Jake Porter
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Stories (4)
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Professionals and Providence
There weren't always dragons in the valley. Of course, there weren't always humans in the valley either. Long ago, if you go back far enough, there was nothing in the valley. Plants, animals, even the sun crept into the valley over millennia. If you were particularly philosophical, you might think that no one could truly claim the valley as their home; everyone's just passing through. The humans didn't see it that way, though. They were there before the dragons, so the dragons needed to go. The conceit of the stance didn't bother Vaal much. After all, it was humans that paid him, not the trees, and certainly not the dragons. The old man told him, back when Vaal was still listening, that professionals left their hearts at home; and Vaal was a professional.
By Jake Porter4 years ago in Fiction
A Bad Kill
There weren’t always dragons in the valley. It mattered little now, but the elders liked to lament that fact. Then again, as far as Harjo could tell, that’s just what elders do; lament the past. 300 years ago, she heard Waketseh preach, before the Year of the Cold Sun, the Four Winds had kept their great sky snakes from straying past the Crying Mountains. Now, slithering along the vaulted tree line of the Forest of a Thousand Hollows, they loomed above all the creatures of the Crooked Sky Valley. Fallen Roots, just as every chief before him, said they served the spirits as punishers; and the chief said it, so it must be true.
By Jake Porter4 years ago in Fiction
Stepping Towards the Ledge
It had been quite some time since Farah Dubois had done anything strictly for herself. Sure, she had taken family vacations and owned frivolous baubles; but it was always for the benefit of her children or husband. So the widow figured a roller coaster ride was perfect to start her new life.
By Jake Porter4 years ago in Fiction
Anniversary
Frosted steam coughed out at him as he opened the freezer. It was nestled in the back, wedged behind the salisbury steak tv dinners and frozen brussel sprouts he'd get around to eating some day. The cheap plastic container -the ones she used to keep from the grocery store bakery- was half crushed by a bag of raw chicken breasts, crooked and frozen. He pried it loose from it's frigid tomb and stood there a moment, haunted eyes taking it in once more. They were supposed to eat it together, on their first anniversary, a commemoration of a successful year of marriage and the many more to come. They were supposed to do a lot of things together.
By Jake Porter5 years ago in Fiction
