What does that mean, exactly?
There's a particular cushion on my family's big L-shaped couch that is far and away my favorite place to be. It's dented just right to curl up on with a book or one of my favorite shows. Those of you with long-loved pieces of furniture know what I'm talking about, the way it fits you, welcomes you, knows and draws out your very deepest sense of comfort and home.
A Small Gathering of Spirits
Once upon a time— —no, turn around, come walk with me awhile, just a little way down the forest road. You think you know this country well, with all its heroes and dragons and ever-afters, but it's a vast and darkened country and all those shining places here and there you've visited a thousand times? They're of very recent provenance, and they sit on ancient foundations, patient ruins with roots reaching right down into the earth-bones, where the oldest of Creation's children toil half-forgotten.
Ask Not for Whom the Light Dies
The false dawn washed soft and cold across a thin strange horizon, and Yusef Rakotoarisoa set down his rifle and watched. He was not on watch yet, did not have to rise from his seat on the rickety bench, but he would be soon. From behind a long heavy magazine in one of his armor's many ammunition pouches, he took a paper photograph, and held it in front of his face.
The Brute Heuristics of Bullshit
"This war is bullshit." Those were the words that saved humanity. The words were nothing new, of course. They'd been said by nearly every soldier since time began, said in a wide variety of languages and miseries. Sometimes out loud to a buddy, sometimes muttered under the breath, but still a very old sentiment.
Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty
Out in the far reaches of the Perseus Arm—far at least from Sol's perspective, all the way across the Orion bridge—the Survey-Freighter UTVS Sagan emerged from the mouth of a dark-energy tendril and braced for immediate wellskip.