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 swallow was a happy bird, but also somewhat superior. Nothing brought her joy the way flying did. Slicing through the clouds and flicking the air with the perfect points of her tail. She believed that birds were the supreme creatures of the world. Because they could fly. Some insects could fly as well, of course. But birds could fly higher, faster, and farther than any insect. Continue reading
“What did you come here looking for, Dorian?” she asked.
A rumble of thunder sounded outside. And the rain seemed to thicken. Instead of the quick but distinct droplets, there were now just splashes and slaps of water hitting the little house that had been converted into the psychic’s parlor. The lights flickered.Continue reading
Aunt Mariya was an alchemist, and she wanted to travel to other dimensions, beginning with the dimension just above our own. She believed that there were many versions of our world, and that each person traveled through all of these versions before arriving at their ultimate home, which she merely called the afterworld.
When she was asked what sort of device or vehicle she proposed to build to take her to these other dimensions, she gave an unexpected answer.
“There’s no need for this,” Morgan said, glancing over to his right shoulder, where a heavy hand lay on him, holding him in place. “I came willingly.”
He was in the living room of the woman who had introduced herself as A.J. The woman whom he suspected was responsible for the “resurrections.” Morgan hadn’t quite figured out what term he would use for it in his story.Continue reading