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It’s not the Fall That Kills You
Somehow, falling always felt right. Nothing in life was ever as freeing and natural as that strange, weightlessness with the air whipping past in a deafening rush. Most falls didn’t reach that level of intensity, of course. Most of the time, falling only lasted for a brief moment. Whether it was leaping over a handrail,…
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Never Lost, Sometimes Found
There was wood needing to be chopped. There was always wood that needed chopping. That was one of the first real hard lessons Rupert had learned. If there wasn’t enough chopped wood when the winter came, then there wouldn’t be enough fires to cook and keep warm. He’d lost three toes and a couple fingers…
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Walking Through the Daisies
Every year Candace and her family went to the fields where the daisies grew. No one had planted them there, as far as anyone knew. They just grew there in wide swaths across the land. Candace’s parents had both come with their parents when they were younger and had continued the tradition. They said it…
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Making Sacrifices
Vinay was awake. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been awake, but it felt like a long time. He’d barely slept at all that night and had slid so smoothly back into wakefulness that he couldn’t tell when the transition had taken place. His jaw ached from being clenched so often and he had to…
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All’s Quiet in the Elven Halls
Finion sat in the back seat of the car, feeling trapped and uncomfortable in more ways than one. She was far taller than most people and so had to keep her knees tucked up close to her chest while at the same time crouching down to keep her head from bumping the roof of the…
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The Last Campout
“Heave ho, let’s go! Pack it in and pack it out, leave no trace without a doubt!” The chorus of the Boy Scout’s voices chanted all along the trail. Some were loud and eager but most just mumbled along, loud enough to be heard and avoid being chastised for being too quiet by the leaders.…
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Carrying Tabatha
(This story was inspired by Hugo Simberg’s painting “Wounded Angel”) Henry looked in the bathroom mirror. His hair was done up, his suit and tie were crisp, and the small rose bud pinned to his lapel added a bit of color to the otherwise monotone look. As he turned his head from side to side…
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To Get and to Give
Chesarai lay on her bed, sweat making her skin shine and dampening her clothes. She was still breathing but it was irregular and fitful. Most families in the village had lost someone to the sickness that had struck their community little over a week ago. As Hesh looked on her mother she knew it wouldn’t…
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Acceptance and Defiance
It was cold. The wind whipped through the air, tugging at Djai’s clothes and snapping his hair back and forth. He could smell salt and decaying plants, leading him to suspect that he was close to the sea. The ground all around him was sandy but he stood in a low depression preventing him from…
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Playing to the Pantheon
The stone halls of the Divine Spire were silent. The bright sunlight outside filtered through glass windows, passed through hanging strips of thin, colored fabric, and then finally reached Torek on the floor below. He was supposed to be playing his little harp but the music never seemed right to him, never sounded good enough…
Bridge of Broken Glass
Stories from my mind that won't be quiet
Bridge of Broken Glass 