oke Bola slope and called out to the neighborhood children.

The goat was there again, legs tucked, waiting outside the station.

Check your skin at the door.

The spacecraft crashed when I was taking my six-year-old son to what had to be the most chaotic soccer organization north of Sacramento.

My love is pixelated letters and symbols made by keypads in a locked chatroom on an irc network so encrypted, even botnet overlords would not be granted admittance. My love is algae-rich pools in the courtyards of forgotten buildings waiting for demolition.

The priests had read the signs and the signs were clear: the Phoenix was returning to Heliopolis.

“What do you mean, you don’t believe in the oracle?”

The first man to summon me is Whitney, my boatswain on the Dharini. This is how I learn that Virat didn’t cremate me. My body still lies on the white sand of our cove, rotting in the turquoise waters of the Laccadive Sea.

My grandma used to say “every terrible thing will fade when that blessed day comes, my dear.” Now that it’s finally happening my only comfort is that she isn’t around to be disappointed.