by K. K. Norton | Jun 15, 2026 | Short Story
There was a man—we will call him the scribe, though he did not always bear this title, and has borne many more since—conceived under a full moon, born in the city of Hermopolis, and raised with a pen in his hand. It may be that the gods always destined him to fulfill...
by K. K. Norton | Jan 6, 2026 | Poetry
On the eve of mine own five And twentieth autumn alive, A voice did quietly arrive Having likely heard my cry: ‘So life,’ he whispered, ‘is not what thou thought, Woefully bereft of fleece or argonaut, Infinitely longer than was taught In the bright schoolroom with...
by K. K. Norton | Dec 30, 2025 | Short Story
She had been weeping for some time now, head in hands. Her eyes had been covered for so long now that she wasn’t quite sure where she was, but she still listened, and when she listened she heard the sun rise. The flowers opening at the same time she felt the heat of...
by K. K. Norton | Dec 25, 2025 | Essays
What does it mean to be forgotten? People forget things nearly everyday, whether it be a pen, a wallet, a watch, etc. These are minor inconveniences which serve at most to irritate us and possibly necessitate a trip back home before getting on with the day. There is...
by K. K. Norton | Dec 20, 2025 | Short Story
You would be forgiven for believing your shadow to be a good-for-nothing idler; in fact, most of them are and I won’t go about making excuses for them. Yet, if you would dear reader, ponder a moment on how often it really is that you see your own shadow. By my...
