Architectures of Trauma
My short story, “Architectures of Trauma,” just appeared in The Breakroom Stories, an audio magazine that “evokes the eerie familiarity we all feel with the region between wakefulness and dream.” It’s read by the editor, Carl Fuerst. Below is the introduction and a link to the magazine.
My sleep is a turbulent burst of being, and then I’m awake, then I have to do something, act, live. So many times I have wished my sleep were not like a dash but a marathon. A steady unfolding, and then morning, and illumination of what was dark and hidden. My sleep is not that. In Hypnos’s realm, I am more sinned against than sinning. So I am on the go. Even in the dead of night, which is not dead but roaring and alive, and so too is it for those people I encounter in darkness—a serious problem for them.
A few weeks ago my sleep was a rushing stream pounding over rocks and carrying everything with it until it was damned up with a suddenness so breathtaking it left me gasping. I awoke and an image came to mind: a balloon touching a hot burner on the stove. Bang!
Midnight, wired, geared for action. I fixed a beautiful omelet. Creamy cheddar cheese, delicate fresh scallions, jalapeño peppers. Then I slathered so much salsa on it that it was inedible.
I love beautiful things ruined.