I did not kill that man. How could I kill someone who doesn't exist?

I knocked on the dragon's door. "Damnit! Don't you know what time it is?" I didn't. I'd stopped sleeping. How could I, with questions of such profoundity gnawing on my brain? I wanted to know about the Gnostics, about the divine spark trapped in flesh. I wanted to know about the archons and the demiurge.

He wasn't a dragon, not anymore. He had chosen to become human, to live among us. Crazy. But he knew many secrets and he shared them all with me. Eventually.

This is a piece of micro fiction. Enjoy.

Downstream
by Dustin Driver

“Are you OK?” asks Olhado.

“Sure.”

His silhouette dances against the glare of the sun like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. The throbbing in my head is getting worse. I doubt I could stand if asked.

“You don’t look so good,” he replies.

“I’m fine, I’m just hot.”