Mark Reep

New Year's Day

I never remember falling asleep, or the face of that kind angel who tends my dreams. Here baby, take another spoonful of laudanum. It’ll still the shakes, cure what ails you. At dawn the city seems remote, silent. Ecstatic frostblooms etch the French doors. New snow dusts the balcony. Are those my footprints?

The elevator waits, doors open, beckoning, but I grow afraid, seek the stairs. No one answers the bell at the front desk. Across the lobby a smiling woman lowers a yellowed newspaper. “Oh, they’ve all gone.”

Mark Reep (American, b. 1960) is an artist and writer whose drawings, fiction, and reviews have appeared in American Art Collector, Bluecanvas, cur.ren.cy, Endicott Journal, Metazen, and Word Riot. He was founding editor of Ramshackle Review, and is represented by West End Gallery, Corning, New York; Atlas Fantasy Art House, Carmel, Indiana; Jardine Gallery, Perth, Scotland. Visit his website (http://markreep.net) and blog (http://markreep.blogspot.com).
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