There is a cult within humanity, tearing at our heart and mind. Telling us that theirs is the way to live, even as they destroy the world around them. Theirs is false promise and gloss, a thin veneer over gross decay.
Fatale blow [Le Sueur] [Lockdown]
Vague and ephemeral, a promising point in the sea of data, she swam forward and faded, time and again. A digital presence promising more, sensing my loneliness and my need.
A little respite [Le Sueur] [Lockdown]
Maintaing the spirit in Lockdown, a sense of cautions optimism is founf in the darkenss of the night.
A message to myself [Le Sueur]
A short story, a message to myself, found again by accident. Written a year ago. It is a message of hope, written in an uncertain time.
