Gravedigger
by X. Luma

Land slopes up from the bay into white cliffs upon which sits a cemetery, so high that silent are the waves beneath the mourning doves’ lamentations, perched at their posts before dawn. It was here that Gunther tended the overgrowth, cleared the flowers long wilted and windblown against forgotten gravestones, and wrenched soil from the stubborn ground to lay bodies to earth. It was here that, one winter morning, Gunther met a procession of boatmen, led by their captain, with one such body in tow.

Gorgon
by X. Luma

It was well past midnight when Elise laid her hammer and chisel aside. All the town was in slumber but she, a young sculptress in her studio, awake with discontent before a bust.

“How lifeless,” she said to her sparrow. “Like everything I make.”

The sparrow chirped with its own dismay at the hailstorm raging outdoors. Elise blew the bird a kiss, covered its cage with her cardigan, and then fed the fireplace. Seated before it, she was beginning to drowse when came a knock at the door.