The lamps are lit, and the house is quiet, filled only with the warm breaths of Mordechai, and of the gray cat. The lamp on the table before me is a miracle of this modern age, the glow it casts on the paper replicates the natural color of the daylight I have not seen, or really even thought on in centuries ( Read more... )

Author's Note: Telling Alice's story from her own point of view is cool, but not really helpful as a background per se, since what she believes is not really her true story. What follows is a timeline, followed by a bit of her own perspective.

Timeline:

1944: Born Linda Rose Lane at an Oklahoma City hospital, to a couple from the town of El Reno.
1949 ( Read more... )

Arran
I was born on the island of Arran in a small cottage where I could hear the waves pounding against the rocky shore. My earliest memory is of my Ma leaning over the fire to stir the pot. Ma dominates my earliest memories for it was only her and I in the cottage, except when our somber-faced cousins visited. They inspected me like I inspected ( Read more... )

I generally find that life stories are uninteresting and dull when compared to the ebb and flow of history… that while events are created by individuals, their overall consequences are far more interesting than the individual themselves! Therefore, I will endeavor to keep this autobiography brief, and hopefully make it as painless as I possibly can ( Read more... )

For nearly 600 years, I have been the companion of Gaius Vulcanus Melellus Avernus. We have shared bed and blood and lives, and still, when the sun is near to rising, I look at him and thank the grace of heaven that we are together still ( Read more... )

I spent my days as a cub in the traditional manner of the Wandering Tribe, which is to say, on the road. Already my tail gives away too many secrets: I will offer no more of this. I finished my rite of passage, successfully, as you may guess, and shortly after that, I made my way to Chicago, where a call was being made for the formation of a new ( Read more... )

The rain fell down gently and the moon hung fat and near-full in the sky as the wolf-bitch whelped her pups ( Read more... )

“When you get there, tell them that Russia is a huge cemetery and that we are all dying.” -Spoken to Ayn Rand, Russia, 1926

Elena Riazanova was born in Petrograd, in 1960, twenty-four years after Rand published her first novel, We the Living, telling of hellish existence in the USSR. Her father was a low-ranking Communist official, and her mother ( Read more... )

    It’s a beautiful Sunday morning when I ride in to Chicago. Damascus chafes a little at the speed limit, and I tell him to go. Drivers goggle at the girl on the Harley going breakneck speeds down the highway, but who cares? Damascus knows what he’s doing ( Read more... )