http://slow.writerscafe.org/sdforogar The original writings of author S. D. Forogar en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776007392 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Flash fiction. Waiting for a meeting with only dialogue. Determining meaning is your job. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/2847297/ Brandish your weapon, burn death into your mind, and slay the demon. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/2847286/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1961768/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1951046/ But were they my memories, or were they hers? Or, were they anybody's? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1913003/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1896097/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1895074/ Blackbirdand sparrow tweet at each other between trees, branches all to themselves. Ellie eyes their greed, their lives lived as if expecting that the world is made for them. She made all that they appreciated, and in fact she made them as well.From her toes, delicate grass spread like a carpet in a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1892586/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1891004/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1889722/ Memory and Purpose are intertwined, infinitely feeding one another like the Ouroboros. Lose one, and you will cripple the other. Lose both, and you will dine in a meal of endless discovery and dust. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1885668/ I am the Vibrant and the Dust, the Living and the Dead, a Dream of the past and a Memory now. Please, call me the only name I have. Please, call me Elle Silver. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1869626/ In a world of dust and memory . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1734963/ A being is born into this world, a being "beyond" its creators. Struggling with the conflicts between its Purpose and its perception, this being must discover its place in a world no longer living. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1685754/ "It's just the one hour, really. It's just the one, for there can only be one left. What would a dead man do with a second hour, anyway?" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1604620/ Ice, she dances so mystically, so majestically, like the very wind itself. Lightning bites, so vicious, but Ice just dances away in flight evermore. . . . And both are consumed in flames. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1560496/ Finally, we might yet leave this place alive. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489594/ What is Insanity? Does it have a face, and can it smile? Does it have a voice, and can it scream? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489587/ What is a school like, when it is empty? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489579/ Pain can make one sleep, and sleep can bring some truly unusual dreams. So, too, can fear, for that matter. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489429/ When everything truly began. Or, perhaps, Designate C-Day, Wildfire Send One. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489424/ This odd one, the "odd one out," greets me as I awaken, and our conversation is one that I will remember forever. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489361/ The aftermath of an incident, and how I managed to reason through what had happened. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489358/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1489353/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1457648/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1457422/ Pending. . . . http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1457420/ A confused being discovers the power of its own existence, and comes to conclude its perfection. And yet, another is just beginning to understand the life it has stolen from the dead world. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1442823/ Some of a story, in a world of dust and memory, remains shrouded in mystery. The dust hides many secrets, but none are so integral to a once-living world as the man named Nalis Singer. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1429376/ A work I'd written as an example, it is a story that COULD take off and yet has not. This is by design; I leave this as a piece that COULD tell a story to give an example, of sorts, to other authors. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1428509/ My first experience with it all started today, one day before the world ended. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1424654/ I'd always been concerned with one thought, one resounding play of words: My life has no purpose. For some, this would be the phrase they speak following Hell. For me, though, Hell gave it meaning. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1424648/ There is value in it. Reclamation does not limit you to the bounds of your Purpose, but broadens your perspective infinitely. This, this below, is only a taste of the beauty that Reclamation provides. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1420825/ This . . . is not the story. This is merely a musing, but you are welcome to it. Please read on, and let the read please if such are your ilk, but feel free to skip ahead if such are not. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1416635/ Two Minds are as one, but they are not. They love and they hate antithetically, and the live and they lust. One is a beast, but the other? No, the other is something more. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1401378/ A story about a world that has 'died,' one in which a single being struggles with the purpose in mind of restoring it. Having failed in its task, this being must find a reason to continue, or perish. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/sdforogar/1400721/