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Cur 2 Chapter 16 ‘There can only be one’

“I HAVE COME FOR THE LIFE OF ONE!” a strange warbling displaced voiced seemed to screech not from the head but from the hip of the rider. -“BUT I WILL TAKE ALL IF YOU DO NOT SEND OUT THE CREATOR!” The figure was tall and seemed abnormally proportioned under a set of tuathan mail. His head and neck were stiff and motionless as if carved from wood and wax to look like that of the former king of the Tuatha; Nuada Airgetlám. The waxen face glinting ominously in the light of the magical flame sword and the torches around him.

The imposter had taken Bres’s thrown and what was left of his army. Now he marched on the last living souls that knew he was not truly Nuada. Not the Nuada that had taken this isle and renamed it so but a crude copy that nevertheless shared his flesh and would seize it by force.

“YOU HAVE ONE HOUR BEFORE I BURN THIS KEEP TO ASHES!” The hideous guttural displaced voice screeched.

–

Bres walked for what felt like hours towards the cyclopean spire. In a trance it seemed his march in time to some tune that no human ears could hear. A steady heartbeat exuded from the tower. Before he could fully process his surroundings he was in a throng of strange creatures some not unlike those from the ship. But others far more hideous and monstrous in aspect. So much so he didn’t care to look at them at all and just pushed forward through them to the base of the spire.

As he approached it he could make out faintly, what sounded like blades clashes. Or perhaps teeth gnashing and inhuman warbling of a crowd made up of the denizens of this eldritch keep of unknown aeons.

The base of the spire consisted of a gaping oval maw that seemed much too large an entrance for the squat toad like creatures he had encountered so far. Were they perhaps not the original inhabitants he mused to himself dreamily as he approached the sounds of combat in a daze. Drawn to the dreaming spire as if the waves themselves propelled him.

He was slowly swallowed by the grand maw, inside the keep it was large and cavernous, sounds billowing off every unevenly cragged wall. The inside was half castle half cave but also seemed almost living like it was part of a reef of coral. Or perhaps the inside of some strange prehistoric beast all bones and cartilage fossilized for a thousand years or more.

Inside there were more of those toad like creatures but from then on the mass was more inconsistent. There seemed not to be one race down here but a collection of malformed denizens that seemed to ooze from the very walls. Some on two legs, some on just one, some even crawled on their bellies like vipers or eels. Every one of them was a vile experiment not of nature but of some twisted intellect beyond man’s comprehension.

Their attention was drawn to a crude yet well adorned arena. Constructed from what looked like bones and skin of some never before seen sea creature.

Inside the arena an amorphous mass of grey shapeless flesh bubbled like porridge in a pot. Something vaguely humanoid sinking into the mass as it gurgled and belched. The crowd gibbering louder as whatever it was sunk deeper into the mass until it was completely devoured.

Immediately after that the crowd swelled once more and suddenly the former king felt a sinister energy amassing around him. As if a million bulbous eyes were focused on him alone. Instantly he could feel their slimy appendages gripping him. Forcing him closer to the hideous bubbling mass of unnameable horror.

He struggled against the horde but their collective force was as crushing as the tide itself, immovable and irresistible. Before he could cry out in protest he was himself in the arena face to indescribable mass congealing in front of him.

Panicked the former king cried out “I am Bres, King of the Tuatha, I come to seek an audience with my father!” He rose his hand into the air to display the ring his mother had given him, the ring that he was meant to present to his father so he would know him. But the ring was gone. Undoubtedly snatched up by one of the many slimy sticky appendages that thrust him into the uncertain doom he now faced.

He had turned his back to the creature to display his now empty hand, he could hear it; it’s vile belching, as it shifted and changed. Bres turned, his body stiff with fear, standing before him was an exact duplicate of himself.

–

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Cur 2 Chapter 15 ‘Limbs’

Pain; the words lights up his brain like a falling star. Pain; the one thing that kept him alive, kept him clinging on, reminded him what he had to do, who he was doing it for, all the pain, the endless pain.

Pain. Gone. Pain. Gone.

The pain was gone.

Cur awoke from his dreamless sleep, feeling nothing. Not cold nor heat, the pain was gone. The pain he had become accustomed to, the pain that was so familiar, the pain that had become his friend and only ally, the reason he woke, the reason he slept. His constant companion reminding him that there was still life in him. Still love, somewhere buried deep down under all the pain, all the scars, the broken bones and blood.

But it was gone.

“Awake, marvelous” a voice above him cooed, and as he spoke the sound of metal implements jossling excitedly could be heard just out of sight. “So this is the one that made Ogma the silver tongued so pretty” The voice laughed mockingly “And shortened that silver tongue no less”.

There was a silence, the sound of a blade scraping against metal. Cur opened his eyes but could only look up and all he saw was a cold flat stone. The room was dark, it was night time perhaps. He could feel a slight chill coming from a crack or window.

“You came to kill me, did my father send you?”

Cur strained and grunted as he felt his bonds tightened at his wrists and ankles and neck. His wrists.

A strange feeling, a phantom hand reaching out for nothing. He cast his gaze down and to his confused horror an arm of flesh and bone replaced what once was silver and filled with pain. He felt dreamlike and painless and almost giddy.

“What did that whore give me?”

“She tried to kill you but it seems death has no sway, it doesn’t want you. And that whore is my sister”.

“Then you are already dead” Cur cackled. His booming laugh filling the dark low ceilinged dungeon.

“I’ve had some time to examine this weapon of yours.” He said as he walked around the table Cur was strapped to. In his hands he held the silver arm, a small lantern dangled from his hip and was the only source of light.

Cur strained to follow his path with his fierce feral stare, like a caged animal waiting for moment to strike. The walls were damp, almost dripping, stained red with rust or blood and he could see the tuathan’s breath hanging in the air. The barbarian saw out of the corner of his eye a table next to his head full of bladed tools and implements. He could feel air but from his limited vantage could see no windows.

“Funny isn’t it? That I would use the technique I planned to use on Nuada on the very man that took his arm and his throne and started all of this.”

“I also took his head” Cur laughed wickedly.

Miach swallowed that bitterly but tried to hide his disgust. He regarded the arm clinically as one might a piece of art or some kind of experimental device. “Still it is rather elegant” He looked at the giant laid out on the operating table “Far too elegant for something like you”

Cur strained against his bonds but his new arm was atrophied, it was weak and had little feeling in it.

