Set in a near-future version of the American Midwest, Michael Credico’s novella, Technicolor Horses, explores the disaster of an Ohio community caught in chaos and how trust erodes alongside their drought-ridden ecosystem. Water is scarce. Loved ones are missing. Systems are breaking down. And nobody seems able to make sense of it all. Technicolor Horses is part warning, part elegy, and part deeply human yearning for what might still be possible, taking readers through a surrealist heartland where no one is sure who’s still in charge. In a whirlwind of ditchdiggers replaced by interns, protestors wearing rubber horse masks, flooded streets and lost spouses and children, these fragmented stories ask what happens when the familiar unravels—when memory lapses, language fails, and even a flood feels personal.  With dry observation and quiet sorrow, Credico builds his narrative on the lives shaped by loss, surveillance, and strange, flickering, dwindling hope in a world with few answers and no real heroes. And though the horses, once vivid, begin to fade, they don’t stop loping.