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Satchels swung from the fenceposts snagged on the barbs by the passerby’s whipping past on steel steed with wind on their heels chasing a pint of mead. Rusted eyes would catch a glimpse of the bags against the sun, oiled eons past when the mechs tilled the land, bound to happen again once hatch the…

Alice-Bruderer-art

The canopy was a sandwich of eyes and dew-drenched leaves. We had all but to shift our gaze to see blinks that would start a rainfall. We inched closer to the clearing, their movements becoming more intense with each of our steps and their eyes starting to glow like the edges of these links. Alice…