Brevity is the width of soul.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010


I'm posting new fiction at Codex Studio, although Hectowords will remain as an archive.

Thursday, May 27, 2010


You didn't think of the dead as you approached it. You didn't think of the cost. The throne waiting for you, built a thousand years before by the Mad Emperor, seat of the Empire for a thousand thousand years to come, was prize enough for any cost.

You sat on the throne deaf to the cheers of your soldiers, the moaning of the dying, everything but the roar in your chest. The throne's whisper was startling in its clarity.

"I rule," you said, as the Emperor before you had, and the one before him, and the dozens before. They weren't your words, and you knew that if you could only rise from the throne, you might remember what you had intended your words to be.

The throne smiled with your face.


Sunday, May 23, 2010

Four of Swords

I've killed thousands of grandfathers in thousands of pasts.

It's easier to erase yourself when you know your parents' real names.

.non finis.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Pro forma

First you shed the bad futures in haste and fear. Then you traded the best, the unlikely ones, for a stronger likelihood of a tolerable fate. You were very thorough.

Now your future is clear and one, a succession of many scripted years, and you'd scream through all of them if you hadn't given that choice away.


Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Fugue from lost time

I turned off my perfect memory. No longer would it trawl, prompted by our every word and deed, through everything we did and said as far as the world's memory goes. I was happy with you, and with the idea of you, and I didn't want us to be ended by the past.

I slept blissfully that night, dreaming without memories, until my phone woke me up in the middle of the night with the unbidden recall of how many times I had attempted this — and you — before.

I had forgotten it was programmed to do that.


Friday, April 30, 2010

The Long War

My death marks our victory. He's long dead, killed in battle, as a conqueror, on our soil, but after his death we had all the time in the world. We chased history into shame, and shame into secrets, and choked the secrets down. We went to the ends of the Earth to kill the grandchildren of veterans and raise their orphans as our own. We conquered countries to erase a single word.

I'm the last person who knows who died undefeated where now stands a tribute to heroic, failed Nelson, and tonight I'm dying without having told a soul.

We won.

Friday, March 26, 2010


There can be no afterlife without God. But there still had to exist some sort of retribution. Some balance, even after He left.

I see you don't understand; that's natural. You still haven't done most of the things your nightmares are punishment for.