Skip to main content

Ashes to Ashes

Shelly Stone’s life had come to an end some time ago there were still some residuals of her corporeal existence scattered around a pocket of isolated ruins, remnants of a civilization that was in the early stages of its terminus during Shelly’s life. In those days Shelly had been an author of modest acclaim. Her relative obscurity never bothered her though. Of course, she craved the praise and notoriety all artists desire, but she took solace in the fact her providence had been the written word. The pages her voice were printed on would long outlast her, and in that way she had contributed something to the collective cultural wealth of society and species at large and it was this knowledge that was her final comforting thought.
The forgotten place Shelly spent the latter half of her life was withered by time and neglect. The abandoned structure that had been her home was a gutted corpse made of brick. The empty window frames faced the world like a hollowed skull with a quiet emptiness that invoked the same chilling reminder of human temperance.
For the first time in many years, there were people taking refuge within its walls. A family of six four children and their parents, hapless nomads dragging themselves across a vast expanse towards a horizon where what lay beyond consisted of only of rumors and dreams. The remnants of the life and world Shelly had come from seemed every bit as absurd and alien to them as they would of to Shelly’s forebearers.
The migrating family had stumbled upon this house by complete accident and it the only structure that might protect them from the flesh numbing wins of autumn. The first thing to be done was build a fire, and the house had plenty of kindling. The house had been ransacked many times throughout the years, but no roving bands ever saw the need to take the books. Luckily for the forlorn travelers, they had plenty of paper to feed the warming fire. Page after page of Shelly’s work was torn from its binding cover and committed to the flames, and as the night went on more and more of her work, the last remnants of her existence, the legacy she left to the world was eaten by the hungry flames. By morning her body of work just like the body that had been her mortal coil was nothing but ash.

If you like my work, please consider making a donation. I one day hope to have enough to hire some artists to work with and adapt some of these pieces into graphic novels. In the meantime, though most of the money will probably go towards pot and coffee.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

On the Eve of Extinction

The river was like a massive indigo snake coiling in the shadow of the canyons its eternal flow cut out of the very earth. Somewhere along the watery corridor, settled human life grew out of the muddy banks. The tribe sustained itself on the arterial river, steadily expanding and contracting with the rhythm of its flow like a beating heart. As far as anyone in the tribe knew no other arrangement had ever existed. The river had birthed them, molding sand and clay into flesh, and infusing the husks with its life-giving waters. Life under the desert’s smooth turquoise sky seemed safely stagnant. There was no inkling, no deciphered omens, absolutely no hunch of the approaching cataclysm lurking just out of sight obscured by the landscape’s jagged ridges. Not far from the isolated patchwork of green and brown earth settled by this tribe, the scion of ancient god well into his twilight years was on the cusp of fulfilling his divine purpose. Harmakar was sitting in the dust staring into t

In the Blink of an Eye

 Until now, the gears of history had ground at such a slow pace our perception of it was like a puzzle. The constantly shifting pieces created an eternally changing picture inhabited and shaped by generations. Progress made it possible for the change to arrive in the form of a flash just a millionth of a second long with a blinding light and the pain of flesh-searing fire that burned away the world I knew as if it were covered in lighter fluid. For us, there were no blue skies. Daytime was just when the sun was shining bright enough to penetrate through the acrid black clouds that had consumed the sky and mingled with the distant glow of the burning horizon, painting the atmosphere with blood. For an indeterminate number of hours, maybe as long as a day, it was the only thing I saw. The constant screams became white noise; as I spiraled into death, my perceptions continued to dim until there was nothing left but fear and pain. Every hour the world became dimmer, and I saw everything t

Too Little Too Late

“Ichika, Ichika wake up!” The six-year-old girl was jolted away by her father’s hands. Her mother was standing in the doorway, clenching her little brother Reo against her chest. The majority of Ichicka’s short life had been against the backdrop of total war. She dutifully kept her boots and shelter knapsack ready to go at the foot of her bed and made sure never to let go of her father’s hand in the crowded shelter. Reo was even more accustomed. The desperate stampedes to the overcrowded shelters were becoming his earliest memories. Her father grabbed her by the hand, and they rushed out into the street. Ichicka’s father was walking too fast for Ichika to keep up, and the girl stumbled. Without a word, her father picked her up and started walking faster than before. “Please hurry,” he urged his wife, who was also struggling to match his pace. Despite her father’s panic, the city seemed peaceful. The streets were virtually empty, and the sirens were silent. “Hideshi!” Aiko called to h