It was the year 2063 and romance was dead.
Advertisers had killed it…
Nick Stokes writes about walking barefoot, bees, beseeching and Beckett.
Roy and Melissa stood in the entryway. The large room to their left and the small one to their right were both empty. A naked staircase ascended before them toward more blank, sky blue rooms. Every wall in the house was sky blue.
Fiction and metafiction overlap in the latest story from Nick Stokes.
Nick Stokes continues his exploration of an affair, imaginary and real.
Maria sat cross-legged on the living room floor surrounded by piles of little white receipts. There was a giant mound for groceries, a large pile for credit card payments, a small one for fun, home repairs, schooling… It was like looking back through a diary. She picked up a receipt that was for one marriage counseling session and wondered which pile to put it in.
The Author makes it home with his youngest, his only, daughter. It’s late, early in the afternoon but late for nap. He has been calling Lilly’s name in the car and poking her in the backseat to keep her awake so she wouldn’t take a fifteen-minute nap that replaced a two-hour nap. He has been minimally successful and does not know what will come of naptime. The final chapter on their morning excursion has yet to be written, though it is no longer morning.
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