Alex Politis
Bio
Veterinarian by day, amateur novelist by night
Currently navigating my greatest position thus far-DAD
I want to write good fiction because I care about stories and think they’re central to how we examine ourselves and our place in the world
Stories (6)
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The Twilight Wood
There was only one reason for entering the Twilight Wood, and the reason behind Gilderoy’s pilgrimage was no exception. The forest stood like a great moat encircling the world. None knew what, if anything, stood on the other side. Now and then, there would be talk of someone surviving for more than a day in the mists, but these survivors somehow always disappeared swiftly. Some believed it was suicide, while others believed they simply faded from this world. By his reckoning, Gilderoy had now languished for three days in the endless fog, but time was thought to operate differently in the Twilight Wood. While unsure of how long he had survived, he was certain of one thing:
By Alex Politis3 years ago in Fiction
Dragon Doctor
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Sightings occurred perhaps once every four or five years, and they were always unconfirmed—rumors, whispers, drunkards’ boasts. However, two years ago, a gale slashed through the rent of Mt. Anaximander that shook even the soundest structures to their cores. It had rolled over the Great Cataclysm without warning, hot and full of churning ocean water like an expanding balloon ready to burst, and when it started, the rain was loud enough to drown out one’s voice entirely. The people of Constinalta scurried towards whatever shelters they could find. All night the rain came, and in the morning when the skies cleared, a very different town greeted the people, and far to the east, on the outskirts of the Gryndyn Forest near a line of stately oak trees abutting the shores of Lake Arbogast, a sheep rancher discovered the battered bodies of eight barely breathing, half-dead dragons.
By Alex Politis4 years ago in Fiction
Xanadu
Margaret scooped up the brown paper box from her doorstep and tossed it in a pile with the others. It had grown tall, nearly touching the ceiling, but she thought she could stuff a few more up near the top. She figured she knew what was in each and every one of them, and she only wished that they would stop arriving, but her family would not give up, and Margaret had to respect that. There must have been 400 of them stacked, looking like a Mayan pyramid.
By Alex Politis4 years ago in Fiction
A Hole in the Roof
Alan’s hand mined through the ice in the cooler. “Looks like all I have is domestic, buddy,” he said while glancing backwards at his companion. Morgan nodded and then shrugged. Alan handed him the beer and took a seat beside him in the other canvas folding chair. “Shit, I forgot to grab an opener…” Alan stood up and started fumbling around the barn.
By Alex Politis5 years ago in Fiction
MANNA
Red, purple, and white stretched across the desert night sky like the strokes of a paintbrush dropped from a tired hand. Heavenly light flickered across the sand, mixing to form patches of pink and mauve, in parts illuminating a fossilized tree branch, sleeping lizard, or even the occasional glass boulder, transforming it into a crystal chandelier. Explosions created the boulders, and the more boulders around, the higher the danger, something Michel had mentioned when the boulders first appeared, just occasional glass pebbles to start, but then quickly becoming gleaming domes the size of shipping containers. Don’t be so damn neurotic, his brother had said. This was formerly the state of Kansas. Michel tried to envision cornfields and rolling green hills, but could not, and this alarmed him; sometimes he felt like desertification had entered his mind as well, reducing his once formidable intellect and imagination to formlessness—just a collection of particles linked only until the next gust came to fan them into new configurations. They had been moving by night across the desert, watching their footprints disappear behind them for seven days, and they were lost. They were hunting for baskets and trying not to be hunted themselves.
By Alex Politis5 years ago in Fiction
