What if Earth is a prison for immortal spiritual beings, who are trapped in soft bodies, stuck to the surface of a third-rate planet on the edge of a fifth-rate galaxy, punished by pain and loss, living in tiny bubbles floating on a sea of amnesia? And what if short stories are the floating wreckage of forgotten lifetimes?
I did not consciously set out to write these short stories. They insinuated themselves into my awareness, and by the time I recognized something was happening, my fingers were done writing them. I think these stories are messengers from other times and places.