A Handbook of Universal Truths

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I glanced at the clean white bandage wrapped around her left hand and a good ways down her wrist.

“It’s going to be all right,” I said.  “I’m here to help.”

The steely-eyed woman sitting across from me in the booth gave a single nod.  She wasted no time on small talk and launched straight into her first question.

“The Axiom Enchiridion, ever heard of it?” Continue reading

The Thief, the Fairy, and the Raven

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The thief fell from the tower’s upper window.  She had lost her precarious grip on the pitted brick.  She remembered that she should roll herself up into a loose ball to protect her head and neck.  But by the time she remembered, she had already struck the first branch of the tree in the orchard below.  Then she struck another and another.  Scratched and thrashed and bounced about, she finally reached the ground, thankful that the soil was soft.  She lay there for far too long a moment.  The breath had been knocked out of her.  And she feared moving for fear she might discover that she could not. Continue reading

The Hollow Temple

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When the young woman appeared, garbed in robes of green and a wide belt of scarlet, the two treasure-seekers understood at once that she was the temple guardian.  And they did not hesitate to approach her.

“Greetings, travelers,” the temple guardian said.  “Give me your names.”

The two treasure-seekers gave her their names freely.

She did not return their offer of names, nor did she return their smiles.

“Turn back, travelers,” the temple guardian said, her voice calm and measured.  “Go no further than the spot where I now stand.” Continue reading

The Moonbroch

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The starry-eyed youth named Carson cast his gaze at the full moon.  His father had just cursed it, or rather, he had cursed those who dwelt upon it.

“A storm is coming,” his father said, gazing up at the low and looming clouds.  “A storm with high winds.”

Yet another storm, the fourth one in as many days.

“Soon it will storm day and night,” his father said.  And then he raised a fist to the full bright moon and shook it.  Continue reading

The Why Winter Challenge

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“Why does there have to be winter?”

The asker was my little niece, all bundled up in black-and-silver fleece blankets.  Her favorite colors.  She didn’t ask the question just out of curiosity.  She was frowning slightly.  Winter had swallowed up her favorite season, autumn.  (The season to which her only objection was, “why does there have to be so much orange?”).

I smiled.  “Do you want the scientific explanation or the non-scientific explanation?” Continue reading

Storyfeather Year Five

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This week’s story will be posted soon. This is the anniversary post for Storyfeather’s fifth year!

The Year of S.T.E.A.M. is done! That was the theme for Storyfeather Year Five.  Science.  Technology. Engineering.  Arts.  Mathematics.   Year Five’s stories aimed to center around one of the aforementioned elements.  It was quite the challenge.

Also a challenge, keeping the bar for the artwork as high as I could manage after the visual upgrade the site received in Year Four.

Thank you to everyone who read even a single story. And if you liked or commented, thank you again. Thank you for your time and interest, and for being a part of Storyfeather, especially Year Five.

A lot happened in the fifth year stories. A cast and crew of middle school students put on an original play about cosmic heroes and deadly aliens.  A malfunctioning beauty product gave whole new meaning to the term “vanishing cream.”  An explorer got lost in a spatiotemporal anomaly that was once the treasure vault of an alien pirate.  And a woman started turning into a cartoon…

I’ve written over 250 stories now. And I’ve produced 52 podcast episodes (one for each story from Year One).  Year Five was a (sometimes delirious) struggle, but well worth it.  Storytelling is still my true love, still my destiny, still my path.

Year Six is on the horizon.  Here’s to seeing what stories will brew.  I hope you’ll come along.

I have stories to tell you.
Nila

The Eleventh Arm

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“It will change nothing.  I know this.  I didn’t do it out of defiance, or for justice, or even fame.  No one knows it is me.  And no one will know.  If they did, they would say it was unholy, what I’ve wrought.  They would say it was unnatural.  They would say it must be destroyed.  As it is, they are charmed at least, mildly amused, at least.  At best, they are cheered, enchanted, even inspired.  So perhaps in some way, I’ve done it for vengeance? No, that’s not right either.  No one should paint out of vengeance.  No, if you paint, you should paint out of love.”

I watched my friend sit back and take a sip.  Elna set down her cup and presented her hands to me, all eleven of them.  Continue reading