Fables From the Morning After

In case anybody hasn't read this, you ought to. It's been taken down from its author's site (hopefully because it's going to wind up being published), but the web archive's got copies, and it's damn good reading. I'll let the section titled "About the Fables" say the rest:

Do you remember last night? Do you remember the fire of booze in the back of your throat, the ice of a needle under your skin, the heady euphoria of a room thick with smoke? Do you remember your sweet words and your empty promises? Do you remember the heat, the sweat, the sticky fumbling of flesh against flesh and the desperate sex? Do you remember the earthquake, the tempest, the poison gas, the bomb that ended it all?

Of course not. That was last night. The morning after isn't for memory. It's for riddles and hints, intimate strangers and unknown regret. It's for headaches and pain with a lingering buzz of passion. It's a time for the awkward; silences, goodbyes, kisses and questions left over from the night before. A time for someone to pick up the pieces.

We're someone. We are prophets, beggars and kings. We are memories, echoes and ghosts. We are human animals, broken warriors and living stories. The world is gone; we are all that's left. And the morning after is today.

Fables From the Morning After
A Web-Comic Without Pictures

You can find it here: http://web.archive.org/web/20051015031906/http://fables.bleedingfiction.com/archives/00000003.html

If you've any sense of wonder at all, your life will be the richer for your having read it.