Archive for the ‘miscellaneous’ Category


Sunday, June 1st, 2008

Bartholomew and King Obake had been upon the rough and turbulent waves of the dark oceans for several weeks. They had set sail from the ports of the tainted emerald city at the end of an oppressive summer, the sun beating down on their backs as they had fastened the rigging and hauled vast wooden chests of supplies onto the small craft that would take them across the blackest oceans and towards the west.

Together they had launched from those ports, turning as the boat had ploughed through the gentle surf and waving at the city, its central castle surrounded by drifting galleons searching for a place to set anchor amongst the crowded streets and busy markets. For a moment Bartholomew had thought he could see the October gardens in the shadow of the castle’s turrets and towers but the view was snatched away all too soon and they had found themselves on the very ocean itself, the pale blue turning to darkest black.


Gunslinger Serenade

Sunday, May 11th, 2008

He rode into town on a Saturday and by Sabbath the town went silent; dead silent if ya catch my meanin’. He didn’t leave nobody alive, the lowlife gamblers, the chinks, the cunts, nobody; even the Doc and preacherman got it in the end. A weird fella, with a nasty streak, meaner than the clap; so much as look at him wrong and he’d just as soon shoot ya than leave ya livin’. My only advice, you see this fucker comin’, you don’t even pack, you just take what you got on ya, jump on the nearest horse and ride hard as fuck toward the sunset. And trust me, you can’t miss this sumbitch; got a faggot tongue, always speakin’ in some kinda verse and askin’:

Headin’ to Refrain
Might I ask the way?

I never heard of no Refrain, but whatever’s there, I pity ’em real good. This fucker got a mad-on like I never seen, and should he ever get there, ain’t nothin’, God almight, chink pagan gods, nothing gonna save ’em.

This is the Birth of Death

Monday, April 28th, 2008

This is the Birth of Death

The train hissed to a halt and the masses exit like cattle led to their deaths. A slow death unfit for cattle, these men and women moved through their terminals and their turn styles, counting for the census bureau and giving job meaning to a useless endeavor. The stairs were dirty, a homeless man sat to one side and routinely kicked by the passers by. He didn’t seem to mind.

The sun light stung. Even from behind the clouds, the light hurt his eyes, it always seemed to hurt more, and he knew it was just after the noon hour. As punctual as he often would be teased, Jake Clifton moved past the herd and stopped at the crosswalk just as the red sign ordered him.

A bird cried overhead, he looked up. Black like a raven, Jake mused if Poe would have written about it. It cawed again.


The Emptiness of the Frog

Saturday, March 22nd, 2008

She sat in the empty playground, her knees carelessly mashed together, and rocked back and forth in the middle swing. One hand pursed her short, plaid uniform skirt between her thighs while the other expertly balanced a cigarette between two fingers. Thin geysers of filtered carbon monoxide, rat poison and whatever else could kill her poured from her nostrils.

Darren, her boyfriend sat several yards away from her, on his beat-up Vespa, bored out of his mind; he stared blankly at the crowded grey sky, full of clouds, steel mill blow-off and other industrial machinations. He exhaled sharply.

She didn’t give a shit about Darren, he could wait. Her brother couldn’t. There was no way he would understand. He might not still. So, she waited, sucking calmly on her vice, blowing out smoke and rocked slowly while her boyfriend stared impatiently up at the soulless fog and chomped on his bottom lip.


A Quarrel Betwixt Two Lovers Unacknowledged, or, A Valentyne’s Reproach

Thursday, February 14th, 2008

“A wise man once told me that there was an art to saying sorry.”

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Preserving for Posterity

Friday, January 18th, 2008

This probably only matters to me, but it’s a fucking mitzvah.

If it works.

Did this work?

[Edit: And, I can edit without losing formatting? Ahem: WOOT!]

Of Saints and Shoguns

Monday, January 14th, 2008

The old devil would not let him be.

Despite everything, he had tried to rid himself of the spirit; and yet Tokugawa Ietsuna could not be quit of the hoary old bastard. Countless times now had Tokugawa listened to the old man’s fervent murmurs, his cries of declamation and accusation and stories of his redemption of even the filthiest of hinin and he wanted no part of it.

The fourth of the great and noble Tokugawa shoguns had, like his forebears, little time for Christians, European or otherwise. To endure a dead one haunting his private chambers was more than he could stand.


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Christmas on the Drowned World

Monday, December 24th, 2007

The dark man constituted a beacon of shadow amongst the falling snow, his greatcoat open about him, all but trailing amongst the snow and frozen flowers. At his side attended a young lady, no older than 16 or 17, her complexion warm and rich despite the pale of the virgin snow and the dark of the sky overhead.

She felt faintly self-conscious beneath a parasol stained by snow and a starched crinoline dress. Her slender figure was held further in check by the pressure the corset exerted over her and her dark hair was swept back over her shoulders and adorned with ribbon.

It was uncomfortable for her to be dressed in such a fashion, originating as she did in a world of bright light and shorter skirts, just as the utter darkness of the night, save for the flickering candle of the lamppost they approached, was disturbing and unnatural for her.



Friday, December 21st, 2007

[in which the author reads a situation entirely different to the one Mister Charles Dickens wished to convey]

She traced the lines of the other girl’s pale face, the timid reflection of that girl she had first witnessed in the arms of her own loving father not more than eight or nine years past. To look at her now, Meg reflected with the merest tremble of her heart, was to know little of the ardour that had fallen upon them as surely as her own father had fallen from the tower of the old church those many years ago.

Though holly now hung over the bed they shared, she had instead prayed for mistletoe.

An uncomfortable familiarity had been borne of the failure of Meg’s wedding day. Though it was the man who once she had intended to take as her groom that had reunited her with poor, child-like Lilian, Meg could not help but resent the intimacy to which Richard inferred, by his lack of words, to having known with her.

To think that sovereigns had bartered passage where, for many years, Meg’s chaste kisses could not, filled her with a sort of trembling sorrow.

She made tiny sounds between her petite lips, shaping experimental words in address to the slumbering cherub on the pillow before her, dirty blonde hair plastered by sweat and grime to the pale skin of her face.

Her hands gently pulled back from that sleeping face, convulsing like victims of the same malignancy that afflicted their weeping owner.

In that dirty room where no fire burnt and even the yellow light of the candle waned, Meg Veck whispered the silent platitudes of a genuine and oft betrayed love.

Loan Wolf Discussion

Monday, December 17th, 2007

I posted the first chapter, and I’m curious if there’s any feedback out there for it. Here’s some background on LOAN WOLF:

This is an old, old, old story I brushed off when Ian approached me about contributing to the awesome stories already found here. Originally written for a forum called The Digitial Kore (no longer online), the first chapter was actually written as five parts, each only a few hundred words. It was also entitled “The Wolf Age” but I’ve since expanded the concept to include other monsters such as the Fae, vampires, and ogre (with mo to pop up soon).

The new name, “Loan Wolf,” is sort of a pun. Our main character is your everyday schmuck, down on his luck, couldn’t give a fuck, private eyeball. He turned his back on the supernatural world years ago, but now he’s been hired by someone that is putting him in situations where the things-that-go-bump-in-the-night are unavoidable. He’s a loner, but he’ll sell his skills out to pay for lunch. Hence, the play on words in the title.

Any questions?