NEW FICTION:

He had a face without malice, as he sat and swayed in a shirt with no buttons. His body moved like a silver ghost, swaying between worlds, swaying before and after small collisions between lives. He hummed to himself, hummed as he swayed. He closed his eyes and fell into the rhythm of his body. His mind drifted across lives, across stories, oceans, worlds, as he swayed and he hummed. His shorn head rippled as it ran through the beams of early and late sunlight. The room stayed quiet, the room stayed still, as he swayed and he hummed in a shirt with no buttons, in a face with no malice.