Three Different Ways:
Dreams, Madness, and Myths

Not everyday Weaver has a giant boar as a watchful guardian. But she slept well, so it’s alright.487 words.

Weaver expected to see nothing and nothing is all she sees. A friend stops my moping with lunch. Good lunch. Good friend.393 words.

Weaver goes to the Restless Dead to kill off what should have died long ago and claim her heritage as destroyer.659 words that carefully avoids matricide.

Weaver can’t have her favorite seat at the bar. She winds up with 3 rowdy brothers as tablemates. Even worse, there’s some guy that thinks blues is something that can be programmed. All she wanted was a quiet night of drinking.1,106 words.

“Wow! You carved that altar and alcove by hand?” “Stone against stone. No metal tools. No powered tools. Just stone against stone and my hands.” “You smug shit. You used your powers.”

He (but don’t remember who) handed me a cup of hot, strong, black coffee. He sighs, then begins speaking somberly. “I’m sorry. My c*…” I don’t remember the rest. I’ve blacked it out. I don’t want to face it. It has happened twice in the past 48 hours. There is not that many people I…