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Cast Down

Henry Szabranski was born in Birmingham, UK, and studied Astronomy and Astrophysics at Newcastle upon Tyne University, graduating with a degree in Theoretical Physics. His fiction has appeared in Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Daily Science Fiction, Diabolical Plots, Kaleidotrope, and Fantasy For Good: A Charitable Anthology, amongst other places. He lives in Buckinghamshire with his wife and two young sons. Find out more at henryszabranski.com.
The smooth skin and delicate ear of the actual broken and discarded God. Vast and intricate fragments cast down upon the land and sea. Frost-rimed fingers curled in the mountains like the stark ribbed fossils of ancient leviathans. Silt-washed toes in the ocean, warmed by the black, life giving fumes of hydrothermal vents. Everywhere alabaster shards, reminders of the consequences of our rage.
Horn and cloven hoof, too; stalagmite talons and split trunk thrones. We wander amongst the relics, cursed and blessed alike. Ecstatic and despairing of our recently won freedom. "Listen to me! Only me!" our new leaders cry, and we hate on their behalf.
I lean close into the ear and my whisper adds to the prayers that echo within.
"I'm sorry, I never believed."
There is no answer.
The lips are lost among the ruins, and sealed now forever.
The End
This story was first published on Tuesday, August 8th, 2017


This is certainly the shortest story I've ever had published. More a feeling than a story, really. The first sentence is the text of a tweet by Simon Spanton (@SimonGuy64); he just comes out with these great beginning lines sometimes, and this one I felt compelled to expand upon. As to the story's intended theme: in my mind it is more to do with politics than religion.

- Henry Szabranski

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