Each title below is it’s own short story that I have written. There is no order in which you have to read them but I have added the dates of original publication for convience.
Rise of the Lightbringer
February 25th, 2024
Running the whet stone down the blade, I look out over the camp ground before me. How did it get this far? How did I get even here? My thoughts continue to spiral down this trail as I look at the building that I sit upon, waiting. The sword flashes crackling blue, almost as if it was letting me know that it has been honed enough. A sword that I had seen many times growing up placed up the wall of my grandpas house.
Star Forged
April 23rd, 2024
Light flares and dies with each blow upon the metal before me. Little stars of sparks flare and soar in the splash of metal upon metal. My fingers have lost the sense of vibration decades ago, and what little feeling remains in my forearms is the arthritis that tries to find ground in my joints. But I fight on, lifting my hammer to fold the metal one more time. White hot golden light flares out once more as the hammer connects.
Authors of Light
May 15th, 2024
The voices mingled around me. Some loud, some soft, some weeping while others waited in stoic silence. The lodge anxiously waiting as the last rays of sunlight flit through the bay window. The wall of stacked cars and stone lights up like fairy lights upon a wall, revealing the weaknesses of our fragile defenses. And beyond the glass stood thousands of faces, watching the last rays of light sink beyond the horizon, beyond the walls that we called hope.
Ace of Swords
August 1st, 2024
My town is small, just like any other single stoplight town out there. The type of town with a Mcdonalds at one corner and a gas station on another. It’s slow normally, with the public school letting kids out in the afternoon and the farmers market happening on thursday. But like everything else that has been happening in my life, the Sawdust day parade marches on by as Derek cheers on the band stomping by.
The Weight of Choice
August 2nd, 2024
My hand’s look so small to me. The strength that once filled their fingertips now is only a fraction of what I’m used to. The room is dark, nothing in it except for a broken lazy boy recliner and a cracked flatscreen. The walls aren’t in any better shape, not with the peeling wallpaper and hole ridden plaster. Musty black mold, familiar, just like the rotting boards that held up the mattress in my bedroom upstairs.
A.G. Flowers 