Photo by Matheo JBT on Unsplash Oh, Down the dunes I roved; in tow The heady scent of petals, grow Under the steady sun; Below The sand wore ever on! … Continue reading A Wedding Song
Tag: queer
Low Tide
Photo by Giovanni Arechavaleta on Unsplash This story was inspired by these images by Yun Ling. This story also contains the use of Fae/Faer for the character Din; here is … Continue reading Low Tide
Herxes Station
They were all here for the same reason. Not just music; that was implied by the posters, the homemade shirts, the thin station hallway packed full of stitched-together styles and clashing hairdos. Most of these people were miners, haulers, maintenance workers – the ones that did the work so others could live. Even with the small boosts to pay last quarter, these were thankless tasks, and the crowd was clearly a sea of comrades in arms, all frustrated beyond a doubt and looking for an out.
Out in the Field
A conversation with a stranger in the middle of the night.
Old Wounds, Fresh Faces
The rain was heavy with purpose, landing with resounding thuds all around them; Taks thought it might be trying to cleanse the ground of battle, to remove old sins from the soil and soak the earth with hope instead. Maybe it was sick of the old world’s scars and wanted to wipe the slate clean.
With what had happened here, that was a losing battle in itself.
“Taks, damnit!” Marta bellowed as the tarp Taks had been holding slipped and flapped in the wind. “Hold it steady! Hog’s teeth, I don’t want to spend all night at it!”
Their mind was wandering again. Taks half-yelled an apology that was eaten by the storm and groped in the dim light for the tarp’s edge. Their fingers connected with the Orb’s eerie metallic surface, centuries of detail exposed to the brutal elements; it still felt hot even after so much time. They helped Marta stake down the rest of the tarp in embarrassed silence, covering the gaping hole in the Orb’s top; of the field’s choices, this one had the most intact structure, which wasn’t saying much.
Stygian Cells
“What do you mean, ‘your bones are no good here’?” Festree said, confused. “These are third-age roach skeletons, they’re worth at least a few old wyrds.”
The Distance Between Us
A new growth on a mature plant. Will it blossom as the rest have?
