Max Popowich
Stories (2)
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Fertile God of Flies
The Newborn awoke to rain tickling their face. Wishing to stop the mildly uncomfortable sensation, they lifted their hand to the droplets. But something was odd. The drops still slipped down their face. After a few moments, the Newborn realized what was wrong. They had no hands.
By Max Popowich4 years ago in Fiction
The Throne
The Throne looms over the world, forever empty it’s purpose long ago fulfilled. It watches the bipedal creatures which created it go about their endless identical days. When they were imperfect each of their days would be different, sometimes only slightly but different and disgustingly unpredictable nonetheless. They wished for comfort, an escape from stress created by the drops of chaos which made telling the future impossible. The Throne looked upon their desires and smoothed out the jumbled lines of probability making it so each day mirrored the last. But still the creatures were not happy.
By Max Popowich5 years ago in Fiction
