FOR ITS BLUE FLICKERING If you take cobalt as a simple salt and dissolve it—if you dip a small metal loop in such a solution and place it in a standard flame, it burns a brilliant blue, the flame itself bluer than the richest of skies in summer. I wanted to be that […]
In the second installment of our new interview series, “Take Four,” we talk to contributor C. Dale Young about his new work in short fiction, the subtle differences between poetry and prose, and the alchemy of characterization.
You never know you want to live until someone tells you that you will die. For four years, Leenck had worked from home processing accounts for an investment firm. Leenck was dying. Suffice it to say, he was painfully aware now that he was dying. He had already gone to the bank and withdrawn all of his savings: at the counter waiting for this manager or that supervisor to sign this or that form, the teller had looked at him that morning as if she knew, as if she, too, knew he was dying. It was as if everyone were staring at him.