Justice sat beneath the Tree of Fire and contemplated existence. Each leaf upon the tree was living tissue paper, so thin and delicate that the merest concentration or focus of the sun’s rays was enough to conflagrate the wispy leaves, turning them to brilliant ash.
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When the moon fell to earth
When the moon fell to earth many were surprised to find it no bigger than a garbage truck. It rotated slowly over Manhattan, emitting a dull, ominous hum, occasionally pausing over Central Park, or Fifth Avenue, seemingly intent on touring the entire city.
Continue readingVillage Daughter: Cup of Tea
Isa Kudo stood in the medicine hut and fumed. She had been called before Otako, great Medium of the village, who spoke for Artart.
Continue readingSidd’arak Learns to Breathe
One morning, as he sunned himself on his favourite rock, occasionally snapping at the bugs as they crawled along the roots of the mangrove trees, Sidd’arak realized that he was terribly, deathly bored.
Continue readingVillage Daughter
The people of the village often called Isa ‘willful’ and she took this as a mark of pride. To be willful was to be strong. But the villagers also meant it as a small jab towards Isa’s father, it was their way of suggesting he had been lax with her discipline.
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Crosstown Gate 