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Brad MacDuff
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Brad MacDuff
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Kaohsiung, TAIWAN, PROVINCE of CHINA
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She lay awake, thinking about nothing and everything; of cotton and chaos, of hyacinth and thistles. Traffic droned outside. Traffic always droned. Headlights cast patterns across the ceiling; they m…
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The Distance Between Here and There
There must be millions, maybe billions of signals flying through the air, through walls and through people, he thought.
Untitled
“When did the future stop being a promise and become a threat?” / “Where did you read that?” she asks. She doesn’t wait for my answer. She …
Autumn Leaves
The sky looks like asphalt and the clouds are stained with oil; rainbows ripple, but they’re slick and false. It’s a day to sta…
Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk?
“Why is a raven like a writing desk? I’ve asked myself this question since I knew what a question was to ask. Possibly since be…
Goodbye
“Funny thing about waiting,” he said. “It ceases to be a way to pass time and becomes time itself.” / “Waitin…
A walk in the dark
The boy sat alone on the rooftop. The pitch was steep and the edge of the house disappeared into the night below. Above him, stars fought s…
A random day to be remembered
He watched the ripples roll across his calves and thought, “How much like days.” / His pants were rolled up to his knees and th…
A Conversation Between Strangers
He didn’t like scotch, much, but he liked the way ice sounded in a scotch glass.
Always North
He listens to his feet in the snow – that cornstarch sound sets his teeth on edge. It always has. It resonates through his molars lik…
I walked tonight; upon streets that haven’t seen the soles of my feet for more than a decade. There’s something about putting …
Nepal, day 1
It was called the Excelsior – the kind of hotel that had begun like a faded memory and aged from there. A uniformed security guard st…
Past Lives
She walked without purpose, a trail of perfume dragged behind her like a sad kite on a windless day. Her clothes shone, gaudy in the light …
The Man Who Spoke With Skins
Their conversation was sparse, like pigeons against the sky, but the sound of his voice made her aware of an empty space within her chest.
Wide Eyed and Gap Toothed
“The rich will always be rich, and the poor will always be poor,” he says. I seem to always remember him sitting in that specia…
The Knocking of Hands
There seems to be a lag from my eyes to my brain, or perhaps I’m thinking fast enough to watch the light move from the screen to my p…
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