by Marcus Speh
The city grew around the small brick house like an oyster around a dark pearl of uncertain nature. Inside the house, the two old people moved little as if saving themselves for a long journey. Outside, the brown village road turned high and black as the city swallowed the suburbs and spread its tentacles, touching more and more lives, eating more and more bodies, tying people and animals to its rhythm: ca- choom, ca-choom, ca-choom.
Marcus Speh is a writer, ex-particle physicist, professor, executive coach, father, former fencer and paratrooper who lives in Berlin, Germany. His fiction has been published in > kill author, Mad Hatters Review, elimae, Metazen, Atticus Review and elsewhere. He blogs at Nothing To Flawnt and has signed “Occupy Writers.”