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The Others (2001) is a gothic psychological thriller that explores concepts of truth, deception, and what secrets lie beyond the ring of light we cast around ourselves. Chile-born Alejandro Amenábar wrote, directed, and scored the film, which stars Nicole Kidman, Christopher Eccleston, and Elaine Cassidy. By analyzing the movie’s lighting style, cinematic techniques, and costume… Continue reading Analyzing the Symbolism of Light and Darkness in The Others

The crime occurred in mid-summer when most of the surrounding neighbours had fled to the shore, or an upstate lake in the mountains, or even to the cooler latitudes of Europe. The house, among all the other houses in that venerable neighborhood, was not the most opulent, yet, if only for its sheer size and… Continue reading The Many Temptations of Owen Jenks

That familiar melody reverberated in my head. Each clanging note echoed in my ears, bringing me back from darkness. Tong! Tong! Ting! The ringing tones could only be the sound of the church bells. Ting! Ting! Tong! I remembered hearing them before, but what was the song? I heard it so many times I could… Continue reading Prisoner of the Bell Tower

I never text Ale because I never know where he is. It’s easier to wait and respond to his messages when he’s in town and calls me to do something. Ale chose the most adventurous path for someone with our education — working in cybersecurity for private clients — while I entrenched myself in the… Continue reading Night Market

TRIGGER WARNING: graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore. My craft is forks and knives. The art of the butcher:  The blade is part of you now. Handle smoothed by years of heat and blood, the steel kissed dull and re-sharpened a thousand times. The same weight as your hands. You learn the body by breaking… Continue reading Forks and Knives

(a pantoum) Mary dug through her sundae, unearthing sweet bits,blind to oblique police-woman glances. Indifferent— archeological zeal? Blood, where her right hand rakedher captor’s corpse.Blind to oblique police-woman glances. Indifferent to fluid crusting red to brown to black, fromher captor’s corpse,drying, as she slaked her thirst and ate her first meal.Fluid, crusting red to brown… Continue reading Mary

There’s a grave in my pocket, a hole in my headPocket buries dreams, pride, and trust—While the hole swallows what cannot be named. I reach to remember—but then I forgetTrying triggers the shifting of colours,Spinning wheel—blurring, obscuring— What I saw, breathed, bled into the soil.It strikes between the lungs— Crimson rings my eyes—then burgundydrags mars… Continue reading The Hole in My Head

There is a man who speaks for the dead,Who listed the threes of dread:Air, water, food—Miss one and you’re screwed,He’ll weigh you and measure your head.

Blood red, myFingers dripWith wantingWhat runs away—So far.I chase you like aLike an owl. Quiet as the nightI swoop downHoping to catch youOnce more,Under the moonlight.We dance our—Last dance.Because tonightYou are caught—In me.And no matter how hard you fight,Claw or beg—You are just a mouse.And you cannot scream.Blood red, myFingers dripNot with my blood,But yours,… Continue reading Creature of the Night

I used to play a game with my brother. We’d stand in the backyard and close our eyes. and on three we’d open our eyes and stare directly at the sun for as long as we could bear it. Eventually we’d close our eyes and laugh until the pain went away. Just thinking about that… Continue reading The Elevator

It should be raining. Days like today call for overcast skies and wet pavements. Yet the sun is shining, and I’m eating eggs Benedict topped with avocado. Why are there so many mothers in this cafe? Moms work these days, right? Why are so many moms trudging around with their luggage with a pulse during… Continue reading Birthdays and Death Certificates

Frail, and already damaged, Nolan’s body remained limp. For the seventeenth time in his life, he awoke to his mother hovering above him, a large present in hand. His body had been aching and traumatized for some time now, with part of his abdomen red and engorged. It felt as if something was probing him… Continue reading I Think, Therefore I Am

There was a skeletal continuity to the greasepaint proceedingsin the battered copy of a copy Jobyna Theater on dropout Vaudeville Avenue, the feral homeland of late-blooming flower childrenand the stillbirth of muted trains.Shadows toned with silver salts capered asplucky shopgirl Clara Bow darkened her lipswith the memory of her mother’s madness,a thousand butcher knives forever… Continue reading Intertitles