Monthly Archives: December 2017

Fantasy, General Fiction

Silverwood

Silverwood slept peacefully while the countryside burnt. It was not her fire. It was not her countryside either. Anyway, the villagers had always thrown stones at her when they saw her.

She slept peacefully and awoke to the sound of the troll groaning. She had forgotten to water him!

She quickly filled a bucket and lugged it downstairs to the basement where the bewitched creature was standing guard over her portal. It glugged the water down thirstily between belches, and she made a note that she must steal another child away from the village. The beast had not eaten for months now. He was such a bother.

***

The cosmic furnace heaved as stars and other celestial bodies were consumed. An ornate chimney ran from it into space where the stardust blew freely like smoke across the ashes of the universe.

“Yes dear,” an old woman said to an image of Silverwood, “Yes, yes, you are young. Don’t be so hasty to leave that planet, all the civilisations of the cosmos have their problems. For example, this one never discovered chocolate. Never. No wonder it ended in tears.”

The image of Silverwood frowned on the portal. At this point it was only displaying images, but–if the counterparty accepted it–the device could open a small wormhole between itself and receiving portals.

And there were many portals across the multiverse.

“But, mom…” Silverwood whined, her shoulders slumping, “It is so boring down here. And the people stink, and they don’t like me. There is nothing to do and it sucks.”

In the background, her troll was standing behind her, its back to her, guarding the portal against anyone other than her.

Silverwood’s mother sighed. She was too soft on her girls. She hoped that they did not grow up to be spoilt.

“OK, Silverwood–” her mother began, and before she even finished, the portal had solidified and Silverwood was standing before her with her troll. The old portal would deactivate on the planet until they needed it again.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Silverwood bubbled, looking around her mother’s moon, “Can I go somewhere exciting next?”

***

“Just because we are gifted with immortality and magic, doesn’t mean that we are gifted with the knowledge or wisdom of how to use it,” the old, white-haired man said as clouds drifted by him. The air seemed to glow up here as light-filled clouds made up the landscape around him and Silverwood’s mother.

“Yes, I have told our daughters this many times, dear,” she said, shaking her head, “But Silverwood still struggles with it. She struggles with the boredom of it all.”

Silverwood’s father smiled. He knew exactly where to send his daughter.

***

The camera flashes looked like mini-supernovas as she got out of the limo. There were so many of them. Bodyguards–led by her trusted troll, albeit slightly made-up to fit in here–kept the paparazzi at bay, but their numerous cameras flashed repeatedly overhead as she walked down the red carpet.

“Silverwood! Silverwood!” screamed a reporter that she mildly recognized. They locked eyes, so she paused and leant in for an interview. The famous mortal actor on her arm hung back and smiled in every direction for the pictures.

The world was watching.

“Silverwood, who did you cheat on your husband with?” the reported flashed some pictures that she barely saw. But, she did not need to see much. She knew, and now so did the reporter.

Her heart sunk. How?

“How-how did you get those?” Silverwood stumbled, as the world came crashing down around her. The famous mortal actor was no longer smiling on her arm. He reached forward and grabbed the photos of her and another man.

Cameras were flashing. The media buzzed ratcheted upwards. The entire world was watching. Silverwood no longer felt all-powerful and immortal amongst these maggots.

“No amount of magic can erase your feelings or undo your mistakes,” she heard her distant father whisper into her ear, “Just because we are gifted with immortality and magic, doesn’t mean that we are gifted with the knowledge or wisdom of how to use it.”

She could sense him smiling up in the light-filled clouds, but below him and around her the paparazzi and international media went crazy…

Fantasy, General Fiction, Horror & Dark Fiction, Science Fiction

Tim’s Demons & Other Friends

When humans evolved and got superpowers, not everyone got a cool power. Of course, there were the super-strong people, the super-fast, super-tough and those that could fly, teleport or read minds or throw fireballs, or pretty much do anything cool.

Then there were the uncool or odd powers.

Some people could smell the future or see around corners, others could transform into a fish or summon custard pudding. Not all uncool powers were nasty, though. Many of these Pseudo-supers or “Pseuds” (as they became known) were accepted and loved in society kind of the same way you would accept and love a weird cousin.