“I think I’ll keep it, as a trophy” Miach said as his footsteps echoed out of the dark dingy room taking the only light source with him. Leaving Cur alone to painless black slumber.

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/15

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Cur 2 Chapter 14 ‘She’s still suffering’

Outside Ethniu’s window in her tower on the dreaded Tory isle, a storm brew over the horizon. But her body was too weak for her to lift her head.

A cool white hand touched the Fomorian princess’s forehead above her one beautiful eye as she lay in her bed.

“You’re temperature” Birog said. Her hand slowly and gently snaked under the princess’ silken bed linen and came to rest under them on her mounded belly. Soft it was to the touch, but also firm with child. The belly hummed with an energy Birog had felt only in her dreams. She drew her hand away and said nothing. She turned to a small basin next to the princess’s bed where a sea sponge rested, soaking up the pure luke warm water in the bowel.

Birog wrung the sponge out and began to gently dab the princess’ forehead.

“The quickening draws near” She whispered.

“But my father” The girl gasped “When he finds out-!”

“Your father will never know until it is too late, I have seen it” Birog said coldly, certainly, as she dabbed the the girl’s worried brow. “He cannot see that hiding you in this tower also hides you from his sight. He believes you are ill as I have lead him to do so and thus I can care for you and hide the child of prophecy from him, my part in all this.”

The girl had been slightly prone and tense and now with some disagreeableness she lay down. Still awkwardly staring out the window at the churning clouds, feeling them as if they were in her belly not in the sky at all. “What will become of me seer? What is my part after the prophecy? Will I be free?”

“Your destiny is not written my dear, no one can say, not even I”

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/14

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Cur Part 2 Chapter 12 ‘Unearthed’

Hemlo humans.

Not much to report really just been writing and thinking, more poems and prose from your boy. But yeah been feeling really good, like better than I’ve ever felt.

Not just because I’m in love but I feel like I have some direction, a real sense of purpose. I dunno, it’s hard to process, I think if I tried to to lay it all out and really think about it I’d lose my mind.

I feel a pull from something or someone that I can’t explain and it’s so real and good and wonderful, I just don’t ever want it to end. And part of me doesn’t even want it to start because it’s so big and so powerful I feel like it might swallow me, like I might lose myself but then I think maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe that’s how it was always meant to be, to be one with someone and become something greater isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?

I dunno, I don’t wanna jinx it but I prayed for this, literally. I dreamt about this. I never thought this feeling could be real, maybe I’m still dreaming.

Anyway that aside, we have the time skip here as you can see, so things are about to get real, the birth of the ‘chosen one’. As far as my reading, I finally got around to reading that Parker book they made into a shitty Jason Statham movie and it wasn’t that much better, I mean it was better but not by much. It was both more action packed and cool and also more boring and anti-climactic. The ending was a total wash, I expected a tense tactical fight and it just fizzled out, it was sort of pathetic, totally lost me. But I see why they made a movie out of it, probably the only Parker book where there was a character J-lo could play haha. I mean this is the most lines a woman has ever had in a Parker book, probably why it was so boring and shitty haha.

It was ok, it just wasn’t that special, I didn’t feel a real tension or mystery at all despite Parker being in a weakened state should’ve heightened things and it just didn’t. I dunno, it just wasn’t very gripping, not as engaging as the other books.

But I finished it and I’m back to reading Elric which is always pretty good. I mean it’s better than the witcher haha. Watching paint dry is better than the witcher haha.

It’ll never be as cool or as gripping as the first Conan story, that was bad ass, I wish the witcher books and Elric and even the rest of Conan was as cool as that haha.

Anyway.

See you…

–

Six months later.

“Mother, mother?” A small pale boy called in vain alone on the dingy streets of the once shining city of Murias.

“You are alone child, no one wants you, your own mother died at the sight of you” A fowl hissing voice said.

“Filthy halfbreed”

“Look at his skin, how it shines.”

“Like a fish!”

“Disgusting”

“Fomorian dog!”

“We should cook him up!”

“Your mother was a whore who laid with a fish!” A voice laughed.

“No mother, mother, where are you?” The boy called, his voice ringing through the empty streets of the shining city, the one of four that flew above the heavens in the lap of Dannuu herself.

“She is dead child, you are alone now… and forever”

Suddenly a stirring in the darkness as one falling off a log stirs in terror, the only sound the flicking and cracking of the dim dying fire. A figure stiffly shifting in the darkness groaned. The man rose from his seated position of waking and walked slowly over to a grand fireplace taking up a poker. The lithe man stabbed and prodded at the fire hatefully as if it had wounded him in some way. The pit spitting back at him sparks and flashes of vicious bubbling light. Illuminating the potmarked scarred face of Bres the once beautiful, king of the tuatha. His face at once was talked about throughout Inish Veil. Now cursed by the bard Coirpre, the treacherous half-blood king hides in darkness for fear of losing everything. For only a perfect king can rule the people of Danu.

He stood solemnly over the fire, the light glinting and lighting up his face in a hanging mirror over the pit. He sighed and touched his disfigured face and cursed under his breath. “Coirpre, how I wish I’d seen you die, I wish I had been there when the Fomor stripped the flesh from your bones. For the fomor care not for poetry.” Bres hissed to himself in the dark. The mirror shone strangely for a moment and a ghostly figure appeared there for a passing second.

“My son”

Bres turned in fright but there was nothing in the dark waiting for him.

“Who goes there? Babd? I told you not to disturb me witch!” Bres cursed.

“It is me my boy, my beautiful boy” The soothing ghostly voice said.

“Mother?” Bres gasped “How can this be?”

“I call to you from beyond death to deliver a warning and give new hope”

“A warning?”

“One comes that would take all this that I bequeathed you.”

“Who? Who would dare?”

“Nuada Airgetlám”

“Impossible!”

“It is true, he returns to take your rightful throne. But do not fear, you must away to your father’s kingdom, he will aid you.”

“My-my father?”

“High king of the Fomor, Elatha.” The specter held out it’s hand “Take this ring, so he may know you and go quickly.”

Bres reached out his to the specter and it’s ghostly hand slipped the ring onto his finger and it fit perfectly. But the moment the ring was on his finger there was a loud ruckus from outside of the keep of Dun Bresse. The sound of something akin to a battle but then just silence and then shouting, jubilant shouting.

