The Strife: Prologue
In the endless and violent chaos whose ravenous emptiness continually spawned and destroyed things both terrible and innocent, survival for a short time was all that could be hoped for. Read more
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Category Archives: Story Sunday
Kah’nul
when he arrived nobody really knew what to do with him. he appeared in a quiet residential area on the outskirts of town wearing a t-shirt and khaki pants. Read more
The GodStone part 2
The First Lesson
The old gods
We are gods of old games, with old names and old faces. We are gods of old blood, old loves and old places. We are the gods who dwell in the soil, who have watched you come and watched you go. We have soaked in your wars and your peace and all the malice and uncertainty in between. But no more. Read more
Poem: If
If I could forget Just one sliver of time
A fragment of space
A token of thought for the taken
Then it would be you
You as a memory I cannot have had
Yet I do
If I should regret
Just one action of fate
A moment of hate
A token of thought for the taken
It is that
Memory silent
As real as a stone
Is that you?
Afemi: One
HR Vanguard Unit 4, a part of the seventh unit designated for Human Reconnaissance, maps the area to be swept and opens its Uplink to the collective, sharing the information with all other units in its squad. Read more
Afemi: Prologue
Prologue
***
“Hello?”
She blinks into consciousness and stares in the space occupied by the voice. The voice echoes in her head for a brief moment before clicks of recognition begin. Speech. Conversation. It is a capability which she possesses. The space occupied by the voice lacks a body. Perhaps that is normal. She speaks in its direction, at a black box hanging just below some form of shining cylinder with a red light coming from it. “H-hello.”
She can hear the box and the cylinder whirring in her head, and reaches up to silence the sounds. A long finger first tentatively touches at her temple, then another, and another, until the entirety of her left hand rests just below what should be a hairline. But there is no hair. Has she always lacked hair? Isn’t baldness a male trait?
Maybe she’s not a she? For confirmation she reaches her right hand to her chest. She is not a man.
Who doesn’t know their own sex?
What is her name?
“D-do you…” A pause to consider the fact that she is having so much difficulty with words. “Do you know my name?”
“Do you?”
That’s not a real question. She blinks. “Is this mocking?”
“Do you feel mocked?”
She is confused. “What is my name?”
The voice does not respond right away. Instead there is a click and a brief moment of static before another voice comes from the same box. “What do you think your name is?” This voice is kinder, softer. She thinks she remembers it from before she woke up in this room. Where was she before this room? No matter. The voices seem to think that she should know her name, and so she should. Concentrating on the concept of who she is, there is mostly cloud and confusion but slowly sound emerges.
“A… Fem… I.” She has heard herself be referred to with that name before. “I am… Afemi.”
The click. Static. Click back. “Yes! That’s your name.”
Afemi looks to her confines. She is in a spacious room, too well lit. The bed against the right wall shows signs of use. That must be where she slept. Why is she here? “Why am I here?”
The click. The static. She waits for a response but none comes.
Ronin: the love without a name
“what is your name?” he asked, patient and unscathing. “my own is Ronin”
she flittered in the wind, neither here nor there, her eyes washed clean of colour. but she remembered this one… “you are-” she began, then fell silent as the memory slipped beyond her careless grasp. Read more
Shadow Wraith: The Purpose
Qast awoke with a rasping breath, clawing at her hair. Her eyes narrowed and darted about the room as her hands deftly reached for two of the daggers she kept concealed about her bed. Read more
Shadow Wraith: The Natural Law
Rilashul’s body had been beautiful, if she remembered correctly, and if Mellin was to be trusted. She had memories; in so much as she could have them, of dark caramel skin and of soft, woolly curls which hung tightly about her face.