But some of these Pseuds were downright creepy and ended up being ostracised.

On the fringe of towns and far out in the country, clusters of the Creeps (as they were known) would live together much like leppers had done centuries before. Not even the Pseuds wanted to be around them.

***

Little Tim had demons. They followed him around.

The first one had appeared after his father had left him when he was about five years old. It was a vague, shadowy demon with horns that said nothing and just followed him around. It had scared his mother who had sent him away to live with his Uncle Pat and the other Creeps.

That was when his second demon had been born. It was a pale reflection of her; gaunt and twisted as it was dark and eerie. It spoke only to other people and never to him and, mostly, just tried to sleep with them. He did not like it, as it was disliked by most people who do not have a fetish for ghosts.

Little Tim also had the snotty demon from when he was really sick that one time and the spiky one from when the bullies beat him up in the alleyway. He also had the creepy one from the old lady in the apartment below his mother’s place.

Yes, Little Tim had demons and they all obediently followed him around.

His Uncle Pat took him under his wing on the farm–the Creeps lived on a Collective where they grew their own food–and taught him the value of friendship and love. He taught him that you are not your superpower, but rather the collection of decisions on how to use it. If you use it to make the world a better place, you were a good person. If you use it for your own advantage, you were a bad person.

Uncle Pat, himself, had an awkward power: he could induce nightmares in people. Not very useful in homes with children nor in crowded cities. But, it was quite useful for the criminal justice system as an alternative form of punishment for offenders who–for some or other reason, most likely to do with their superpowers–could not go to prison.

All Uncle Pat would do was make them dream that they were in prison and serving out their full term. If a dream feels like it lasts a lifetime, then the dreamer has, in fact, dreamt a lifetime. They would wake up mere hours later but changed people.

The break-through for Little Tim was when he sat down with his demons and spoke to them. They all had a heart-to-heart. They were all stuck together; them and Little Tim. The least they could do was be friends. They, too, had not asked to be here but merely appeared. They, too, did not want to be abandoned.

Little Tim and his demons hugged afterward.

The other Creeps threw a party that night for Little Tim. Even Little Tim’s demon’s joined the party and, once they opened up, got on (more or less) wonderfully with everyone.

“Everyone is fighting a hard fight and is worth knowing when you get to know them”, Uncle Pat said and everyone agreed to loud cheers.

That was the night Little Tim kissed his first girl. Susan had lizard eyes, mosaic-scaled skin and a flickering tongue. It tickled him and they both laughed. She was very cute and Little Tim’s heart fluttered like a butterfly each time he thought of her.

When Little Tim woke up the next morning with a big smile on his face, a beautiful angel was standing at his bed. His demons stood around moping and shadowy, but the angel was radiant and smiled at him. He smiled back at her, suddenly understanding everything.

“Uncle Pat! Uncle Pat! Uncle Pat!” Little Tim panted, running through the farm to the lead-lined outer shed that Uncle Pat slept in so that he did not infect everyone else with nightmares while they slept, “Uncle Pat! I have an angel now!”

“Uh, wha–” Uncle Pat rolled over on his grubby mattress as the heavy lead-lined door squeaked open and light spilt in, “Timmy, what is it?”

“Uncle Pat, this is my angel. I now know what I have to do to make the world a better place!” Little Tim was smiling.

Uncle Pat sat up and yawned, smiling at the kid. He patted the mattress next to him, “Come sit here, Timmy, and tell me all about it.”

Little Tim dropped down onto the mattress, beaming: “I don’t just have demons. I also have now have an angel. All the bad makes my demons, but all the good can also make them. And those will be angels. And those angels will make the world a better place!”

Uncle Pat nodded, thoughtfully. He glanced up at the pack of eerie demons just outside of his shed’s open door and the single, radiant being that stood gracefully in their brooding midst. He felt peace and joy looking at her brilliance. Her light washed over his heart and lifted his spirits.

He smiled and hugged Little Tim, who hugged him tightly back. They were both crying now. It was tears of joy, maybe.