Bres rushed to his tower so he could see what was going on outside by the stars and fire light of the many sconces and braziers lighting the keep.

Amassed was a great gaggle of peasants. A veritable army carrying farming tools and torches as weapons and shouting foul slogans. Some Bres was sure were reciting the poem of Coirpre himself, loudly and more vulgar than was intended by the dead poet.

Bres tightened his jaw as he watched this procession “Guards!” He shouted from the tower, almost immediately a group of armed guards rushed to meet the horde with spear in hand. But something stopped them. A name and a white horse and the man on that horse slowly trotting into the brazier’s fire light. The torches of the peasants parted to allow this grand figure to pass to the front of their grim procession.

A shining tall slim figure in white and gold riding. In his hand he raised the flaming sword of Nuada. The Claíomh Solais, shining brighter than a star, the light from it so bright Bres swore he could feel it’s glow on his marked face.

“Nuada!” Bres whispered to himself. And as he himself acknowledged who it was before the keep at Dun Bresse. So too did the guards, all in turn dropping to their knees at the sight of the once and dead king in his divine perfection.

–

Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/12

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Cur 2 Chapter 8 ‘Harsh Realm’

I’m back, kind of, not really, I died, I’m a ghost haha.

Yeah well I feel like one anyway. Been a pretty rough couple of months for me sort, not really I guess. I dunno, just not been in a good place mentally and it doesn’t seem to be getting better. I’ve been struggling for along time dealing with I don’t want to say depression because that’s gay af haha but I kinda don’t want to live anymore like every day haha.

It got really bad christmas time because of all the shitty christmas shifts and the rain and not my ex not letting me see my kid for over a year now, not a skype, not an email or picture, not on christmas or my birthday. Nothing. I’ve given up trying to appeal to her better nature, she doesn’t have one. I know you’re probably thinking I did something to deserve it and I kind of did, I tried getting over her and dating someone else and she didn’t like that one bit and I’ve been cut off ever since and on top of that the new relationship also pancaked, so not a great start to a pretty shitty year and I’m pleased to say 2020 is starting no differently.

Writers block mainly this chapter took me weeks crunch out and it’s just ok I guess. I was mainly trying to find a new job in another town and just start fresh and try to forget. But I was inspired to start writing again because I fell in love with someone new and it was magical for about a week before she just started ignoring for no reason and it fell apart. I don’t understand any of it but I can’t get more than two words out of her, it’s really unsatisfying. And pathetic because I deserve this, I deserve misery, I’ve done nothing to deserve happiness. But I’m not evil, I try to be good, I didn’t choose to be this way.
Don’t worry this is not a suicide note haha, imagine that a suicide note at the top of chapter about cyclops rape haha. I’d never do that, I’d never deprive my child of eventually knowing who her father is. I never knew who my father was, he died when I was a baby, I can’t describe to you what that pain feels like. Like not knowing a part of yourself, missing something you never had. Knowing your life would be totally different if he’d lived and been there to guide me. Make me into a man like him instead of the shadow of him that I fear I am.

Yeah so happy fucking wednesday anyway haha.

–

The barbarians heart pounded with vicious glee. Keeping in time with the cold wet slap of his own bare footfalls as he ascended the spiral staircase.
Nothing but dim darkness stalked his steps as he heard no sound other than that of his own breath burning in his lungs daring to be free.
It occurred to the barbarian this must be some kind of passage, that was never lit as it was not meant to be traversed often. The girl must’ve carried some sort of lamp to light her way, or if not the creatures of this castle had no need of light. Cur with his only hand balanced himself along the wall as he ascended, attuning his eyes to the murky blackness. He stopped to listen but heard no other breath, no clinking of armour or heavy clad footfalls. Only a slight whistling sound like the last breath escaping a corpse.
He pressed against the wall from which the noises came. The wall relented without much force and slid away. Still it revealed only darkness, but in the distance he could hear the cracklingof a fire and the glimpses of dancing shadows.
A tight dead end lead down a grand hallway dimly lit by distant firelight. The barbarian strained to listen for voices but heard naught but the dying fire.
At once he saw it as if a black sheet had been lifted from his eyes; a grand and grotesque fire pit. It gently smouldering in the centre of a huge high ceilinged dining hall.
The barbarians eyes adjusted to the dim light enough to see that the dining hall was not empty. But instead lining the floor were the limp bodies of what could’ve been hundreds of young women.
The Firbolg eyed them coldly, noting their garb, they were young fair women. Some full tables of women with just red hair and another with blonde and another were brown and raven haired. They wore black robes and appeared as Tuatha or even human. Their skin took on a white bluish glow like the scales of a fish and Cur knew they were Fomorian or some mix thereafter.
But more pressingly, they were most certainly dead.
Each their lips wetted with some drink that had been the murderer. The last of the Firbolg did not dwell on this good fortune, Cur merely let out a low mirthless chuckle as he waded through this newly made mausoleum. The door at the far end of the dining hall beckoned him. Cast as it was in the finest bronze and gold leaf with crystalline reliefs in the surface, making it shimmer like that of an undersea gem on a reef.
He placed his hand on it and felt it relent as the wall of the passage has before. He grinned and laughed as he forced it open, chuckling wickedly as he stalked the crystalline staircase. The walls too of the tower were made of an almost translucent stone which no doubt was forged by some form of magic.
The barbarian climbed the tower tirelessly, grinning like the devil ascending from the pit on a crystal ladder. Looking out he swore he could see the black abyss of the night’s through the crystalline stone. The moon full and wide and beaming at him and then suddenly ducking behind a thick cloud bank to hide from the Firbolg’s gaze.
At the top of the tower the barbarian came to a door. A small door which rested ajar but only a crack allowing but a sliver of silver moon light to bleed into the crystalline stair case.
The Firbolg grinned with anticipation. His blood rising and falling with the tide and the moon at his back watching sheepishly, a vile satire he slowly pushed the door open.
The moon shone through a large oval window shaped as if it were a silvery mirror of the sky. The cloaked moonlight hung suspended by a light myst before it fell on a bed fit for a queen, or a princess.
Upholstered in a rich sea green silk, silks of the deepest blues and emerald made up the bedding, they seemed to shine in the moonlight like scale. Each pinprick of light dancing on the material as if it were the bed of a sea covered in precious gems. And the most precious gem a giant emerald that was an eye of a girl.
It was not a trick or an illusion, her hair cleared from her face the maiden was beautiful. Hair as soft and as pale as milkweed but as full and as bodied as the head of a dandelion or a sea anemone. Tustled as it was as she stared dough eyed with her one giant beautiful eye at the barbarian heaving in her doorway. She raised herself on her forearms in her thin white silken night gown. Blinking with her one green eye in the middle of her forehead above a pert upturned nose and pricked ruby lips. Her skin so soft and white it was almost blue, and when the moonlight hit it it seemed to become as translucent as the stone that made up her tower.
“What are you doing here?” The familiar whispered voice said.
But the Firbolg had no sympathies nor words for the girl. For he could hear nought over his own heart beat pounding in his ears and the rushing swelling tide hitting the rocks below. The moon light filling him with purpose as he lurched towards the bed. A sardonic low cackle in the back of his throat rising and a grin spreading across his wicked demon face.
–

