Yesteryear Fiction

Cycling Souls
By K. Barnes


The towers which rise and spire from the surface of that distant moon are alive with the electric hush of minds caught and cycled through. Ascendency comes, but only to those who move beyond the cycling. Clothing worn and reworn over and over again never brightens, never becomes new, only fades further and further.


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Lord Barnes is alive and well in the hearts of literati everywhere.

Soul of Tears
By K. Barnes


“My tears are not the bitter tears of the unseen, the unheard.” She said. “My tears are the basis of my soul, my self, and the soul of the world, the soul of all things.” I remember the soft warmth of her hand as I took it, stroked the lines there as if to open them. Eyes rose to meet mine, soft and alive, as warm as her hands.

“Come,” I said. “Let us build a new soul for the world. Let us build a soul based not on tears, but on smiles and laughter.


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Lord Barnes is alive and well in the hearts of literati everywhere.

Sinners
By K. Barnes


The pipe player who juggles the souls of the lost and weary for the joy of the challenge is the same piper who dances the jig of the devil unknown to those who do not worship him. Sin is for sinners and demons plague only the followers of the church.


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Lord Barnes is alive and well in the hearts of literati everywhere.

Life-Water
By K. Barnes


The life water tastes as sweet as youth, glows with the blush-red light of joy and health, but its liquid succor is addictive, strong as any arcane will whose geas is to drink more, always more. Eternal youth is a gift, but it is also its own price.


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Lord Barnes is alive and well in the hearts of literati everywhere.