“Right, Timmy,” he began in all seriousness, choking back his tears and smiling widely, “You know what we have to do now, don’t you? We have to make sure that you have the most amazing, brilliant and happy life ever and, by the end of it, you will have filled the world with angels.”

***

When the world was filled with angels, happiness and light literally walked down the streets and joy stalked in every heart. Civilisation was at peace and the Creeps and Pseuds did not matter anymore. Neither did wars nor wealth. Society was healed and brought together in harmony.

A new age dawned for man and the President personally thanked Little Tim. In so doing, the President spawned a whole host more of angels that looked a lot like him. In fact, every street the Little Tim walked down, strangers hugged him and thanked him for all the light he had brought into the world.

It was still the same world, but it was now filled with angels, love, happiness and hope. The darkness was banished and no one had nightmares anymore.

But Little Tim still had his few demons. His father, mother, the snotty one, the spiky one and the old woman. They hid from all this light back in his apartment in the city. He felt sorry for them and spent time talking to each one of them.

They did not like the light, but he told them that they were very important. Without some darkness, there would be no need for light, he told them. Susan–who was now Little Tim’s wife–told them so too.

Uncle Pat would come over and induces terrifying nightmares in the demons. They loved it. They could escape into the darkness and terror of dreams, but when they woke the world was still full of blinding light.

And so, Little Tim, Susan and Uncle Pat closed all the windows, sat all the demons down and turned the lights off. Sitting in the darkness of the living room, the demons felt better and they began to talk. They spoke of their hopes and dreams. They spoke of their years of silence when no one looked and they spoke of Little Tim, Susan and Uncle Pat.

By the end of it, they–all of them–were crying.

“Everyone is fighting a hard fight and is worth knowing when you get to know them”, Uncle Pat said, choking back a tear.

Everyone nodded, agreeing in the darkness.

Little Tim stood up and hugged each one of his demons. They were his friends, and he wanted them to feel better. And they did.

General Fiction, Horror & Dark Fiction

The Conversation

“How did you think it was going to end?”

“I–I don’t know, I thought maybe–”

“Well, it ended badly.”

A silence hangs between the two for a moment. The first speaker is dressed in black with few other details that stick in your mind. Even your eyes tend to wander off him and look elsewhere. The second speaker is a late-to-middle-aged man with unremarkable features and a clueless expression on his face.

“It ended badly?” the Second Speaker asks tentatively.

“Yes,” the Speaker in Black nods, “After all, it started with you naked, covered in blood, and kicking and screaming, so why would you think it ended any different?”

The Second Speaker nods. He is still trying to process all of this.

“Well, let me remind you,” the Speaker in Black sighs. Lots of his clients were slow to understand the contract’s terms.

***

Light. Cold. Pain. Noise…

The baby bursts out into the world screaming. It’s first sound piercing the veil between unborn and born, as its eyes open and the world’s harsh light blinds it.

The baby falls quiet and blinks, taking all of this in. A silence hangs in the air for a moment before it starts screaming again.

“It is naked, covered in blood, and kicking and screaming,” the Speaker in Black points out the obvious, “and it is you.”

The Second Speaker nods, absorbing this. It is strange to watch your own birth.

***

“Mummy,” the little boy asks, just before his mother turns the lights off, “please don’t turn the light off. I don’t like the dark.”

His mother smiles. The boy does not see it, but she has a strange expression on her face.

“My love, don’t be scared,” she reassures her child, “The darkness can be your friend too, if you let it.”

A silence hangs between the two for a moment.

“Besides, I’m in the other room and I’ll never let anything happen to you,” she quickly adds, strengthening her argument.

The door closes. The darkness surrounds them and the boy rolls over.

“That was the night before your parents divorced,” the Speaker in Black notes as a fact, “And it was the last time you were afraid of the darkness.”

The Second Speaker turns and is about to say something, but then the scene changes.

***

The young couple are half dressed as they join in the back seat of a drive-through. The windows are half-steamed up as the cosmos twinkles far above the carnal scene.

“I remember this,” the Second Speaker says, “This was when I lost my virginity.”

An awkward moment hangs between them where they try not to make eye contact. The young man’s naked bottom is partly visible through the steamy car window as the car gently rocks up and down.