Read the rest of this chapter over on inkitt https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/8

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3 ring samurai part 3 Chapter 4 ‘Liquid swords’

Omg some actual OC, that’s original content, not original character, this isn’t a sonic forum for you to personify your mental illness into some weird hedgehog or something.
You better appreciate this absolute load of garbage because it took me much longer than it should have to write haha,
Been pretty busy recently but I think I found a new job, not as much of a step up as I wanted from my old job but I was put in a position where my options were to serve in heaven or become middle management in hell and I chose the former. So when I get this new job I’ll actually be out of the country most of the time and probably wont have time to waste on this stupid bullshit so the content apocalypse is coming. 
I may get the odd blog out just to justify the exorbitant fees I pay to have my very own website. But I’m gonna be working pretty solidly, should be making pretty good money, meeting new people, seeing new places, probably do a lot of reading or more likley drinking and playing nintendo switch games.
Think I wanna save to buy myself a house in barbados I probably wont live in most of the year for tax and visa reasons haha. Ya gotta have a dream and that’s the one I’m going with right now and it’s much more doable than all my other dreams haha.
Not 100% that I have the job but I know a guy who I work with now who said he’d put a good word in for me, he used to work at the place I’m applying to now. So we can see if that old adage is worth it’s shit.
Talking about reading I finished that peak Parker book and it was pretty good, not sure if I mentioned this already but it had the classic Parker B plot where it’s the anal set up followed by mopping up the mess of where it goes wrong because no job is perfect and if it was it would be boring to read.
This one in all honesty went a little too perfect, the stakes didn’t really seem high enough and the job basically went perfectly and the after part where it started to fuck up went almost comically perfectly.
Because basically what happens at the end is a comedy of errors akin to the three stooges where all the people trying to fuck over Parker end up killing eachother before he even shows up leaving only one a real threat to end the book on.
It just ended a little too neat, things just fell into place a little too perfectly, one party opposed to Parker killed the other, the reporter giving them trouble was neatly packed away never to be seen again, none of the crew were new so none of them turned on Parker. The guy who set the job up turned out to be nuts but then quickly killed himself then there was just one guy Parker had to kill and it was wrapped up.
With these books it’s the constant balance of realism and entertainment and I think it was a bit wonky here but altogether thoroughly entertaining book, I really like how much effort he puts into even side characters that are only important for small stretches of time but he gives you a good feel of them.
Now I decided to get back into the shadow which is proving to be a mistake so far, I’m reading the one that’s supposed to be one of the best but it’s so fucking slow already and are we supposed to not know exactly when the shadow is pretending to be someone else because it couldn’t be more obvious. The guy with the masklike face who doesn’t say much is obviously the shadow, how hard is this to grasp? It’s annoying now and the action is kinda bleh, its just kinda safe honestly, it’s not edgy enough and I’m gonna be so bummed after I finish the Parker books. I really need a recommendation of some chad crime fiction, I need another Dexter or Parker.
Anyway enough chit chatting got shit to do.
See you…
–
 
“That sound again”
 
There was only silence and darkness shifting like the curtains of an unlit stage. The sounds were a dull metronome blending into the ultimate silence rising slowly.
 
“Like a fucking trumpet from hell or something”
 
Through the darkness grey shapes gradually undulated in the mist. Huge figures with grey mottled flesh like a corpse, long noses and huge ears.
 
“What are you called? Hephalumps or something? I saw you in a book, I think. I thought you were all gone.”
 
More and more appeared out of the darkness, their eyes empty, only silence as they moved, all looking at Pookie.
 
“Wait didn’t we do this before? I guess the writer forgot this was supposed to be a recurring theme or something. It beats flashbacks I guess.”
 
“Are you having another flashback” The head elephant said.
 
“I said are you having another-“ Riki said, his voice pulling Pookie back into reality.
 
“Just a dream” Pookie said with his eyes closed “Completely unrelated.”
 
Riki nodded like that made sense, he paused and breathed out as he perched on the edge of Pookie’s cot. “That technique he used, it’s ancient, from the old old world, called the ‘spirit blade’.”
 
Pookie looked down at himself as he lay, doing an inventory. “That’s a cool name, how did you hear about it?”
 
Riki grinned “I’m just fucking with you, I just thought it sounded cool” He turned with a shit eating grin.
 
Pookie grimaced as he rose off his back into a sitting position. He felt stiff all over, he was lying in a bed in a tent he’d never seen before. his shirt off, he looked down at his hands, they were bandaged delicately, by a woman’s hand.
 
“He said he could read my mind” Pookie said queerly.
 
“Probably bullshit just to scare you.” Riki shook his head.
 
“…” Pookie just looked at his hands and thought about that, squeezing them lightly.
 
“If that was the case he’d be unbeatable, he’d see all your moves before you made them, you’d have to use something no one had ever seen before, even you.”
 
There was a moment he sat in silence contemplating his palms.
 
“So are you really dying or did you just want to see him use that weird shit on me first?” Pookie asked.
 
Riki smiled sadly with one side of his mouth.
 
“I see” Pookie sighed.
 
“But what do you care, you just met me.” He said laughing.
 
“She did this, that girl Jersey?” Pookie said more as a statement than a question.
 
“Yeah how did you know”
 
“I don’t know, I just had a feeling”
 
Riki laughed and got up from his stool “Well you keep acting all cool like that and she might just fuck you”.
 
Pookie sighed irritable and laid back down.
 
Riki just let out a little breathy laugh and started to leave.
 
“You think you can beat him?” Pookie asked Riki’s back.
 
