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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.

The Hunter and the Crypt

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He wore not a scrap of clothing as he lay on the grimy dirt within the coffin, so I could see that his entire body bore a ghastly green pallor. His toes and fingers were abnormally long and thin, and the toes even seemed to taper to points as the nails had grown back deformed. His ears too were long and tapered. The serene and contented smile on his face struck me as obscene. Continue reading

The Fly Upon My Mantel

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“I have a story to tell you that you will not believe,” the fly said.

I listened. Because if I believed that a fly could speak, then I was more than ready to hear what she had to say.

And I did believe, after a fashion, when I realized that the tiny voice I’d heard whispering my name was coming from the fly that was perched on the edge of my mantel.

~~~ Continue reading

My Homunculus Is Malfunctioning

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“My homunculus is malfunctioning.”

I could feel it, shifting around in my chest, as I waited for the on-call doctor to respond. The doctor’s badge indicated that he didn’t have one, so I didn’t think he would understand, but as I began to speak, to describe what had been happening to me over the past few weeks, his questions and observations revealed that he understood quite well. And he came to this conclusion.

My homunculus was malfunctioning. Continue reading

Six Fools and the Dragon

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Six fools ran from the dragon’s fire, but only one of them was her husband.

There was the wizard in blue robes with a green-jeweled magic staff. There was the armored knight who bore a shield that guarded against flame. There was the jungle barbarian and the mystical fire-cat. There was the sprightly archer. And then there was the mustachioed scoundrel, who had assembled them all. His beloved wife had been lost to an enchantment, an enchantment that was impossible to break. Impossible, that is, for a single man, even if he were a devoted spouse. Continue reading