An endless black sea filled with the glimmers of dread and awe.
There they had stood. There they had walked. In their wake the tide grew and everything succumbed to what had passed. I wonder what they wished for… and what came of their dreams.
The musings of a madman.
If any knew those things that lay hidden it was he, yet his words were more often nothing more than a shadow of what was. Like stories whispered in the dark of Plato’s cave.
Fragments of oblivion.
Short stories and moments lost in the black ocean. Each but a fragment of what was.
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the click-clack of dawn, Pt 1.
The field is white and grey and rarely does the hickory play.…
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to lay beneath, pt 1
Dreams are subtle things, and though at first they seem to not…
Cities of the Anachronism.
Short stories.
He’qkka the Dead World
What took place there on H’eqqka in the spaces between time. Where reality was nothing more than the shifting sands of time, or the shifting moods of the mad.
In The quiet.
Do not see, look. Do not speak, silence. Do not hear, become. Do not know, wander in ignorance. Do not dream, never dream. Never dream. Never. Dream.
The ichor and ink
Do not ask. Do not question. Do not breath. Everything is a lie.
If you must speak, whisper it quietly and hope you are not heard.
There is a list and you may put your name on it. Be careful what you wish for. – Telvaris
