Writer of words. Builder of worlds.

Category: Short Stories Page 1 of 3

The House of Eleanor Canning: Prelude

She lives in a house that stretches from the depths of Realms Beneath to the upper reaches of the stars. She built it long ago on foundation of tears.

Long ago, she had a family. She had a father who betrayed that family to seek his own power and immortality. He sold their souls to the one of the seven Lords of the Realms Beneath. When the Lord revealed that the bargain included the father’s own soul, the man broke his contract and went wandering across distant worlds, distant realities.

A Song o’ Sailing

“They sail with sails of darkness,
They sail with sails of light,
They sail across the endless seas,
Beyond the moonless night.
They sail for dreams of glory,
They dream of making right.
They sail to tell their story,
Before their dreams take flight.”

The finely dressed man at the bar showed no appreciation for the song. “Who are they, then?”

In the Hidden Things

There’s a building that nobody questions. It sits in the middle of the city, squat and grey. Nobody ever has cause to go there, so they don’t, and nobody ever asks why it is there. Sometimes people go in and out, very occasionally, but they are always people you don’t know.

Come and See the Show

Cory and Clarissa turned. ‘Hey Rhys, hurry up!’ 

Rhys caught up. ‘Hurry up,’ he scoffed. ‘You were the ones who left me.’ 

‘Well, the fortune teller might have got us next,’ said Clarissa with a laugh, flicking back her long blonde hair. ‘I didn’t want her grabbing at my palms and warning me of danger.’

Request from a God

We have been here a long time. We don’t remember the beginning, but we were there, in the mix of swirling gases and rock and light. That was us, the light. The energy. The creation.

That is how you should think of us. Think of us like the sun. That ball of heat and light and *power*. That power has to go somewhere, and we put it into shaping the world before us. It started as just another hunk of rock, but we moulded it and added our own touches. Water. Stone. Plants. Animals.

Theft of the Tome

The thief entered the bookshop carefully. The place was supposed to be heavily defended, as it stored some of the treasures of the kingdom. But there were no guards. The books simply stood upon the shelves, some of them leaning against each other.

The most precious tomes, the ones of magic, stood on the back shelf. The thief sneered. They weren’t locked up. They weren’t even behind glass. What fools.

Memories After Death

She opens her eyes to the darkness, and finds that she can see.

Not well, but then there’s not much to see in this cramped wooden box. There is something she has to do, if only she can remember what it is — and who she is. She searches her memories but finds only fragments, slipping away like the last moments of a bad dream.

Time to wake up.

Ghostly Machinations

The ghosts watch me from the shadowy corners of my workroom. I work better unattended. I told them this when we struck our bargain, but they said they would rather I not forget they were here. That I not dismiss our bargain as some dream.

Welcome to Survival

Welcome to Survival, the text adventure game to end all text adventure games!

You are in a bunker. The apocalypse is nigh.

You have: ten companions, a knife, and a fluffy teddy bear.

There is food, water, medicine; enough for a year or more.

What do you wish to do?

Uncle Stanley’s Facebook

We got home from the funeral and there was a Facebook post from Uncle Stanley. Whose funeral we had just come from. The post read, Thanks for coming to my funeral. Really enjoyed the music.

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