As the Prairie Grasses Sing

I knew I was not alone. Unseen things crept at the edges of my hearing, but none made any sign that they could talk to me, or that they recognized me as a friend. I began making the motions with my hands, which trembled a little. Will any of you talk to me? I asked, knowing it was futile to expect an animal to know the hand-signs that my family used to speak with me.

I began the hand-signs again, still doubting they could be understood yet desperate not to lose that other whose thought I’d felt.
And Other Such Delights

And what music he created. His sculpted notes and cascading chords—ripped from the heart of ruined, grieving PameMorturas— were sweet and somber, furious and mournful, filled with the longing of unfulfilled lives and stolen years. They spoke of things that once were and now could never be again, of the selfishness and jealousy of those who had wreaked destruction not only upon that poor city but on the future of mankind itself.

The soul-deep anguish of a soulless creature, a murderous wall of sound that swept across the square and beyond.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
Pawn’s Gambit
Play

Podcast: Download (Duration: 34:55 — 23.98MB)
Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Android | Google Podcasts | RSS | More

The more he asked, the more chary I got that he’d figure out what I was doing--that one of his marks was my little girl.