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They were, I guess. 70% sure, they said

though now        fairly certain, yes, end times.

Yes, and somehow somewhat anticlimactic

without the boiling rivers, definitely thought there'd be—

but end times all the same, just

dropping dead and just        really dropping like

everyone jumping from skyscrapers and making

squishy carpets like        worse than shag and bloodier—

yes, bloody as promised, so I guess there's that

but I was hoping for invaders, space or otherwise—

something flashy, drawn-out, good

on camera, go out swinging, very dashing

stuff you know? but no. just brain invasions or bugs

or everybody shrugging a shoulder        one shoulder

one eyebrow and all the way down, all falling

all failing to brace upon impact because—

not sure. I guess it didn't matter or

never mattered        I guess we're all just waiting now

for the right building, with the right arches

for the right moment to throw ourselves off, out, down.




Sarah Terry (sarah@sarahterry.com) is currently a student in the MFA program at the University of New Hampshire. When not in class, she sings operas, stargazes, and works at a children's museum. Her work has previously appeared in Cthulhu Haiku & Other Mythos Madness.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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