Dylan Breen
Stories (2)
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Grandfather's Ambrosia
I sit at my grandfather’s desk, in his house, his garden, his home. He is alive around me. I took a moment to stroll where he may have walked. I saw the world with his eyes. I stopped intuitively at different moments, looking at a flower here, a tree there. I saw his care and character in each present living thing that exists in his garden. Even under duress without his constant touch, his life is strong in its contribution. His legacy continuing to touch the present moment in daily life; none more present than being amongst the plants, soil and growth he nurtured. The rocks he carefully and meticulously placed with purpose behind each placement so that even the unmoving would move people with an image of who he is.
By Dylan Breen3 years ago in Families
Sirius Sirens
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. They forget to tell you how complex the evolutionary design is. That with each layer upon layer of matter before even our brains had gained sentience, we were iteratively and self-generated through sensory feedback. Over and over until we became rich in sensory input beyond any measure of the stimulus provided alone. Add a conscious mind into the solution, with the rich stores of memory to pull any lived experience from, then just a mixture of that with something you love, and you are proper fucked.
By Dylan Breen3 years ago in Fiction
