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.

Welcome to Storyfeather.

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Ritual of the Thirteen Eyes

“The eyeballs don’t have to be human,” Jamie said.

This was one of those times that made me wonder, Why am I still friends with Jamie?

“Have you seen a single horror movie?” I asked. “Or—I don’t know—delved into human history? Every single time people mess with forces they don’t understand, it bites them in the butt. Or worse. Much, much worse.”

“This isn’t a movie.”

“Hold on, let me write that down, so I can tell the guy who carves your headstone.”

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The Dry Watery Death

Detector Allen turned to the young reporter and said, “It’s clear to me what’s happened here.”

The reporter, Marie, peered down at the images from the crime scene, and the police report displaying in the bottom right corner of the tabletop screen. She moved the images.

They had been allowed access to the police case file of a man who died mysteriously in his home. The cause of death was drowning. He was dry from head to toe when found, but lying around him were strangely shaped puddles. Some jagged. Some in chunks. One wedged beneath his tongue.

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Renegade in the Demon Dimension

You might say it’s inadvisable to purposefully traverse into the demon dimension.

In truth, you might say it’s madness.

But the Renegade doesn’t take sightseers. Her mission, her mandate, is not mockery.

That would indeed be madness. To mock a single demon.

Much less an entire realm full of them.

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Trapped in a Star Core

“They’re still existent?”


“Both of them?”

“Only one has responded, but according to their report, yes, both are existent.”

A pause, as the technicians gazed at the display of the strangely pulsing star. At last one of them spoke again, eight quiet words.

“Someone has to go in and get them.”

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The Ragged Eel

Yes, we are pirates.

And no, we will not hurt you.

You have no reason to believe me. I have reason to convince you. But your thoughts belong to you, not us. What you have belongs to you, not us. Unless you have too much.

And who is to judge what is too much? Why, we are.

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The Hydrozoan BonBons

It started with the pink fairy armadillo. That was the first of his confectionary creations that I ever laid eyes on. He confessed to me later that he had never seen the creature himself. It was not truly a fairy. But it lived in a distant land. He had read a traveler’s account, and this traveler had painted the loveliest watercolors of the little creature.

Delmar was drawn to the creature, because he too came from a distant realm. Although, in his case, this realm was not upon the land.

But I did not know that when first we met.

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The Potion of Pomeline

The troupe was led by a girl who was barely older than the girls she led.

Pomeline was her name.

They twirled and they tumbled. They leapt and they tapped. Skip and glissade. Skip and glissade. They were charming, and fairly skilled.

But they were not the best.

Pomeline wanted them to be the best.

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