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Cur Part 2 Chapter 13 “Rotgut”

Hey there, look content, see ya.

Haha ok, haven’t been super busy, just been in a weird place and my output has slowed to a crawl, I couldn’t even proofread. Just been feeling weird, all I’ve been able to put out is poetry. My emotions are just sort of all over the place. Could be the best time of my life, could be the worst, it’s hard to tell, only time will. So probably more of a content draught to come, just been spending hours not writing things, not being able to visualise it. I might need to take another break from it because I don’t wholey feel gripped by what’s happening right now. I dunno, just preoccupied I guess.

But hey gamepass is a quid again and I can play video games to distract myself yay. Sort of.

See you…

The snow crunched under foot as Airmed skirted the balding woods along the edges of the devil’s ladder. Taking the main path would leave her too exposed and liable to be set upon by bandits or ne’er-do-wells. But Airmed was used to the woods and knew them fairly well and could remain unseen and unheard taking her own path along the devil’s ladder.

The woods were stark and bare of leaves, the trees reaching up at the sun that blackened their bones. A bleaching white sun hung wearily overhead.

The girl was without fear as she hummed to herself calmly to distract from the cold and reddening cheeks. But there was something there on the tip of her tongue, some strange feeling. A twig breaking under foot caused Airmed to notice the stale silence. The whistle of the wind, no birds chirped or hare’s called, just the winds breath sweeping down the mountain.

She turned fitfully and saw nothing and then in the trees there sat a black crow, it cawed at her and flew away.

An unusual sound followed something akin to a wounded animal howl, a scream from a human garbled up in a bloodcurdling roar.

The girl instinctually drew a small short sword from under her furs as if she had her hand on it already. Expecting something evil and blood hungry to be lurking in midday sun stalking her steps.

“Come out now” She said almost to herself. Her eyes filled with fear but also a fatal resolve.

She looked about herself and seeing only snow and trees and dead leaves she relaxed for a moment. But then the noise came again and she could follow it. She trudged through the snow dropping her mead and the other liquid to give chase to the strange sound.

The horrible noise lead her deeper into the forest below the mountain. The noise sounded clearer as the forest became more dense with black ash trees. It lead her to a snowy copse deep in the forest. The sun was still out but it hung low and there was little light from the grey sky that would penetrate the forest. The trees stretching up like blackened skeletal fingers at the dull slate sky.

In the bushes there was movement at it lead the frightened girl to a small hollow or burrow dug into the side of a hill. From the hole blazed two empty white eyes staring at her.

The sound of sea lapping at the shore awoke the once king.

Bres awakened on a beach but where and whence he came he did not know.

“Am I dead?” He said as he opened his eyes and saw only water and sodden brown sand under him.

Bres rose to his knees and looking at the strange ring on his finger it all came back to him.

“Babd” He cried as he clawed at the wet sand.

He squeezed the clods of wet sand between his fingers. “I have nothing” He said “Nothing but this”. The ring seemed to hum strangely and he swore that it glowed for a moment.

Then an unusual sound like a ringing of a resonant bell but from under the sea. The ocean started to boil and bubble like a pot. The sea churning and turning white like that day he faced the last of the Firbolg on the beach and the sea ran white with the blood of his kinfolk. Half kinfolk, ex-kinfolk. He knew then that he should not have backed them into a corner, like he should not have done so with the people of Inish veil.

Something like a fish tail poked out of the water but did not disappear. It continued to protrude getting longer and stranger as it didn’t seem to move. It almost seemed as if it were a carved statue rising out of the unsettled water.

Then it seemed to fan out and get wider as if it were some tiny piece of some giant sea creature covered in a lacquered black shell.

As more and more of whatever it was rose slowly from the water it became obvious to him what it was. In fact seemed ridiculous to him both in not recognising sooner but also recognising it at all in it’s bizarre context.

There was no doubt that now he looked upon the bow of a ship but queer in it’s movement and incredulous in it’s rising. For it seemed almost like Bres was witness to it sinking but in reverse.

The former king of the Tuatha almost felt like a child, dumb struck. Wanting to rub his eyes in amazement as he witnessed the strange ship emerge from the sea. A ship of a design he had never seen before but also somehow seemed familiar to him.

