SCI-FI
Around him individuals milled about; bartering half rusted arms and legs from erected stalls and synth sellers stood; patiently waiting for addicts to barter their own limbs for product...
FICTION
Mama gripped a chicken by its clawed and wrinkled feet, headless over a yellow bucket, with blood dripping; thick and red from where its head had been...,
FICTION
I write these words now not in hope of some greater cause, or because I suppose they'll change the world, or as revenge for some injustice I'd suffered...
FANTASY
Gathered at their base of tableland, with exoskeletons glimmering under the moonlight, the etalűn seemed majestic...
SUPERNATURAL
Fortyfive kilometres south-east of the Limpopo capital of Polokwane is Lebowakgomo, and beyond that...
SHORT STORIES
Defined in the dictionary as works of fiction that are shorter than a novel.
I've always been fascinated by fiction, especially by how much of it can be seen as fact and how much as fabrication. When attempting to write good fiction, you always walk a thin line between the two. It’s like trying to be a skilled liar: tell too many facts, and you risk revealing the entire truth; add too much fabrication, and your lie becomes obvious. The key is to find an equilibrium between the two. Below, I make an effort at weaving good lies, and I start small.
– Sdrow Vieli ©
Shadows: spirits, ghosts & shades
SUPERNATURAL
Fortyfive kilometres south-east of the Limpopo capital of Polokwane is Lebowakgomo, and beyond that, to be more specific, about ten kilometres south-east of that is a small village; where red and copper sands cover the land...
My Final Project
FICTION
I write these words now not in hope of some greater cause, or because I suppose they'll change the world, or as revenge for some injustice I'd suffered. No, I write these words because...
Black & White
FICTION
Mama gripped a chicken by its clawed and wrinkled feet, headless over a yellow bucket, with blood dripping; thick and red from where its head had been, ruffled feathers littered the ground and stuck around the rim of the bucket...
Death To Pride
FICTION
The Robots are about to turn orange, I've been doing this long enough to feel the moment coming without counting the time. I turn and limp my way back to the sidewalk, one arm holding my small collection tin, the other curled at my side like an injured snake...