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Dead at the Feet of a God

Aware of what awaits you, you proceed as if you are not. There is no avoiding it: your story will end with you dead at the feet of a god. Your divinations have told you this. There is no ambiguity. The portents float at the edge of your vision, haunt your dreams, shake themselves free with each throwing of the bones.

The portents float at the edge of your vision, haunt your dreams, shake themselves free with each throwing of the bones.
Parchment Sky

I asked him once how fast the sky rose up from the horizon. I thought if one could put a number to that, and if the sky had the shape of an inverted bowl as we had been taught, then that speed could be used to determine its size, to determine how far the ink-etched parchment of the sky arched above us and descended down toward the fabled western horizon.

When I was younger, I asked my brother why we wrote the names of God on the sky.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
Dead at the Feet of a God

Podcast: Download (Duration: 24:31 — 16.83MB)
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The portents float at the edge of your vision, haunt your dreams, shake themselves free with each throwing of the bones.
From the Archives:
The Black-Eyed Goddess of Apple Trees and Farmers’ Wives
My favorite story as a child was the one about the farmer who slits open his wife’s belly and plants an apple tree amongst her insides.