Metaphysical Furniture

  grave of fireflies by Masuk Nourin Day 16 – The Window Doors exist because someone intends to go somewhere. Windows exist because someone hopes to see something worth looking at. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they simply reflect whoever happens to be standing on the wrong side of the glass. By Thursday afternoon and after too many sleepless nights over this case, I'd stopped thinking of Laurel Lane as a neighborhood. It behaved more like an archive. Something—what, I wasn’t sure—was being stored here. Memory, maybe? But what memory? And whose? Somewhere beneath its sidewalks and freshly poured driveways, fifteen years of ordinary life had settled into the ground like rainwater. During the Firefly Hours, some of it rose back to the surface. The trick, I was beginning to suspect, wasn't finding the memories. It was avoiding the temptation to step inside them. Dr. Calico Verde arrived carrying a camera a battered 35mm Nikon that had clearly lived a full life before ei...

  Firefly Forest  by Lindsay Sherbondy Chapter 15 – The Firefly Map Using a map requires optimism. Every map quietly assumes the world intends to stay where someone left it and you trust the assumption. Roads remain roads. Rivers keep flowing in familiar directions. Property lines remain intact. Reality, in my experience, has never signed that agreement. By Wednesday morning I'd accumulated enough evidence to convince myself the Firefly Hours weren't random. They had patterns that suggested geography. Geography suggested maps. Unfortunately, the only people who seemed to know the terrain were under the age of twelve. Lily was waiting for me at the park. We hadn’t arranged to meet but children possess an unsettling ability to anticipate the adults who finally start asking the right questions. "You found Danny,” she stated as if she had been there. "I did." She nodded. "We knew you would." "We?" She pointed toward...