“Maybe.” he sighed and said “But maybe I won’t have to.” He smiled looking up at the sky, the sun bleaching out his face and forcing him to close his eyes like a kid getting his photograph taken.
 
–
 
As the sun set the heavy flap of a tent a whole wasteland away was opened and closed noiselessly, inside a single candle burned.
 
The figure that entered walked over to the candle light, stopping just short of it so the light only licked the tips of his toes. Then without words he mimed the laying of a tatami mat at his feet and kneeled.
 
Out of the dimness a ghostly white face rocked into the light like a marionette operated by a drunk. The face was stoney and still. Painted white with black around the eyes and mouth resembling a dimestore wooden indian flaked with white paint.
 
The one kneeling nodded at his master.
 
His master began to speak with his hands miming his words.
 
(Subtitles read) “Report, why do you abandon your post guarding the swammy?”
 
The kneeling one began to reply in sign and mime, without making a sound. (Subtitles read) “Lord Cesare my master, during my time with the swammy I believe I have encountered the one they call ‘Pookie’. The fugitive sought by the ringmaster, what’s more his accompanied by a deserter and a strange girl. He is currently hosted by a group not affiliated with the circ-.”
 
Cesare the mime shogun put his hand out to stop him. (Subtitles read) “You talk too much Pepe”
 
The mime bodyguard froze (Subtitles read) “There’s more, your son.”
 
(in subtitles) “Brandon?”
 
The body guard continued (in subtitles) “It seems as if he wants to fall in with this strange lot but he was turned away. Humiliated by the man leading them, at least I think it’s a man.”
 
(subtitles read) “He brings great shame onto me and our clan, but his failings are my own. He was cocky and I fed into his cockiness, I paid strong warriors to fall before him, but soon he challenged one that would not be swayed by money and he lost. When he found out what I did he was lost to me, searching for purpose outside of the circus.”
 
(subtitles read) “What would you have me do my Shogun?”
 
(Subtitles read) “The one known as Pookie is not to be harmed, for now. He is of grave interest to the ringmaster, but these others, the outcasts, they cannot be allowed to live.
Although Brandon is my shame, it is not their right to dishonour him, his weakness is my own and it cannot be known. Speak no word of this to the swammy, take a detachment of Mime ninjas with you, do it swiftly and leave no trace.”
 
(subtitles read) “Yes sir”
 
(subtitles read) “The clown must not be hurt is that apparent”
 
(subtitles read) “Readily sir.”
 
The mime shogun retracted his statue like face back into the darkness.
 
–
 
Later that night Pookie left the safety of the tent feeling as stiff as an ironing board with morning wood. Riki was milling about outside leaning against a post watching as Canard and Efron frolicked with the other performers. Canard especially looked to be having a good time, evidently getting into their supply of grain alcohol. The two were laughing and singing with the oddly dressed men as the sun slowly set on the day.
 
Riki sensing Pookie in the opening said “Are you feeling better?”
 
“I asked you if you could beat him” Pookie said looking past him.
 
“And I said maybe”
 
“What happens if you die?” Pookie said softly.
 
“You mean to them? Probably nothing” He laughed and then paused looking at them “What about you?” He said tossing his head bac.
 
“What about me what?”
 
“What’ll happen to them if you die?”
 
He paused for a moment having never given thought to that. “Probably nothing, or they’ll die, who knows, I’ll be dead.”
 
“Does your life mean that little to you?” Riki smiled.
 
“Does yours?” Pookie sighed. “You know, sometimes it feels like I’m only just starting to get this world.” He said as he looked at Efron smiling and laughing horsing around with the drunken one legged man. “and then-“
 
“It’s all ripped out from under you”. Riki finished his sentence.
 
Pookie sighed again. “That’s not what I was gonna say.”
 
“Life sucks” Riki said “But it’s all we’ve got.”
 
“I guess so”
 
“Because we hope one day it’ll all mean something, that it’ll make sense, that’s why we keep going.”
 
“Do you really believe that?” Pookie asked.
 
“I don’t know.”
 
“Hmm”
 
“Anyway I think you should fight him.” Riki said wistfully.
 
“Why me?” Pookie scoffed.
 
“Because you’re the main character” Riki laughed.
 
Pookie frowned and said “I couldn’t even touch him, he’s unbeatable.”
 
“If you want to cut him you can cut him.”
 
Suddenly Pookie heard the voice of his master in his head and it sent a shiver up his spine. “What?”
 
“I can teach you if you’ll let me”
 
“Fat chance” Pookie scoffed and went back into the tent.
 
–
Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt, or don’t I don’t care haha.
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3 Ring samurai part 3 Chapter 2 ‘Silver children’

