Imagine a hot summer morning. Imagine the motions of a small mountain town.
Category: fiction
This Textured Darkness, #92
“I was chosen by Euli of Barnes, the blind seer, highly regarded for his wisdom and insight. Perhaps you have heard of him.”
This Textured Darkness, #91
“Were you judged by a witch doctor wearing antlers and smeared with dung?” Elymas pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and coughed.
Silver Bottle, A Novel
“Religion isn’t like cleaning a chicken,” I told him. ‘You can’t take the messy parts out.”
This Textured Darkness, #90
The Red Robe who’d introduced himself as Strout prodded them forward, and they’d stumbled down the aisle. Hesitant steps, clumsy. The double oaken doors shut with a… Read more “This Textured Darkness, #90”
This Textured Darkness, #88
Jessum uncorked the second jug before leaning out the window.
This Textured Darkness, #87
It was time for a decision. Half a loaf and a jug later, Jessum reached several. The bread was heavenly, the cider tart, and it was time to leave.
This Textured Darkness, 86
The key to his cell was hanging below the sconce. The rush candle would burn for hours, in which time he was meant to imagine freedom.
This Textured Darkness, #85
Like the sea he dreamt of, pain swallowed his every part.
This Textured Darkness #84
The bowl isn’t full.
The bowl was Elymas, nearly full to the brim with rot and pride.