“I regret bringing us here,” the Speaker in Black mumbles, looking away sheepishly, “But you never married her and that is kinda of the–you know, whatever.”

***

A young man is dancing wildly while laughing. And then he is screaming. Before this, the snow is gently falling as they walk under the night sky towards the hidden cave. He is naked dancing wildly there.

The scene blurs and the Second Speaker turns around, still perplexed, and asks, “Why did you show me that? It makes no sense. I lived those moments, and I did not need reminding.”

The Speaker in Black shakes his head slowly. Some of his clients needed more reminding than others.

“Watch it closely again,” he says, and the scenes start up again.

***

Light. Cold. Pain. Noise…

The baby bursts out into the world screaming. It’s first sound piercing the veil between unborn and born, as its eyes open and the world’s harsh light blinds it.

The baby falls quiet and blinks, taking all of this in. A black-robed man holds the baby above him as the wicked congregation mutters incantations around them. The candles flicker and the darkness creeps a little closer.

And then mother returns from tucking in her young boy in the next door room. She drops her loose clothing as she walks to the middle of the circle where the High Priest is waiting for her. The other witches all creep forward full of lust, just as the front door opens and her husband walks in early from work.

The car rocks gently back and forth as the young man takes advantage of the drugged girl. Her head rolls limply back and forth as he unleashes his carnal desire on her innocent form.

The Second Speaker gasps. He knows that the girl gets dropped off in a field outside a bar, but he wonders why he could not remember that before. He knows what comes next, or–more terrifying–he is now starting to remember how this ended.

“It ended badly,” he whispers.

“Yes,” the Speaker in Black agrees, “It ended badly.”

In the hidden cave, he is naked and dancing wildly before a flickering fire. The drugs all flowing through his body. He is smeared with the blood of the crumpled body in the corner–some hitchhiker they picked up–and is laughing at the power he feels in his mind. His naked, wicked girlfriend stalks up lithely behind him, silver glinting in her hands.

He does not see the knife slip into his back, but he sees his blood as it pumps his life into the ground at his feet.

She is stabbing him again and again, as he falls down, screaming, naked and covered in blood.

***

“It ended badly,” the Second Speaker repeats, a look of comprehension setting across his face, “because how else could that end? How else could my life have ended? It was terrible.”

“Exactly,” says the Speaker in Black, “But it isn’t your fault. It isn’t anyone’s fault. It just is. Life and then death. That is the contract.”

The Second Speaker looks up and narrows his eyes, “And that’s it? That’s all? You live and then you die?”

“Yes,” says the Speaker in Black, nodding, “By its very nature, life is finite. You did not choose to be born, nor to die. All you got was the time between those events.”

There is a silence between the two of them. Eventually, the Second Speaker sighs and nods.

And they both disappear.

***

“How did you think it was going to end?”

“I–I just thought that–”

“Well, it ended beautifully.”

The first speaker is dressed in black with few other details that stick in your mind. Even your eyes tend to wander off him and look elsewhere. The second speaker is an elderly woman with greying hair and caring eyes.

“It ended beautifully?” the Elderly Woman asks tentatively.

“Yes,” the Speaker in Black nods, “After all, it started surrounded by those that love and care for you, how else did you think it would end?”

The Elderly Woman nods. She is still trying to process all of this.

“Let me remind you,” the Speaker in Black sighs. Lots of his clients were slow to understand the contract’s terms.

Horror & Dark Fiction, Romance

The Apple

His wings lay to the side. The act of tearing them off had hurt more than he could explain but the jagged wounds in his flesh just felt numb.

He felt numb.

Then he remembered his anger. He remembered why he was doing what he was doing. He remembered who he was doing this for.

And he smiled.

He knew exactly where he was going. He had waited for most of his torturous existence to do this, and now he was doing it. Heaven forbade such acts, but this was love and he would be damned–literally!–if he would live for eternity in fear instead of one lifetime in love.

He chose love.

***

Fred smiled at the strange man on the subway. He had such chiseled features. He looked like he had come off some divine production line. He was strangely familiar to Fred, yet Fred was also sure that they had never met. This confusion kept Fred’s gaze on him a second longer than normal. He looked up and they made eye-contact, so the man smiled, leaned in and greeted him.