Hey there, back again with more insane typed pen wiggling that goes nowhere and no one reads haha.
But that’s half the fun right.
Nothing new to report, just getting increasingly black pilled as the world just seems to be an endless nightmare where I don’t get to see my child on fathers day or her birthday or ever for no other reason than that her mother is a petty vindictive scumbag with no soul. One unfortunately that I think I’m still in love with despite loathing them to their core, but you can’t control your dreams. I’m not really afraid of saying that because I’m pretty sure they stopped reading my blog.
Despite all this I’m still trying to get to the country she lives in so I can be with my daughter, the daughter she wont let me see over skype and I have no legal right to. But maybe if I move there and make enough money I can hire a lawyer if she won’t let me see her.
I dunno, even if I get a job there, it probably wont go right and I’ll just end up even more miserable in an alien country, miserable in paradise surrounded by people that probably hate me. But right now I feel like anything is better than this, this endless emptiness and loneliness. But I get this sinking feeling that I’ll never get there and I’ll just die stuck here, I don’t think I have enough vital skills that they want or they can’t just get there. I feel like anybody that would hire me would do so on novelty alone and that’s not a safe bet.
I don’t like my chances but I have no choice but to keep trying until something else comes along, it’s my only option.
Either that or I’m stuck in this shitty job surrounded by people I hate making peanuts and going nowhere just playing videogames to medicate the emptiness and sorrow I feel.
K that went to a dark place. Fuck it, I need to stop writing this blog and look for a job I can fantasise about and never get.
See you…
–
After a long journey of awkward silence and farting poorly veiled by coughs they arrived at a ramshackle squatters camp. Made from a series of tarps turned into makeshift tents, it appeared as a boil on the horizon.
They got out and Riki lead to the biggest tent. The sound of the strange puttering vehicle had alerted their presence and lifting the flap of the tent a slim woman emerged. She thankfully looked normal and was an actual woman with long brown hair. Although she looked young her expression was weather beaten. She was pretty but there was a heaviness to her features that suggested something more to her. Her clothes were simple and looked homemade. A long flowing skirt and a earth coloured blouse with a flower pattern.
“Riki, you’re back!” She said as she hugged Riki, her smile was one of relief but then she wrinkled her nose as if she smelled dog shit on his shoe “Who are these guys?” She said with notable disdain.
Riki looked back smiling awkwardly revealing deep laugh lines. “Oh these guys, they kinda helped me on the road.”
“Kinda” Canard said.
“Yeah not really” Pookie said.
“Jersey, we can feed these strays right?” He smirked as if it was a challenge.
She looked at them but her eyes were far away like she was looking past them at the trouble coming behind them on the wind. “Sure” she said sucking her gums.
–
Not more than a minute later Pookie and pals were shovelling some stew made of a questionable meat into their mouths.
“What meat is this, tastes kinda…” Canard said poking his gums with his pinky.
“Rubbery?” Jersey finished his sentence.
“Your words” He smirked.
“Don’t worry it’s not people” She said pulling an unconvincing smile as she slopped some more of whatever it was into his bowl.
“Err thanks” He said.
Riki dipped bread into his stew and ate quickly without speaking. When he was done and the bowl was empty, and he looked full and happy he said “I guess you’re wondering about our super interesting backstory?”
“Not really” Pookie said without looking up from his stew.
Riki looked at Canard and Efron.
“Nah” Canard said.
“No” Efron said absentmindedly.
Riki looked at the dog like creature and it just barked.
“I thought so” He said. “Well you might not believe this but we all actually used to be in the circus, a long long time ago. But we split, “creative differences” and we never looked back. Now we work for ourselves, just entertaining folks, no killing necessary.”
“That’s fascinating” Pookie said unconvincingly as he leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes almost falling asleep looking very full.
“What, the Ringmaster just let you up and leave?” Canard asked pointedly.
“Nah this was before his time.” Riki said.
“I see” Canard said, not sure what that meant.
“Well I guess you guys wanna get some rest” Riki said getting up from the table. “We’ve got some spare cots, it’s not the ritz but it’s better than sleeping with your dick in the dirt.” He laughed.
“What’s the ritz?” Efron asked.
–
The next day Pookie and the gang were fitting in as well as a gang of freaks can fit in in a group of geeks and beardy weirdies wearing dresses and make up. They were gathered in the big tent eating some breakfast, some kind of ok tasting slop made from grain and some kind of milk. The origins of which they didn’t want to press.
When suddenly out of nowhere, carried on the morning wasteland dry cool wind a strained broken voice called out.
“MY NAME IS BRANDON BERGBLATZSTEIN AND I SOLEMLY DO SWEAR MY UNDYING FEALTY TO YOU MASTER!”
“Huh?”
Riki and all the other performers emptied out of the tent confused and ready for anything as they came out to see what all the ruckus was about.
And what they saw deeply confused them all.
Kneeling in the wasteland dirt was a young guy. His head shaved and cleaned and bowed like a penitent monk on a pilgrimage. His clothes simple and baggy.
It was the kid from the other day, one of the fumers that attacked Riki after his performance.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The kid looked up and there was something in his eyes, a deep emptiness. A loneliness he couldn’t express with words and as he spoke it seemed like he was on the brink of tears. “Please, will you be my master and train me in the ways of tranny fu?”
“Tranny what?” Riki said.
“Please master, make me your apprentice.” The young lad asked.
“This some kind of trick, how’d you find me?”
“No trick, I followed you here.” He sighed “I- I just came here to learn, please I beg of you” Brandon said as he crawled on his knees taking Riki by the hand.
“You ‘beg’ of me?” Riki said confused. Riki drew his hand away. “Look kid, I’m nobodies master, I can’t teach you anything.”
“Please, I’ll do whatever you say!”
“Does this look like a school to you?” Riki stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he thought to himself. “Look kid, it’s not happening, just get on out of here.” Riki walked away and gestured for everyone to return to their breakfast leaving the kid still kneeling there.
Pookie stared at the kid as all the others went back inside.
–
Later that night Pookie lay awake in his makeshift cot thinking.
He remembered being a kid. His head shaved as short as it would go, before he had the tattoos on his face. It seemed like yesterday he waited outside a brightly coloured tent with a group of other kids. Through the wind and rain they waited for days, some left, driven away by hunger or boredom or the acid rain until only a few remained.
Pookie remained, an expressionless child with no parents and no past.
Until on the third day the tent opened.
A jovial old man with a broad smile hunched over a cane. On closer inspection his smile was actually painted on and his mouth was almost completely obscured by a huge moustache. His face painted completely white with over-exagerated eyebrows arching all the way up his bald forehead. His head was bald but for a top not at the back painted red and at the side his hair puffed out. To top it off he wore a big red nose.
The children looked up at him with a mix of wonder and awe.
“Walk this way” The hunched old man said.
The old man turned and began to walk in an odd crabbing movement almost like a monkey or like his legs were made of wood leaning on his cane. The children followed him into the vast tent walking normally except for Pookie who took it upon himself to mimic the old man’s walk.
The children turned and laughed at Pookie who didn’t seem to understand. The old man too had noticed this from the corner of his eye and he stopped and turned to face the children.
“You’re all dismissed” He said.
The children seemed stunned and upset.
“Leave now” The old man said softly.
The children, upset bowed their heads and did what they were told. Pookie too bowed his head and began to follow the last child out.
“You there” The old man said. “What’s your name?”
Pookie looked up at the old man, his face heavy and emotionless he said “I don’t have one”.
“Hmm” The old man stroked his moustache and said. “Why did you walk that way?”
Pookie sniffed and looked about himself at the inside of the strange multi-coloured tent. Looking back at the old clown he said “Because you told me to”.
The old clown laughed and patted the child on the head. “Then you have passed the first test”.
Pookie looked up, his eyes filled with wonder but still he could not smile.
–
If you want to read the rest of this absolute nonsense  head on over to inkitt.
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3 Ring Samurai part 3 Chapter 1 ‘Pillow Jam’

