Yesteryear Fiction

I Am The We Are
By Jerry Hadrick


“The only toolkit a magician ever needs is his soul.” The old man breathes. “Light of the mind and life, the burning in the veins, the burning which etches the soul and tree-branches outward along the backs of the eyes.”

“The Dance is your breath, your language.” A woman whispers, closes the space between herself and the old mage with the rush of lost winds. “We are, we are, we are, we are.”

“I am.” The old man whispers back.

“We are the I am, I am the we are.”

“We are, together.”


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Biographies are for sissies.