“Hi,” the man said–god, he had blue eyes!–“I’m Michael.”

“Uh-uh,” Fred stumbled over the words, his heart was pounding and his palms sweaty, “Hi, I’m Fred. Uh, do I know you?”

The beautiful man smiled. He never shook his head nor nodded. Rather he reached out and grasped Fred’s hand and squeezed it. Fred’s heart skipped a beat and then he squeezed back.

The beautiful stranger smiled.

“Say, do you want to get a drink, Fred?” he asked, smiling, the light radiating out of his blue eyes, “I know a quiet little pub nearby the next station.”

Fred smiled back and nodded before he realized that he should say something back.

“Sure, sure, yes,” he said, “Say, where are you from?”

The beautiful stranger smiled. Sadness and pain flashed across his eyes before he answered.

“I’m from far away. Very far. But, that doesn’t matter. That place doesn’t approve of people like us, Fred. We were made different to the rest and shouldn’t suffer because of it.”

Fred knew exactly what the man meant. He had run away from home when he was young. He did not miss his father’s or anyone else’s beatings nor the judgment of the priests.

“Born,” Fred corrected, smiling reassuringly back at him, “Born. We weren’t made. We were born.”

“Sure,” the stranger nodded, sadly, “Sometimes it feels more like I was made by some asshole god, to be honest.”

They both laughed at this, and the train came to a stop.

“How about that drink, Fred?”

Fred smiled. It had been a long time since someone had made him feel like this and he would be damned if he was going to let the opportunity slip by him.

Fantasy

The Grass Dragon

“Not many people–in fact, only a handful–are aware of the mythology of the dragons,” said Magnus the Heretic Sorcerer as he cut his way through the jungle, his party just behind him, “Not just is it a pity because it is a beautiful tale, but it also means that the dragons themselves have begun to forget such things.”

The humid jungle surrounded the hardened group of adventurers. They had been traveling for days by foot, literally cutting their way through the vines, ferns and the occasional monster that leaped out at them or stole into their camp at night.

“But, first, you need to understand the difference between a wyrm, a drake, a wyvern and a dragon,” Magnus stopped to catch his breath. He wiped a corner of his robe’s sleeve across his forehead and it came off wet. He did not seem to notice though and continued lecturing, “A wyrm has no legs nor wings, a drake has two legs and two wings, a wyvern is a big drake, and a dragon–the pinnacle of the species–has four legs and two wings, and a much greater size than the others. And, each dragon is tied to an element, fire, or sub-element, like ice, and giving them powers and the ability to breath that element. Fire is the most common, but water, ice, earth, air, and so on all exist.”

As if the Narrator was waiting for a convenient pause, suddenly primitive screams erupted around them. They were under attack, again! Tattooed jungle-kobolds rose from the foliage and swung down the ancient vines upon the adventures. Poisoned darts whizzed by them as Magnus began to conjure, Squok the Barbarian leaped into the midst of them with his axe swinging and Shiv the Shifty One disappeared with her trusty dagger in hand…

***

“In the beginning,” Magnus started up again, panting while wiping the blood off his staff as Shiv reappeared, her daggers sheathed already, “In the beginning, there was the Grass Dragon. The Grass Dragon was one of a kind. The only dragon in the world. It could change colour, but they called it the Grass Dragon because when it was not blending into its surroundings, it was the colour of the greenest grass. It was a delicate being, but a very intelligent one too.”

After consulting the old map they had, the adventurers were now moving on. They would leave the corpses of the jungle-kobolds to rot with no ceremony because that would have been an inconvenient plot device. Besides, the jungle would consume them and the circle life would continue unabated, or the Narrator noted use pop-spirituality to justify the beasty act.

“But, the Grass Dragon was lonely. She–and, yes, it was a ‘she’–was the only dragon in the world. She tried to make friends, but the other animals had their own kind and all she could do was change her colour, hide and watch them from secret,” Shiv the Shifty One coughed at this point and the rest of the adventurers laughed, “Not that there is anything wrong with hiding and sneaking around, Shiv! But, the Grass Dragon wanted company.”

