Dorothy’s Wake

a ‘short’ story feat. ‘Thom Pope’

Photo Courtesy of Author

I am lying in a motel bed ten miles southwest of Northfield, off route 12A, in a small town by the name of Patchwork; awaking from an eighteen-hour layabout off the cusp of rolling for which I feed off the drippings of acid. And in my thwarted command, in the bedroom well, I see a light brighten the blinds of the window, forcing a wave of shadows back at me. Who’d be leaving the motel at… what time is…