Ray Bradbury died today.


When I was young, I was addicted to the writing of Ray Bradbury, and I never got over it.  I would read his short stories; the magical, strange sci-fi ones, and the all of the rest.  The prose was mind-expanding, and I have never read a better storyteller.  There would be a twist in the plot, and I tried to predict what would happen next before I turned the page.  I always lost.  He had the ability to invite you into another world, and in a few words, to transform you.

It was a game he played with the reader, and he was the master.  Inside the flames of his imagination, there was an imp who directed the reader in one direction, spun their mind around, sent them careening into the unknown, and finished with “Wow.”

There will never be a storyteller quite like Ray Bradbury, but there will be a writer who can evoke the same feelings.  After all, he taught us all to seek a higher level of thought.

For that, I will always be grateful.


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