Yep, big surprise, this is how I’ve been wasting my time recently haha.
[Everybody disliked that]
Haha yeah so I wasn’t feeling writing Kur, I wasn’t feeling up to it what with my current shift in focus that being having a real life and a real job and being close to the people that matter to me. My attention has been split, my creativity shot, my drive dead. Permanent writers block, well it’s not that I can’t write evidently. It’s that I can’t care about what I’m creating over the next step I want to take in my life.
So I decided I couldn’t stop writing and instead I’d just write something that took less energy, something I give less of a shit about haha. Just to keep my pen moving in other words, so it’s like taking a break without taking a break haha. Just giving my mind a rest.
Also content wise I’ll be slowing down, probably do like two blogs a week if that. Just gotta put the focus where it belongs.
Anyway that’s all, still hoofing my cv around praying to god someone will take it which I know they will and I do something right for once.
See you…
–
In a darkened room a pretty Asian girl with her face painted white tuned a strange instrument. Her lips and corners of her eyes dawbed with red fingerprints and her eyes had carried a certain melancholy.
The intrument resembled a guitar but had a long neck and only four strings and it seemed to be made from a re-purposed road sign. The girl wore a long and billowy white gown and kneeled as she held the instrument close to her. Suddenly with a what looked like the lid of a can of soup she rapidly scrapped the strings. The instrument giving off a strange tinny resonance which grabbed the attention of the room.
The room was dingy and small, the only light coming from holes in the corrugated iron ceiling and walls. The light perforating the thick smoke from people huffing engine fumes.
The girl started to sing and the odd cast of characters in the audience in the dimly lit room cast their eyes on her. She started to wail in a strange language they’d never heard before. Her voice seemed broken and out of tune but also charming and compelling. Filled with a resonant emotion which touched despite not understanding the words of the song.
“arayashikiku no dei
(in search of a new land)
harasaku baku no dei
(let’s build a new house)
hare fushigyurasa nejyuku
(by neatly gathering hay)
surajifushiro yondo
(to thatch the roof)
hare fushigyurasa nejyuku
(by neatly gathering hay)
fushigyurasa nejyuku
(neatly gathering hay)
surajifusero yondo
(to thatch the roof)”
“I can’t understand you” All but a gaggle of chucklehead diesel huffers were entranced by her song.
kirishigaki ku no dei
(at the stone walls)
kuganeya be tatei tei
(let’s celebrate the golden house)
hare momo tobyuru wakya
(that was built)
ya uriba yuwa o yondo
(by a hundred carpenters)
hare momo to byuru wakya
(that was built)
momo to byuru wakya
(was built)
ya uriba yuwa o yondo
(by a hundred carpenters)
“Speak American!” One of the voices said cloaked in fumes.
“Hey you’re kinda cute” Another said.
hateigachi ya naryuri
(August draws near)
tobibani ya neranu
(but I have nothing to wear)
hare utou katabani
(I want to dress up)
ya karachitabore
(brothers, lend me a sleeve)
hitotsu aru bani ya
(I want to dress the children and those I love)
kanasha se ni kusuitei
(with the single kimono I own)
hare wanu ya okuyama
(I will wear vines)
nu kazuradasuki
(that I picked deep within the mountains)
“Wanna be my animu girlfriend?” One of the fumers said mocklingly.
ojyuugoya no teiki ya
(the full moon shines)
kami gyurasa teryuri
(far and wide like the gods)
hare kana ga jyo ni tataba k__o tei taborei
(when my lover comes to visit, I wish the clouds would hide it a little)
The song ended and the girl opened her eyes and looked into the smoke and said nothing. Not even remotely acknowledging her hecklers as she left the raised stage are in silence. The rest of the patrons waking from the spell she put them under, feeling melancholy but invigorated by her song.
The girl waded through the smokey room carrying her instrument in a gunny sack. She approached the bar and exchanged whispered words. The bartender reluctantly handed her her some form of currency and motioned with his head towards the door.
The girl nodded sullenly and picked up her gunny sack and walked towards the exit. The door was little more than a hole cut into what seemed to be a building made of storage containers. Outside the wasteland was still with a slight wind blowing all the nothing and the heat beating down. Really missing that ozone layer.
Passing through the door into the wasteland she heard a voice coming from the dark dive bar.
“Hey I said you’re kinda cute, didn’t ya hear me over your wailing?”
The sound of snickering laughter from the dingey darkness of the diesel punk dive.
A grotesque figure lunged out of the murk, his leering dusky face covered in weird tattoos that looked like a drunk childs scribblings. A spattering of facial hair among scars that looked vaguely like sunburn or radiation poisoning. His lips chapped and blackened from sucking on tail pipe. His eyes were red and moist looking and he grabbed at the girls arm when suddenly something barred his path.
A tiny demon face leapt at him from the darkness at his side. The vicious little face with a big smile laughed at him as it hit him square in his bulbous nose knocking him flat on his ass.
“What the fug!” The fumer said clutching his bloodied nose trying to sweep the darkness and smoke away to see the full figure of the demon that assaulted. He wiped the tears from his nose and his vision unblurred. Standing before him was a clown with an unusual sword halfway out of it’s sheathe barring the door like a thin silver arm.
The clown said nothing, he just tilted his sheathe up and let the sword fall back. An unsettling mechanical laughing sound coming from the little devil’s face on its butt.
“Oops, didn’t see you there pal!” The clown smirked.
–
“POOKIE” Margherite screamed powerless as she watched their blades fly through the air, so fast she could barely see them.
In an instant they rushed past eachother and stood back to back. Pookie resheathed his sword with that horrible canned mechanical laughter ringing out.
Coldslaw stood, his swords still drawn, a manic smile on his face, a mask which slowly slipped. He dropped his swords and they stuck in the ground like two head stones. He fell to his knees clutching a mortal wound before toppling over on his side into the dust under the orange moon.
“NOOOOOOO!” Margherite wailed as she rushed to Coldslaw’s side as he lay dying.
“Coldslaw!” She cried, her facepaint running off her face.
Coldslaw coughed and looked up at her, his eyes dipping slightly. “Ha, it’s not a tattoo, face paint huh, must be cool to be the ringmaster daughter” He laughed.
“Stop talking nonsense.”
“Don’t mourn for me” He laughed smiling a real smile. “It was all a big joke, don’t you get it?”
“A joke?” She sniffed.
“Yeah a big joke – ” He whispered as his head slowly lolled and his face became expressionless and dead like a dolls.
“Goddamn you Pookie! You didn’t have to-“
Pookie didn’t look back, he paused and breathed in and out slowly and walked away.
“You bastard!” She screamed.
–
If you wanna read the rest of this weird shit head on over to inkitt.
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Diana in the dark epilogue ‘Waltz me to the grave’ (remurdered)

Henlo there,

Gonna be really light on content this week, not that my imaginary is that bothered but they’re simply a stand in for myself and I am disappoint haha. Just been too busy to get any writing done, still hoping against hope that I’ll get this new job, I think I might be a good for it. The other job I applied for to the same place already came back as a no and they’re both closed but I didn’t get a rejection for the one I actually wanted so I’m definitely being considered for it which feels great.

