Eight pieces of flash fiction
Author Archives: amaunator31
City-Builders in Motion
A critical synergy between public buildings and residential buildings is lacking in City-Building Games. Clearly, something must be done!
NAR – a card game
This is technically a piece of game design, not narrative design. NAR is a card game requiring no more than a regular pack of cards and a cunning mind.
The Road to Gondolin – Prologue
A draft version of The Road to Gondolin‘s prologue. This is the first instalment of three games which will relate the story of Tuor as shown in Tolkien’s Silmarillion.
The Fall of Gondolin
There are many stories in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Silmarillion that carry the seeds of greatness, and some of them might benefit equally from the video game treatment, but none more so than the story of Tuor and his son, Eärendil.
When the aliens landed
we weren’t ready.
Despite material mastery
that zipped us to Mars
that took us to the stars,
and nature in miniature
that bound our scars
that stopped all wars,
we weren’t ready
when the aliens landed.
When the weird arrived
we could not hide.
The thousands stored
and vitrified we thought
were safe in stasis
odi et amo
I adore and I abhor. Why ask me why?
You understand my ardent excruciation.
Autumn or Seventh Heaven
When bareness hits the limbs
and our alluring array is stripped,
the winds tousle, the branches
rustle. Down the sheets tumble
the rain, ecstatic and quick, tripped
off your limber frame
with lightning, thunder, roar and rumble
we were feverish
In icy frigidity gripped.
The days’ decay withdrew
with death falling on our eaves.
Our oaken togetherness
The Sickle of Time
Buds and the foliage of April
waken to gaudy apparel
Proserpine’s welcome arrival.
Blossoms and ladybugs carol,
dancing in spider silk stocking
as meadows of forest green beryl
set all the swallows to flocking,
enviously twittering their melodies,
endlessly larking and hawking.
Light on the Bedroom Window or Sunday
the divine echoes of a lawnmower
primeval and sonorous
dragging down with it the bone
the flesh and memory to dinosaur dawn,
to endless wastes of windswept (h)arbourage
and in the piping of their cousins
little competition with
the sound of sempiternal µ