The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged.
“I let them into the library to steal the books. They say they’re going to digitize everything. In time, we can write our own.” – excerpt from Daylight under the Geofence, speculative fiction by Robin Wyatt Dunn #TheMetaworker #ForgeFriday
“…she finds her balance again, inside her head, atop the roller skates.” excerpt from Skate Country by Robin Wyatt Dunn #MetaworkerMonday #TheMetaworker
“The river of silence passes through the large classroom trough, its charcoal sides soft and cool to the touch.”
#TheMetaworker #MetaworkerMonday
“Older brother?” “Not now, I’m busy.” The papers shuffled make a noise like a river on a bank. “Older brother?” “What is it?” “Nothing.” Outside …
Sometimes I come out here to think—I’m tempted to say “about death,” but that isn’t socially acceptable, and not quite true. Not even death’s cousin, …
The burial begins slow, carrying up the earth over the barrow for the devils, each in turn highing their breath and turning over the gravel, …
The prison is like a Victorian asylum, and carefully arranged. The grounds are tastefully laid out, each tree with its own hillock of greeenery and …
sky shocked nightterrific lashesturning bright the nails in the coffin of the bluetrembling each one of us appointedlike idle children choosing teamsour regaliaonly ordinary hats …
now in the park july no– no parks are left. we survive inside the maelstrom of infinity, a glitch inside the program of identity late …
The darkness should be the first clue, like it was not just a memory but an encounter, both in past and present: of the future. …
I guess I never told you about Texas, long and sweet in the evening, boiling jelly, about mom’s temperature, stuck in the oven: The best …
I knew already, struck with the phantasm of a dream that I had taken the reins of my life at last. Like a drowning man …
We will not subside, for there can be no epiphany; we march into the sand for the egrets, hunting them with our knives. No other …
Come with me, it won’t be far; we have all night, and the seasons with it, in your heart: I’m dying. I’ll tell you about …