But even if I don’t get it, it changes nothing, my goal is to get to her and I god willing I’ll get a job there and be able to be there for her in some way shape or form. That’s all that matters. I just wish I’d realised sooner, it might be too late now. I dunno, I can’t think like that.
Might do a poem tomorrow since I have nothing else. I did watch that new Jordan Peele movie US and I thought it was kinda shitty. Like a cool idea that was just fumbled, I think it could have made a better tv show. I know he’s doing a twilight zone tv show remake and it might have been a better fit. Because the movie both feels kind of compressed and also really lacking in the necessary lore.
It just made no sense and was kind of silly, like the tone wasn’t right and none of the main cast die so there’s no real tension or drama. It could’ve been a 12a really. There just wasn’t a lot of depth to it, there wasn’t a lot going on. Kinda got Strangers vibes and a few other movies but it just didn’t really do anything very interesting. It was like a cargo cult movie. It looked and felt like a slasher style movie maybe aping the ones from the eighties and nineties but it didn’t have any of the personality or soul of those movies. There wasn’t enough character development or subplot or moral lessons in it to really feel like there was a conclusion. 

The main character didn’t go on a journey, they were just reacting to what was happening to them. There were elements hinting on emotional/personal struggles that could’ve been core to the movies themes but they were never really developed. The movie is long but it feels short because of the lack of real content.

Not to say I didn’t enjoy it, it was a pretty fun romp. But it was ultimately substance-less. Although I’m sure some people can pick out deep social themes it at least wasn’t as preachy and heavy handed as Get out. Still I enjoyed it more than the pet cemetery remake.

Anyway, supposed to be looking for more jobs, mainly because waiting to here back about the one I really want is driving me nuts.

See you…

–

“Oh, Paul, oh, Paul!” I pretended to weep as they lowered the coffin into the ground.

As fate would have it, this was the first funeral I’d ever been to. I sincerely doubted it would be my last.

I actually kind of liked it, there was a comfort in the routine of it, the ceremony was soothing. Everyone gathered together to think the nicest possible thoughts of the dearly departed, wearing their nicest clothes. There was solemn dignity, and lots of tears—real or otherwise.

It was a lovely service, flowers, tearful speeches from people I barely knew and the promise of cake in the near future.

“Oh, Paul,” I wept again into a balsam tissue.

“Shhh.” He patted my head, as I rested it on his shoulder.

Thankfully, he remembered very little of our little midnight drive into the middle of nowhere. A combination of all the blows to the head, and a cocktail of drugs concocted by my dear brother.

My dear brother—who was not yet dearly-departed, but still on the run. From what, I couldn’t be sure, because as far as the Orange County authorities were concerned, Antoine Ruiz was, and forever would be, the Huntington Beach Headsman. A title far above his station.

As far my brother had any say in it, Ruiz would never be found, and the myth, the meme, could live on forever. The evil slasher come to life to terrorize a group of innocent teens on prom night. Leaving one not so virginal survivor and her stalwart and tight lipped boyfriend.

There was something about that the normies liked, a divine ritual fulfilled. Like Hollywood had been setting them up for the very occurrence, and been vindicated in the best possible way. Slipped right in place into their cultural consciousness like it was another Friday night.

With that and a little help from our man in the high castle with a claw for a hand it all seemed to wrap up nicely, a neat little bow of red tape, signed sealed and delivered by uncle Sam himself.

I continued to pretend to cry, just making the noise of crying and covering my face, constantly batting away fake tears, no one was watching.

“You need another tissue?” My au-sister Mary Anne asked, pulling a fresh pack out of her purse and giving me a tight restrained smile.

We’d settled on my just calling her my aunt; aunt-sister was a bit of a mouthful, and calling her by her name just felt weird. Plus, I really didn’t want to get bogged down in explaining to people that she wasn’t actually my aunt, but in fact my estranged half-sister, pretending to be my aunt, because we’d watched our real aunt butchered before our eyes, then be put on display like a hunting trophy by our brother, my half-brother. That all seemed best tucked away for a rainy day.

“Thanks,” I took the tissues, smiling a nice fake smile, far better than my brother’s. My estimation of how deep the knife had penetrated Dharma’s side was off by a wide margin.

I would’ve assumed he didn’t want to kill her but necessity for his own life had forced him to act. Similarly, the shot being off-center, it would’ve been nice to think she’d extended him the same courtesy but that might’ve been a stretch, since she mostly carried really strong pepper spray, giving out tickets in cycle shorts. Never the less, her arm was in a fashionable sling for some reason. I never understood why they did that in movies; he hadn’t stabbed her in the arm.

A sudden prodding feeling roused me from my daydream, and I looked over at the grave and the nice picture they had over it. It was the one of the several taken at her sweet sixteen. Wendy did look nice in that one, so full of life. Who would’ve suspected her of anything worse than forgetting to floss?

That feeling again, like someone walking over my grave, someone drilling little hot holes in the back of my head.

I scanned the crowd of her fake friends, the rest of the cheerleading squad, her many exes—the last notwithstanding—and me, her best friend.

Then I saw her.

She was hard to miss, now that I’d noticed her. Dressed as she was, in correctional-facility orange, and chained to two cops. Her dark deep set eyes sent me icy daggers on angel wings. Her hair was long and greasy looking and made curtains of a plain white flat unmade face. Prison make-unders were a real thing.

What did they have against makeup in prison? It wasn’t like eyeliner was against the law. Conditioner even.

Wendy’s mother, the one currently on trial for the murder of her husband. Looking right at me. Not around, not past, but through me.

She knew.

I could see it in her face.

I didn’t know how she knew, but I’d find out given half a chance, when that happy vicious moon was smiling high in the sky again.

D and I would ask nicely.

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