Stories abound. They are everywhere. Some stories are massive and glorious like a monument, a structure of marble and stained glass. Some are humble and simple like a puff of cloud or a puddle of water. And some stories–most perhaps–are somewhere in between, small, but complex, more than first meets the eye…like a feather.
Everyone has stories. Here, I will tell you some of mine.
“The volcano was so huge that when the sun rose in the east, it would crest upon the highest peak of the volcano, and it would look like the volcano was bringing the light of the sun to the people who lived below.”Continue reading
I could not see the edge of the knife, but I felt the promised bite of the blade at the base of my tail. Courage is a strange thing. For when you think you have it, you are wrong. And when you think you don’t have it…you are wrong.
When I stepped ever-so-carefully onto that dais where the Ritual was to begin, I thought I had all the courage I would need.
“I like that it’s black,” she said. “And those designs are so cool. There’s so much detail. Why doesn’t ours look like this? I might even use it if it looked like this. Wait…” She turned to me. “Do you think it still works?”
I peered at the machine sitting on the kitchen table, the sewing machine that I had inherited from my grandmother almost fifteen years ago. Long before Selma was born. I hadn’t laid eyes on it in all that time (even the few times I’d moved, I’d kept it packed away or covered). And before that, I’d never seen it at all. Continue reading
“How can we know for certain what the truth is, unless we seek to find it?” an aphid named Quintillion argued.
She kept her wings respectfully folded as she stood before the Council of Grand Numerators. But she dared to sweep aside the train of glittering white filaments that plumed from her back, a particular characteristic of her tribe.
“They came out of the primordium, just as we did,” she said. “They are not beasts. They are an intelligent species. They are potential companions.”Continue reading
Chloe glanced again at the handsome man who was lingering at a sculpture. The sculpture was a caryatid, a column shaped like a woman, in this case, a celestial being. He gazed up at the stone carving of the heavily robed Herald of the Gods. The Herald too seemed to gaze down at him. She pointed up to the heavens with a hand that held a scroll, the scroll upon which was written the spell that brought the world into being. Her other arm bent gracefully behind her head. The sculptor had captured the moment just before the herald unrolled the scroll and read the spell. The moment when she stretched after a long journey from the center of creation to its outer edge, where the gods had deigned the mortal world should be placed. The moment before she spoke the spell and the world bloomed into existence.Continue reading
Sometimes a thing isn’t good or evil in itself. The sequence is a thing like this. It becomes good or evil when you touch it. If you are good, it becomes good. If you are evil, it becomes evil. But we humans…we are both. What happens when we touch it?
Sam lay her fingers on the page where those words were written. The man who’d written them had been dead for almost a century.Continue reading