By Brian Hodge
We got language, says an outdated parable, simply because God loves the tales. And he loves the tales simply because they assist him recognize himself greater. those 8 stories in Brian Hodge's well known moment assortment increase the reason a bit further.
Full of gods and devils, tormentors and deliverers, Falling Idols is a twisting, harrowing direction towards the nation of being that poet Kahlil Gibran describes as having the ability "to bless the darkness as we've got blessed the light."
"Stick round, It will get Worse" - The universe creates what it wishes, even in a gritty city Hell.
"A Loaf Of Bread, A Jug Of Wine" - A threatened village in global warfare II France has an not likely defender: the allegedly soulless production of Victor Frankenstein.
"The Dripping Of Sundered Wineskins" - A trio of immortal Sisters catapults an Irish stigmatic towards his future of being both a saint or a butcher. global delusion Award finalist.
"Cenotaph" - whereas exploring the fantastical sculptures at an historic English church, a photographer discovers what fairly guided her ancestor's hammer and chisels.
"As Above, So less than" - a life of looking out that started deep within a derelict railroad tunnel leads a really outdated soul to a wasteland city, for his ultimate revelations in sacrifice, miracles, and love. chosen for The Century's most sensible Horror Fiction.
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We got language, says an previous parable, simply because God loves the tales. And he loves the tales simply because they assist him recognize himself greater. those 8 stories in Brian Hodge's popular moment assortment improve the reason a bit extra. filled with gods and devils, tormentors and deliverers, Falling Idols is a twisting, harrowing course towards the kingdom of being that poet Kahlil Gibran describes as having the ability "to bless the darkness as now we have blessed the sunshine.
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Extra info for Falling Idols
Perhaps a deep-seated desire to immerse himself into a locale with a genuine past, true personality, traits the mass-erected outlying clone dwellings had neatly managed to avoid. Whatever the reason, it felt as strong as a biological need. And at first Natalie was game for the idea. Change was healthy. Change was stimulating. The inner city was not without hope, and better days ahead. The past years had seen the renaissance of restoration. Instead of the demolition of old buildings and sprouting of bland housing, the powers that be were finally getting it right: working with what was already there, leaving architectural personalities intact while rehabbing the buildings where they stood.
Bricklord wants a building burned out? We give it to him. He wants to smell some food rot in the street? We give that to him too. He don’t never ask for life so long’s we keep him happy with all the other shit. Sacrifices, cuz. That’s what it’s all about. ” Leo, shaking his head in numb refusal, Just who the hell is this Bricklord guy that’s got these people so beaten down? “And then you come along with your spray cans,” Willy said. Out in the street, the girl pulled a dagger from the folds of her dress.
Maybe someday. Maybe. Find another kid and do some practice races, and for the relays, instead of a baton they could pass each other this dented can of spray paint that he’d found in the gutter this morning. And had used once already. Calvin was a far better runner than artist, but what he’d sprayed on the whitewashed wall, mere feet from where the painter had died, was still easy to discern: a tombstone shape, set in between the bottom of the flower stems. The wall had become a regular montage of group effort.