This is a Friday. Like all Fridays, it is the week’s most adorable and neat potential. Nobody else is to butt in, and I’m thrilled with anticipation.
The moment I finish work, the grey veil of duty lifts, and a part of my mind just starts piling up logs of plans and thoughts lit by impulses like shooting stars. A bonfire of probability emits light at the tunnel’s end, warmth in the dark.
Continue reading “April 1st”
There are days, you are relieved that the hours run out, and there isn’t much more time so the day can not throw more atrocities at you. There are days you thank whichever entity you believe in, that day belongs to the past now because you did not see that coming. You did not have that coming. Isn’t your fault.
And there are days -sigh- that do not care for the linear flow of time.
Continue reading “February 22nd”
inspired by twitter prompt: #vss365
The silver dollar danced up and down the stranger’s fingers, tumbled from his knuckles in a brilliant flurry of bright flashes, cutting light and sticky curses.
Max was suddenly sober for the first time in twenty-three months. More even, the feeling of sleepwalking fell off of him as soon as that silver light pierced his eyes.
The presence of the coin dragged him into this bar and slammed him into that seat near the stranger. It put him back into his place. Fifty-four years old, profusely sweating, diabetic, a man without a home or family or a penny to his name – that was his place, the only one he merited. It brought back the insecurity, the impotence, the numbness in his hands and feet, the inadequacy, the being alone. There was tingling in his crotch. He saw the stains on his pants for the first time.
Finally, the coin snapped him into the present heartbeat, like a bungee cord attached to his bum ticker.
Chapter 1: part 1
“Let’s deal with one catastrophe at a time, shall we?” I had the feeling Mother Goose rubbed his forehead after a face-palm I didn’t hear. “Is the sample secured?”
“Uh-huh.” I answered the best I could.
Distant typing came over the comms. “Poe is fifty yards to your left, pacing up and down a corridor. And… I see, darling.” I felt his annoyance ooze out of my ear piece. “Shep, it’s a Kong Green. I owe you fifty. You stay put, I’m sending Shepherd to collect you.” Great! One-woman-army was coming to save me, like a damsel in distress.
Part 1 Superstition / Part 2 Names for Blades / Part 3 Sin-eater / Part 4 Threshold
triggerwarning: injury, cruelty, predatory behavior
Part 5a
“Is this really necessary?” I’d be nervous too. “I doubt you need me tied down.” It was a bad position, yes. Frank scuttled and tried to keep his balance. But it was important to leave no doubts. I bowed down and tied his ankles and knees together. The Sin-eater was an old being, almost as old as I was, which meant it had time to perfect some nasty tricks. If it suspected a trap, it would do a lot more than just kill the child. Continue reading “Devil’s Peak (5a)”
5
“I’ll tell you. For the sake of-” Farnsw-Peter stared me down, eyes like liquid fire, fierce and angry. “You won’t stop, will you?” His gaze locked on mine. I shook my head not able to utter a word. My mouth was dry. Funny. Never thought he had it in him. What a surprise!
“I won’t leave anything out. That’s what you’re afraid of. I don’t want fame or fortune. I don’t care about my mark in history. Not like this.” He expected something from me, but when he saw, I didn’t know what, he shook his head. He was disappointed with me?
“I’m sorry. I truly am, Peter.” I tried softly. Where was he heading? What did he want, if not being a part of such a significant, table-turning discovery? Was money on his mind?
It’s a book of tradition, a tale of sorrow,
like the snake on the mighty apple tree,
like a river of time, cutting through
generations of living flesh and mind.
*
What’s a heart between beats?
Useless pieces of wind-up mechanics
a still lump of faulty desire,
shaped by struggle, Continue reading “What’s a heart for?”
One cold night the full moon’s blaze burns
The children tremble and pray, taking turns
The sky bursts its heartbeat into buzz’n thunder
Black turning into whistling metal, going under
My sweet baby, there’s only blood for your baptize
ready for bed, after the noise and havoc slowly dies
Stay in your cellars, a howling beast is out tonight
It’s something beautiful, deadly and cruelly bright
The night shivers with autumn stars
Highways packed with abandoned cars
Dark and deep silence solidifies into absence
shifting days and nights back into balance
Wishful thinking, being covered in leafs and mud
Meat and saliva, sweet baby, this is bad blood
Money is one sinister god I used to pray to
Me, the kid with the broken heart and faulty hue
Struck by the currency of freedom and power,
It’s not my conscience, but my hands I scour Continue reading “Money and Media”
THE STORY HIVE 