Posts Tagged "kat howard"
The Face of Heaven So Fine
by Kat Howard There is an entire history in the stars. Light takes time to travel, to get from wherever the star is to wherever we can see it, here, on Earth. So when you think about it, when we see the stars, we are looking back in time. Everything those stars actually shone on has already happened. But just because a story already happened, that doesn’t mean it’s finished. **** Juliet was the bleeding heart of a story, made flesh and made gorgeous. She was all eyeliner and fishnets, the kind of girl who looked like she’d carve designs on her own skin, not because she was trying to hurt herself, but just for the beauty of it, you know? It wasn’t ever...
Read MoreMurdered Sleep
By Kat Howard Kora had heard the rumors. They were everywhere that fall, blown on the wind along with the golden fans of fallen ginkgo leaves. Everyone claimed to know someone who had been invited, though Kora spoke to no one who had attended. People told stories of masks and decadence, of a play that might have been a bacchanalia, of something that wasn’t a play at all, but rather an enfleshed dream masquerading as a drama. Of impossibility made concrete and stone in the condemned hallways of an abandoned building. The invitation arrived with the rest of Tuesday’s post, unstamped and unmarqued. Heavy, black stock, printed in silver-gilt, and sealed with bordeaux...
Read MoreA Life in Fictions
by Kat Howard He wrote me into a story again. I told him to stop doing that, after we broke up. In fact, it was one of the reasons we broke up. I mean, being a muse is all well and good, until you actually become one. The first time it happened, I was flattered. And it wasn’t like my normal life was so great that I was going to miss it, you know? So getting pulled into that world—a world he had written just for me, where I was the everything, the unattainable, the ideal—was pretty powerful. When he finished the story, and I came back to the real world, the first thing I did was screw him until my thighs ached. It was our first time together. He said it was the...
Read MoreThe Speaking Bone
By Kat Howard The island itself was made from bones. There was a church, in another land, similarly constructed. The decayed flesh of the saints slipped from its underlying architecture, the white bones, sacred and incorruptible, incarnating the holy place. But the Kostnice Ossuary had been built. Hands that would become bones, themselves, set the pieces in place. Divinely inspired, but a mortal work. The island had made itself. It began, as these things do, with a woman, and a man. An unanswered question, and a death by water. It began with the shipwrecked and the lost. Their bones were whited of excess flesh by the small and skittering denizens of the sea. The shapes...
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