Wisconsin Notes
- Buffs are on order. If you want one, get $5 to me via PayPal, cash, Venmo, or whatever new app the kids are using nowadays.
- SF/ECSCA is a month away!
- We will be screening a short (~30 min) documentary film one evening during the third week of November to commemorate the five-year anniversary of November Project. Cost is free. We recommend you invite everyone you know.
- Go buy dice right this instant
She runs, she runs, she runs, she runs.
Nothing answers and she runs. Footsteps pock the desert floor, an auburn snowfall in their wake. The rustle of nocturnal animals against the shrubs as her presence startles them to action. Unaware, she runs.
Muscles, joints, ligaments tighten and relax, tighten and relax, tighten and relax. Synapses fire. She traverses the rocky landscape. Malnourished palo verde branches reach out, tear at her clothing, beg for escape. She runs.
The darkness weighs heavy on her shoulders. She runs. The ashen earth ahead is bathed in the light of her headlamp. Images and words and memories fill her brain. Laughter. Excitement. A spark. Gone. Nothing answers. She runs.
She hears nothing. Feels nothing. Her lips threaten to crack; her breath their only respite from the breeze nipping at exposed flesh. Nothingness envelops her. She runs.
The scar remembers. Clumsy footsteps against a ragged megalith. Sharp pain. A flash of crimson. She ran. It throbs, a flagrant reminder that to return would be foolish.
Faint light pierces the darkness. A slight hum. She runs. Brighter. Louder. A final push through the brush. A clearing. The creature disquiets, independent entities moving. Apart. Together. A warm embrace, driving away the bitter cold, the empty darkness. The staccato converges. Clearer. Louder. From a chaos of waves, organization. The entity shouts. Repeats. “Good morning!” She is home.
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