Author: M. Vincent Lovay
-
Ghost Roads
“A woman’s voice is audible far away. She’s singing opera but the sound is so warped and distorted by blocks of intervening architecture that the song has become plaintive and ghostly. This sound, the orange light, the long shadows, the smell of ash in the air – one finally has a brief glimpse of antiquity,…
-
Sleepwalking
“When I close my eyes the dream persists, so too the colors, the sounds, the feel of uneven pavement under my feet. There’s a warmth here, and I inhabit it as long as possible, staving off the black, crawling courtyards of unconsciousness.”
-
Cloudburst
“I feel a hand on my shoulder and before I know what’s happening I’m pulled under a grape-seller’s tent. My apparent savior looks at me like I’m crazy: what on earth was I doing out there in the rain? I give him an obliging smile and he offers me a cigarette. My tentmates, though dripping…
-
‘Empire of Light’ featured in Cardinal Sins
“Finally the sirens crest the howling winter, wailing off-key and plaintive like a wanderer lost in borderless tundra. She’s nauseated by the sound, and she opens the back door a crack to let the wind in. Snow melts into her clothing in dark pools, and the pain of the cold shuts out the gradual paramedic…
-
‘Homesick’ selected for Crack the Spine’s print quarterly
“Anichka’s footsteps banged out restless spirals through the dust and shadow, receded, and then were gone. I stayed on the floor, motionless in some sort of starry languor, and imagined the river. I thought of its reflections, though I couldn’t tell if the waters reflected the moon or merely an old warehouse lightbulb.”
-
Two stories published in Cardinal Sins; ‘Anise Mints’ wins first prize
“I thought of the girl again, picturing her at a lonely little table at one of the bars across the river, all of which were invisible now for the floating laker. I imagined her nursing a gin and bitters, smiling in her own curious way, running a hand through her hair, drumming her fingers on…
-
‘Homesick’ featured in Crack the Spine
“Anichka nodded and gave me another cigarette. I took a few puffs and stared into the night sky, thinking of ancient sailors, centuried mariners forced to read their existence only by constellations and lunar phases, godly maps that, to them, were surely more real than the dull planks of the ships they sailed, more real…
-
Terminal Illness
“I must be back in America. It’s difficult to keep track sometimes, and to occupy myself I try to count the number of time zones I’ve crossed. What time is it where I’ve come from? What time is it at home? And where is home anymore?”
