Miss-Dino

  A great mystery runs through the northern woods. For miles, the sea of trees is cut by a great winding path, as wide as an oak is tall. Something has stripped away the trees and forest floor, leaving the bedrock to grow moss. Beneath the moss, you can find little pictures and patterns. The shapes of fish, plants, and insects, none like anything I’ve seen anywhere else. Sometimes I find them on smaller rocks, and take them home. I have to hide them, though. If Raedvard hears that anyone has ventured onto the path, he shouts at them, and strikes them with his walking stick.    It seems like a strange thing to do for someone so quiet an

Fractal webs of orange light break the black continent, like nebulae in the starry void. Distant clouds against the sunset give the illusion of a ghostly mountain range. I’m trying to pretend that I’m somewhere else; wandering the Sonoran desert or deep in the valley of Gwangi. In reality, I am trapped in an eternal back-and-forth. It’s like a depressing version of Dewdney’s Planiverse, the only two possible directions being back and forth. Home and school. I remember when flying was a magical experience, rather than a monthly commute. I fly, and I FLI.