Hey! My name is Ren, and I write short stories! Typically I like to grapple with topics and narratives that some might find uncomfortable.
Sometimes I'll publish many stories at once, sometimes I won't for weeks! You never know!
A Sojourn Through Death's Forest
His eyes blinked open, slowly, fatigued. He didn’t remember ever lying down, or even closing his eyes. Yet, now, his mind was a hazy fog, limiting his ability to remember much of anything. Still on his back, he felt the chilled grass between his fingers, becoming more aware of the wet dew covering the back of his beige flannel. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, surveying the landscape that had seemingly appeared around him without him noticing. It was a forest, and a large one at that. No discernable trails or markers, no elements of humanity anywhere, just miles and miles of dense woods. The trees were narrow, but enormously tall, with their canopies impossible to see as he gazed upward.
Life needs a Herd
The herd is strong. Hoofbeats muffled under thick, padded fur. The herd is strong. Blood coursing through the skin, the chest, warming the body with impeccable precision. The herd is strong. Hard antlers, at their peak, on every able-bodied beast around. The herd is strong. And I am weak.
What is Death if Not A Guide?
Gods, it hurt. It hurt more than anything he had felt before in his, admittedly, short, life. The white-hot pain of the shrapnel entering his chest, his neck, his head, searing their way into the crevasses between bones and lodging themselves deep within his organs. His eyes met those of his killer, a tall man with stringy, white hair and gaze that pierced almost as painfully as the bits of metal tearing through his flesh. This agony, this immense discomfort, lasted for less than a second, however, before his life was ripped from his body…quite literally…
Quiet Thievery Pt. 5
She was old, having just turned 16 a few months ago. There wasn’t much spring left in her step, she mostly just waddled around slowly, making faces at the collection of garbage strewn around Saliq’s house. Hoarder isn’t necessarily the word to use to describe him, but he certainly was a collector of things that most others would deem absurd. One could be forgiven for thinking the walls covered in an old wallpaper, with the way the faded orange designs lining the walls peeled and cracked with the weight of the times. A small generator, barely enough to power one room at a time shined a little extra light to reveal that the walls weren’t covered in wallpaper at all, but rather a myriad of posters from Saliq’s youth.
The Astrals of the Iron Lake
Anthropology Log: 45th of September, 7840 I’m beginning this log with a brief introduction into the culture I will be involving myself with for the next several months. They call themselves Astrum Sapiens, or simply Astrals, referring to a Latin word signifying stars, constellations, or heaven. They exist on the periphery of the Iron Lake, maybe 100 miles due north of the New Chicago Republic, though their existence in similar circumstances in several other places in the world has been noted by my friend and colleague Hamish La Parc from the University of Versailles. The conditions surrounding the Iron Lake are particularly interesting to me, as I remember hearing about them as a young boy and being absolutely enthralled by the concept of a lake of extraterrestrial ferrofluid. The lake responded so strongly to the reversing of the magnetic field of the earth it was said to have created new life.
On the Creation of the Centralized Teleportation Network
Personal Log of Dr. Arthur Antillean, date October 38th, year [REDACTED] By the gods, I think I’ve done it! Computer, begin recounting this personal log, Dr. Arthur Antillean, October…38th, year [REDACTED].
Quite Power Pt. 2
The room erupted with cheers and furious applause. As the man wandered off the stage, he smiled to himself, the revenue he could earn from this room of people alone would be enough to keep his legacy intact for several more generations. He grabbed a drink from a platter being carried around by an elegantly dressed server and proceeded to meander through the ballroom, which had become a chatter of individuals fiddling with their implants to receive more information about the properties.
The gears turn relentlessly, never ceasing, never slowing, never caring who or what is crushed between their metal jaws. A rich man counts an ever-increasing stash of wealth, allowing him to purchase more and more of the world-devouring gears of progress. Expansion out into the planets was incredibly lucrative, it seemed like everybody these days was dying to get off their home worlds and, for the right price, he could make that happen. He gazed at a wall of portraits; dozens of great men, all fathers, sons, and brothers making up a galactic legacy. The name Mendac means something to people, a name known throughout every corner of the galaxy as a shining light of hope to any and all searching for some purpose beyond their menial existences.