You’ve read the preface. Now here’s the introduction. ALTHOUGH A SELF-DEFROCKED SACREANT, Prosatio Silban retained a sensitivity to the more spiritual aspects of his daily routine — but since his was the life of a traveling cook in a buopoth-drawn…
Tag: Fictions
What I’m trying to become a writer of.
Fiction: Act of Who?
“THANK YOU FOR CALLING TOTAL Auto, may I help you?” “Yes, my car was swept away in the recent floods, and I would like to file a claim.” “I’m sorry sir, but flood coverage isn’t included in any of our…
Prosatio Silban and the Light Breakfast
TO THOSE WITH LITERALIST SENSIBILITIES, the phrase “ridiculously beautiful” may suggest mere hyperbole and labored contrivance. But take dawn by the western bank of an iridescent river – black sands washed by rippling indigo sparked with silver and rose –…
Prosatio Silban and the Pernicious Wishes
PROSATIO SILBAN STOOD UP, WIPED his hands on his breeches and cursed mildly in the name of a minor god. If only this wheel hadn’t broken, he thought, I’d now be in many-harbored Soharis cooking fresh-caught fish for wealthy or…
Prosatio Silban and the Starving Survivor
A BUOPOTH IS A STRANGE beast: some say it is half-composed of dreams, others prefer not to speculate. But of the little that is known, one thing is certain: no matter what shape the beast takes, its eyes are the…
Prosatio Silban and the Visitor From The Sands
PROSATIO SILBAN WAS NOT KNOWN for nothing as “The Cook For Any Price.” He had long ago foresworn the Sacreanthood and serving people’s souls, for serving their bellies and letting the souls look after themselves. Yet every now and again,…
Future Informal
“MY NAME IS 010180,” SAID the friendly robot. “But you can call me 0.”
The Poet
HE COULDN’T TELL WHETHER HE loved beauty or women more until the day he called his mom and said “Guess what? I’m marrying a sunset.”
Another Great Line In Search Of Context
“I SEE YOUR LOGIC, MADAM, and raise you a contradiction.” (Line derived from conversation with Ann, whose blog is also very cool. — The Mgt.)
Who Is This Prosatio Silban, And What Does He Want?
IT ALL STARTED IN 2005, when I decided to write fantasy tales. Or maybe 1995, when I was bored with the between-task tedium of printer’s work. (Of course, it really started in 1978, because that was the year I discovered…
Fable, With Apocalypse
IN THE MIDDLE OF A flat grey wasteland, under a grey streaky sky, a handful of figures warmed themselves at a snapping fire. “Hey! What are you doing?” One of the figures had turned to stare across the waste —…
Aside
“GOOD GOD, MAN — WHAT HAPPENED?” “Well, I was on the freeway, and my car stalled right in front of a hurtling semi. Fortunately, the orchestra changed tunes at exactly that moment and distracted everyone.” “What orchestra?” “See?”