Rosa Vasquez

The fissure, in the dome remained contained.

It inhaled.

A gradual breath in a more gradual breath out as if the alley itself were discovering the mechanics of breathing. The six crimson eyes within never blinked. They simply observed us as we shuffled off calm as subway rodents convinced we’d return. I sensed their gaze on the back of my neck along, warm and damp, like the sensation of someone staring at you in a packed train just before the doors shut.

I was trailing behind ...