STORIES

All good people should know, From whence we came was b’low. Flesh of earthy rich clay Baked hard by heat of day. Though skies are our...

In a small tin house, rusted raw by the wind, lived two young brothers. Each morning the boys would shovel the red dust that blew upon...

There were once two brothers, the sons of the Moon, each as rambunctious and conceited as the other. As they grew into men, so too did...

After my long pilgrimage through the wastelands of dust I finally came across a small house. There was not much else around, and I...

Old Mate would peddle his stories to anyone who walked by. He looked as old as earth; his face lined like the ripples of the desert. Upon...

I was walking along a pebbly path of the finest yellow dirt with ridges deep enough that one was likely to trip if not paying attention....