top of page
Month of June '26
Week 1: a camera photographs things 24 hours before it happens
Week 2: the phone booth only rings when people make terrible choices
I found the old camera at a garage sale. Film still inside. I asked how much and the seller shrugged: "Five bucks." I took it home and developed the roll, the photos showing things that hadn't happened yet: a car crash on my street with a stranger crying on my porch. I checked the timestamp. Tomorrow. I tried to warn people. No one believed me. So I stayed home. I locked the doors, and waited till 3:47 p.m.
It sits on the corner of Main Street, rusted and neglected. Nobody has touched it for years. But every once in a while, it rings. And when it does, someone, somewhere, is about to do something they can't undo. I've heard it ring three times in my life. Once when my father got in his car after drinking. Once when my best friend said yes to a stranger. Once when my sister picked her job. Unfortunately, I didn't answer any of them.
My work
Work from participant
Week 3: you recieve a package in the mail, but the postmark in 100 years ago
Week 4: write a poem that tells a story, each line's first letter going in alphabetical order
The box had been sitting on the counter for almost a week. I contemplated throwing it away. There was no return address, yet the faded stamp with my written name captivated me to keep it, yet terrified me to open it. The postmark read March 9th, 1970. I assumed it was a joke, some seller trying to be clever. But the box was too heavy to be a prank. Inside was a pocket watch. Gold, tarnished, engraved with initials that weren't mine but looked familiar. A small note was tucked beneath the chain. A photo of my great-grandfather. Giving me his permission to have it, wear it, and carry on his company in watches.
A boy once found a key.
Beneath a tree, buried deep.
Carefully, he brushed the dirt.
Down on his knees, he searched.
Every inch he dug and clawed.
Finally, the metal showed.
Gold and rust, tangled together.
He held it up against the light.
Inside his chest, something stirred.
Just a key, but it felt like more.
Knowing not what door it opened,
Late that night, he tried the lock.
Morning came. The door swung wide.
Nothing behind it but the sky.
Work from participant
Work from participant
bottom of page