by Ross McMeekin | Jan 25, 2017
Owen watched Aubrey press her palm into a thick patch of speckled moss girdling the trunk of an old Douglas fir. The move was gentle and precise, how a mime might seek an invisible wall, and he couldn’t help but imagine her locked up in some dark basement, kidnapped,...
by Ross McMeekin | Dec 31, 2013
In my mid twenties I lived in Los Angeles for a few years, long enough to grow accustomed to the sprawl that reached in all directions, inhibited only by mountain ranges and the ocean. The human mind has an incessant need to categorize, not excepting people,...
by Ross McMeekin | Feb 1, 2013
My son stares at the mazes of rusted, graffiti-scrawled pipes. He asks what they’re for. The real answer is boring, so I say, “Scientific experiments on aliens.” “Someday I’m going to live here,” he says. The structure is actually a skeleton of an old gasworks factory...
