‘Subsoil,’ in Redivider 11.1


This piece was retrieved from an old archive of my online writing—there will likely be some rough edges!

I just received my contributor copies of Redivider 11.1, and couldn’t be more thrilled to have a story among its pages. The rush of seeing one’s own work in print is one that never dulls. An excerpt to entice you to buy a copy:

Quentin and Anna are driven underground when the fires come, as is the rest of the prepared world, but there’s one thing about their standard-issue underground shelter he can’t understand: all the walls are rebar-filled concrete, except for one. There’s an eight-by-eight square of dirt wall behind their shelving of freeze-dried food. It makes no sense. Why, against nine other complete walls made of load-bearing concrete, would the specifications leave one that reeks of clay? He can’t stop thinking about it, and there’s little else to occupy him. Sometimes, he finds himself lost in thought, starting at the wall until he begins to understand why cave-dwellers go white, begin to lose their eyes.

On the eighteenth day, when Quentin finally touches the dirt, it’s cold. Crumbs fall between his toes. Anna steps in and he can feel the breath charge out of her.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I’m just curious,” he says. “Nothing to worry about.”

~Buy a copy! Buy a copy! Buy a copy! Read my story!~

Unfortunately, in 2022, Redivider's web presence is... lacking. I don't even think it's possible to buy a copy of any issue of the journal today.

Look, it’s beautiful on the outside, too.

Contributor copy of Redivider 11.1