Part 1 - Wings of an Angel
The gulls make a ruckus. They are restless. News will arrive shortly, my mother used to say. God rest her poor soul.
No clouds hide the blue sky. Before the morning mass, I see the sails. They appear on the horizon like the wings of an angel. Bright. White. Impatiently expected. I’ve been waiting for this ship. Everything is going to be fine now. Thank God Almighty. She will arrive at noon. I give out the orders to bring Captain Andersen to my office as soon as possible. Continue reading “peter midnight”
Part 1/ Part 2
‘Leaf in the current, gravitate. Ignorant, until meaning finds you.’
The ocean around me moved, like a summer breeze. The strangest thoughts surfaced. Deep-sea creatures floated towards me. With their long sharp teeth, spikes for ribs and stone cold scales, they brushed my feet. I knew they would. My toes expected the chilly touch. Maybe that’s why I didn’t jump.
Fins broke the surface.
Continue reading “The Weight Curse”
MB #1; #2; #3; #4; #5;
So? How’s Frazer? Rains shrugs, food tray in his hands lifting slightly. I gesture for him to join me at my table. What did Oz say?
The usual. He’s doing his best. Frazer’s out of the woods. She’ll be out of the med bay in some days. He sits down and pokes at his dehydrated meal packs. I hand him the hot water can. Nearly ready with my food, I focus on him.
And Decker? Oh, come on. Don’t make that face. I smile at his bitter, angry grimace. After all, you saved his life. He’ll be happy. Rains looks wounded as if I congratulate him on destroying the capital of The United Territories. Continue reading “med bay snippet #6”
1 & 2; 3;
Farnsworth had spent over an hour pacing up and down the hallway before giving up and facing me. I could smell his fear, or discomfort over the stench of the hospital sanitizer. He stood there as if he went to his own funeral. “Morning. Please, take a seat,” I spoke gently and gestured to the long table. Pale and troubled he studied his feet. Finally, he and his resignation came in.
I kept myself in the furthest corner. Funny, how I found myself searching for the darkness. I stood in the shadows, like any good villain. Ha! Adam Lake, Professor, and villain. Sounded like something from a cheap action movie, from the 90ties. Also, I haven’t slept much for the last two days. I needed to match my looks with Farnsworth’s. That came handy later, I hoped. Just to make a point. Continue reading “Black Door”
Got no bats in my belfry, so I’m not superstitious. Nobody should be. I tell Ira every day I walk him to the theatre.
Fluffy feather-like snowflakes sail down from the grey December sky. The lighter in my hand spits and hisses sparks. The paper of my cigarette catches fire, one drag and my lungs fill with hot, dry smoke.
I thumb Ira’s number in my phone. It goes straight to voicemail. „Fuuu-it’s Ben. Again. Come on. I’m freezing.” The drama group will give me a chew out for this. Continue reading “Jinx”
– NAMES FOR BLADES –
remember, this is still WIP
The trees creaked as if the moon itself rolled on top of them. The sky was still bright enough but caught amber on the west side. The silence was accompanying a sense of dread and heaviness on my chest. “We should hurry,” I told Frank. No birds chirped, no animal rustled the leaves. The longer we had our feet on the trail, the quieter the forest got. Continue reading “DEVIL’S PEAK (2)”
On writing a believable villain
PART 1 / PART 2
“Nobody is the villain in their own story. We’re all the heroes in our own stories.” George R. R. Martin.
In real life, it seems fairly easy to find evil powers. They come in all shapes and colors: remember the bully in your class? Remember the nasty villain in your favorite book? Remember the welcomed scapegoat, when you parked your car in the no-no-place? If not, just open a newspaper, social media or switch on the TV. What do you see? Murder, war, hate, accidents, fear, racism, bigotry… In this frenzy of bad and catastrophic news, one can get the feeling the world is a horrible place, and humans are disgusting.
Now, how does one start to write about all the terrible stuff that’s happening? Dear writer, you start with yourself. What are your experiences? Think about your stories of survival: recall the time you escaped harm, the time you felt in danger, and the time you couldn’t avoid the hurt. Every survivor has his/her own story to tell about the evil they’ve faced.
Linger there and use that as emotional fuel, even if it hurts. Let your raw voice retell the events, bleed them unto the page. This article might help you with that.
Continue reading “The Road to a Place Called Evil (1)”