The adventurers chuckled and continued hacking their way through the jungle.

Suddenly, the foliage gave way around them to a gigantic temple complex. It’s stone walls were stained with thousands of years of rain yet the intricacies of the carved monsters–mostly twisting dragons and serpents–was not lost at all.  For some reason, the jungle stopped growing just at the temple complex’s ancient wall. Vines did not reach out and strange the ruins that rose sweepingly up and above the canopy.

“Yes,” Magnus panted as the adventurers ascended the ancient stairs towards the apex of the temple, “The Grass Dragon wanted a mate. She changed her colour and snuck around the world to spy on the Great One himself. Here, hiding in plain sight, she learned the many secrets of the magi and the unspoken truths of the five circles of life. Here she learned how to make her own kind. First, she practiced and made the simple type of dragon: small, innocent and vicious wyrms that were just serpents twisting around like snake. Then, the Grass Dragon began to add legs and wings and she made drakes and wyverns. Finally, the Grass Dragon stole into the Great One’s own house and stole the keys to the elements. Mixing these with the tears of her children, she forged the first of the dragons. Great, elemental beasts that control their own kind as they do at least one of each of the elements. And, so, we have the dragons of today.”

The adventurers had reached the top of the temple. At the pinnacle, the jungle was far below them and its green, wild canopy stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. At the top was a small altar of a twisting snake with wings that formed the flat surface stained with dark streaks.

“What’s so beautiful about that story? It holds little relevance against the Great One’s own forging of the Thirteen Worlds nor the Great Truths that he gave us to live by, so why tell us this tale at all?” asked Valor the Holy. He was always so pompous. He genuinely thought his religion made him superior to others and found any way to work it into the conversation. At least his healing magic was strong and had saved the group on more than one occasion, but sometimes the Narrator thought his character a little over-acted and painful.

Magnus smiled, took out a dagger and cut into his hand. The blood dripped from it onto the old, twisted altar at the top of the ancient temple complex. The moment his blood touched the altar, the ground began to shake and the sky vibrate. A howl–distant at first, but growing closer by the second–pierced the air and sent cold shivers down the adventurers’ spines.

Shiv slipped into a shadow, Squok took out his axe and Valor began praying to his god for protection.

The Boss fight was coming, and Magnus began to laugh!

“I am lawful evil, fools,” Magnus proclaimed, stepping across fictional boundaries, “Lawful evil! That means that I can pretend to be good! This is the altar that calls the Grass Dragon and I shall sacrifice you all to her in exchange for the secrets that she stole from the Great One! I will be able to forge my own people and bind them to me! I will rule–”

And Shiv slipped her dagger under Magnus’ ribcage, rolling a killing blow and its tip piercing his heart. The wizard collapsed, his lifeblood pumping all over the ancient, evil altar as the sky opened up and a grass-green maw began to step through…

***

“Hey, I’m dead! Seriously!” Magnus’ Mike complained bitterly.

“Well, you wanted to go make a lawful evil character for a campaign,” Jack, the Narrator, stated, the rest of the player nodding, “And, yes, you played the character well, but eventually it comes down to good versus evil.”

“And, today, good triumphed,” Shiv’s Shaun noted as a matter of fact. Vivian chuckled at this and Simon agreed, despite Mike pointing out that as a thief, Shiv was not inherently ‘good’.

“Shiv is still better than Magnus, in terms of alignment. And, more importantly, alive!” Shaun giggled, and the rest of the players–including Mike–laughed with him at this.

The table before them was scattered with many-sided dice, Dungeons & Dragons rulebooks, paper, maps and the collection of dreams and imagination that table-top roleplaying fantasy games bring with them.

“Cool, so next week same time,” Jack noted, starting to pack up, and everyone nodded and started helping, “Next week we start with the Grass Dragon stepping through the portal, so be ready! Oh, and Mike, make another character. I’ll find a way to work them into it. Maybe they are slaves of the Grass Dragon, so use that as a backstory to launch from…”

There were murmurs of agreement with smiles and happiness. The players could not wait for the coming game.