Tag Archives: Rachel Robrecht

Almost Heaven

“We now believe,” a woman in a white lab coat says into a microphone, lit up by flashing cameras, “that the surface of Earth will no longer be viable for human life within 100 days.”  It’s Lyra’s Sunday morning routine to flip through channels on the Holo while her roommate, Alice, makes them breakfast— Pancakes,

Beneath the Surface

Frank Wilson’s eyes blink open three minutes before his alarm. Enough time on the submarine had trained him to sleep in six-hour shifts almost exactly, despite how deep he normally sleeps. He yawns, shuffling out of his bunk until his feet hit the ground. He expects to see the usual — someone asleep across the

Photograph — Oct. 14, 2:42 P.M.

I do not make a habit of taking pictures. It’s something about living in the moment. It’s something about how if I allow myself to start, I fear I might not ever stop, driven by the futile desire to capture and commit everything to a memory external to and far less fallible than my own.

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