I already miss home. As expected, moving was a mistake. This house is big and empty. I don’t like big houses; my mother knows that. They make me feel small.
My therapist, a woman in her mid-forties with short hair and small spectacles, clears her throat and finds eye contact with uncomfortable politeness. I admit that I enjoy watching how therapists bend over backward to maintain composure, “Jess, I think you might be Bipolar.”
First it was the chain stores. Dunkin’ Donuts bought out Sal’s. But that was happening to mom-and-pop stores across the country. Not ideal, but what do you expect nowadays? Then it was the people who swooped in and claimed to save the diner on the corner from closing. Now the only pierogies I can get are filled with avocado and salmon and some kind of berry I can’t pronounce.
She hits my foot from under the table. First it’s a mistake, then she beams up at me and does it again, on purpose this time. We both laugh. “What’s funny?” they ask. “Nothing,” we say. Her giggles sound more like squeaks. These moments with Jade follow a formula.
"Ditches here were layered; you got a front-line ditch, reserve line, and then artillery just outside the ditches. Each ditch was only about five feet wide, but they went on for miles to the flanks. This ditch was part of one that went clear across France and Belgium. Some people take comfort in the ditches’ snaked length, in their womb-like innards and phallic shape. At some point in the war every inch of it had been moved."
"We went to Iceland knowing there had been a history of elf sightings. We were a team of highly trained professionals searching for a truth we had only heard rumors of, and when we found it, we struggled with the decision to disseminate the information."
"If I were in the stands, I would see the smoke rising from the barrel of the gun, well before we will hear it go off from the starting blocks. The speed of light travels close to three hundred million meters per second faster than the speed of sound. Silence is what we’re left with."
Dive into the woods with this interactive hypertext, which narrates three folk tales concerning the theme of the Old Crone. Will you escape, or become prey to the mysterious old witches who live in the woods?