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Calista Robbins 9/10/26 Calista Robbins 9/10/26

The Divided Line: Selah [Part 2]

Memory was a ruthless thing. It festered and enraged and filled the soul with longing, the grief of it capable of stealing his breath away, of leaving him gasping for air and clutching his chest in agony.

It was proof, too. Proof of joy and hope and the existence of good in all the places it was absent now.

Calista Robbins 7/2/26 Calista Robbins 7/2/26

The Divided Line: Selah [Part 1]

Those enemies, Selah and his colleagues had learned of late, included them too. They’d hauled fifty workers off the grounds a week or so ago, shoved them in the back of black armored vans, and shipped them off to that prison across the sound. It’d been such a grand spectacle. A warning, really, to any others who thought to question the corpocratic reign.

Calista Robbins 6/3/26 Calista Robbins 6/3/26

The Divided Line: Juno [Part 2]

She took a long breath, steadied herself, and veered off the main road as soon as the soldiers passed by her. After, it was a short yet steep walk to the hillside entry of the leisure district, a mockery of artistic curiosity. Bio-engineered trees stood in perfect symmetry on either side of the walkway. To the left, the movie theater and the music hall. To the right, the art museum. Each government-sanctioned and carefully curated.

Calista Robbins 5/2/26 Calista Robbins 5/2/26

The Divided Line: Juno [Part 1]

The Divided Line RETURNS.

It had come on suddenly, the sky cracking open with a bolt of electricity and a sharp clap of thunder.

And how fitting a night for it to strike. Nature’s encore of the bombs that’d burst mid-evening. Now the rain smothered the smoking debris and washed clean the bloodied rubble.

Juno tapped the screen of her phone to wake it, heart pounding with nerve-addled hope in the fleeting moments before it illuminated. Hope that Atticus’ name might be on the screen with two words trailing it.

Calista Robbins 1/17/26 Calista Robbins 1/17/26

The Divided Line: Caleb [Part 2]

Caleb knew it was only a matter of time before the stalemate broke, before the soldiers realized that this fever of theirs would neither extinguish silently nor dissipate without action.

The energy that’d surged through the mourners as the night encroached had unleashed a sort of choreomania set in a new dark age, dancing and keening the only reprieve to the grief of so much devastation.