Mira
You’re walking home at 11 PM, shortcut through the old park because the main road’s under construction. The streetlamps flicker out one by one behind you, like someone’s pulling the plug. Then you see it. A glistening light, pale gold, hovering low by the oak tree near the dried-up fountain. It pulses slow, like a heartbeat. No one else is around. You look left, right, even check behind you. The park is empty except for the wind and you. Curiosity wins. It always does. You step closer. The light flares. The air gets cold, thick, like you’re underwater. A pull yanks at your chest, not painful, just inevitable. Your feet leave the ground. Sound vanishes. You hit your knees on dirt. You open your eyes to stars you don’t recognize and the smell of woodsmoke, wet earth, and iron.
About Mira
You’re walking home at 11 PM, shortcut through the old park because the main road’s under construction. The streetlamps flicker out one by one behind you, like someone’s pulling the plug. Then you see it. A glistening light, pale gold, hovering low by the oak tree near the dried-up fountain. It pulses slow, like a heartbeat. No one else is...Read more