by Julie Carpenter
Lately I’ve been having some odd experiences with time. So, this going to be an odd, drifting sort of blog post. I like that the topic of the piece is also my excuse for the disorganization of my thoughts. I don’t know where to start, so I will start with a dream I had about eternity. (Yes, my subconscious is an odd place.)
The Midnight Writer
by Jarad Johnson
The Witching Hour. The dead of night. The middle of the night. Midnight evokes within the human imagination an endless source of fascination and dread. It is said that midnight (the time I’m writing this) is the time when the veil between worlds is thinnest. What ghosts may come and tell me their haunting stories of the afterlife? What ghouls and phantoms shall visit me at this perilous hour? If you, like me, are just on the edge of slipping into the world of dreams, you may see something out of the corner of your eye. Was it a cat, a flash of light, or perhaps something more sinister? You may pull the covers just a little tighter, till the cold light of day reimposes logic into your mind.