D. J. Reddall

Joined June 2022

882 stories

Bio

I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.

Achievements (14)

Stories (882)

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Ahimoth
I understand your fear, but be at ease Enumerate the things you will let go: Death erases all bodily disease From bone and flesh comes a bright imago
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
The Lagoon of Longing. Top Story - October 2024.
Amazon jungles are lush and fragrant Black is the lagoon therein where I dwell Curious humans disrupted my life there Eager to trace ancient bones to their source
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Comhchoirí
The promise of escape throbs through our hearts I am grateful for your enormous strength Some will call me a coward as we dart
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Typical Migrants
Borders and papers Are as meaningless to us As having to walk
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
High Redoubt
After the quaint, somber rituals end Beautiful silence returns for a while Contemplating all that I have witnessed Distracts me from the trivial present
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Distant Venus
Why so aloof, love? You shine on the horizon Far from my small life
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Harvest Time
Are you surprised by my strange appearance? Born yesterday, were you? You must have been! Crops have been cultivated by your kind
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Imber
How fragile you seem But you are the harbinger Of tempests' power
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Foul Forneus
Amusing is the life of a demon Bountiful souls await dark corruption Chaos and conflict need cultivation Distracting mortals from fair redemption
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
The Duties of the Moon
Managing the tides Watching insomniacs writhe Evoking wolf song
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Semerkhet
An ache to live again, I could not feel Black as charcoal is the closed eye of death Consider what a stone must think about
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
The Elixir of Erasure
The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. I was delighted. I was sure the elixir would fail, that some courageous, charming hero would intervene to rescue her at the last moment and skewer me with a shining blade. Decades of assiduous study and practice would have been for naught. All of my planning and scheming and careful manipulation of each source of ingredients, from the snotty stable boy to the gruff, clumsily shaved keeper of the inn, to the lugubrious ambassador from Obstinatia and the senile, jabbering High Priest of Huronia: my whole web of contacts and conspirators could have dissolved like a cube of sugar in a cascade of emerald absinthe.
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Fiction