Register Friday | July 20 | 2018
Spilt Photographs by Ian Patterson.

Spilt

New fiction from jia qing wilson-yang.

The rain on the window woke him. He looked through the makeshift curtain thumbtacked over her window; it left an irregular opening that let in too little of the timeless grey morning light for him to know if it was late or early. Trying not to wake her, he slipped out of bed and found his shirt on the floor. She inhaled sharply when his weight left the bed, but did not wake.

Water poured against the windows. Her fourteenth-floor apartment was often within the cloud ceiling on a rainy day and the presence of the clouds this morning shrank the world outside. He moved through sleepy flashes of dream fragments. Memories, moments before or years after they happened, passed as if looking up at the surface of a lake from underwater, the sunlight shifting in a wave. But whatever pieces of dream or memory were floating by didn’t ...

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