It was black and slick like a deep sea fish and had no sails that he could determine, for why would it need them? Only fins and oars to traverse the sea.

The strange vessel broke ground abrubtly. Shifting it’s bulk on the sand like some sort of huge toad before coming to a stop a foot from where the former king was kneeling. He recoiled slightly and waited in the brief moments of silence that followed. Bres listened cautiously for movement or voices but none came.

A rope ladder was dropped from the port side of the ship, it appeared to be made from seaweed and hair. And for a moment Bres just stared at it.

Read the rest of this chapter and more weird shit here.

https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/13

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

Cur Part 2 Chapter 11 ‘The Quickening’

Henlo, back again and I still hate wordpress’ new format haha. I mean wtf is this shit bro haha?

Ok so got more content, coming pretty hard and heavy with it recently, especially the poetry as you may have noticed. More of those shitty haikus from chopped up songs but now Bardic poetry straight from the motherfucking heart.

Let’s just say I have a new muse but I don’t wanna jinx it. It’s already too perfect to be true. I never even considered writing bardic poetry again, I thought the first time for the book would be the last time, but I dunno what happened. Just one day the haikus weren’t doing it for me anymore. They weren’t enough to capture how this person made me feel. They weren’t big enough and they didn’t speak to my blood, to my ancestors like this did.

I realised I was sort of larping and losing connection to something writing japanese poetry, I mean I still love it and won’t let it go, but I’m not japanese, my ancestors aren’t japanese. I mean they’re probably not irish either haha. But they’re certainly celtic.

Something inside, this person awakened a love for my ancestors, a love for the land and people, something calling back to an ancestral past I never felt before and I couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t get a grip on it with a haiku. I need to use the bardic style to properly put my feelings into words.

I don’t know what that means and I hate to speculate so soon at risk of sounding like the fool I know I am.

But yeah, I dunno, I just… sigh.

See you…

Cur’s mocking laughter echoed through hall where no other sound existed.

“Come now, come to die” He cackled mirthlessly.

“No Firbolg, he cannot be beaten” Tuan shouted from the spiral staircase. “We must away!”

“Away where beast? We fight in Magmel itself. There is no escape but through blood.”

“Perhaps there is another way.” A strange tittering voice whistled musically and seemed to be all around them like a flock of birds appearing out of thin air.

Suddenly the entire wall of the dining hall turned to autumn leaves and exploded outward. The masked men were knocked against the other wall of the castle and destroyed instantly. The boy left unharmed stared at the gaping hole in the castle wall cleared away as leaves falling into the ocean and the rocks below.

None of them could believe their eyes as with the leaves had come a giant beast standing nobly in between the carpet of maiden corpses.

A huge majestic stag stood between all gaping eyes. And atop the stag a rider in pale green armor, a helmet topped with branches that looked like the horns of a mighty deer. An axe at his hip of some alien construction and a harp on his other that gleamed with gems.

Balor was awe struck but his instinct was to kill whatever it was that had intruded in his castle. The childs face distending as before in a horrible silent scream as the eye emerged again.

The rider unhooked his harp lackadaisically and played a soothing tune. The melody taming the eye as it shrank back into the aspect of Balor which became limp and motionless.

“Alas I have come for you Firbolg” The strange green rider said in a loud jovial tone as he re-sheathed his harp.

“Who are you spirit? How would you die?” The barbarian hoarsely croaked.

“I would’st not die last of the Firbolg for I am life and life I once gave to you when you lay dying.”

“Cernunnos?”

“I know not this name sir, I am known as Bredbeddle” The spirit said, his voice full of mirth.

“The horned one sent you?”

“I know not of this horned one you speak” The riders voice was playful and full of jest.

“No games from you trickster of the woods. What have you come for?”

“I come for last of the Firbolg, I come as there is one that would meet you and put you on the path to your destiny.”

“Is this not my destiny, to be here now, to slay this Balor?”

“No last of the Firbolg, it is not his time to die nor is it yours.”

“Away with you woodsy one, I care not for your ‘destiny’, I care only to slay my enemy”

“But there are more enemies you may slay last of the Firbolg, but what of the one you lost, think to her and what it would mean to have her back.”

“Do not play with me trickster!”

“It is true what I say, you will be reunited with the one you love if you follow the path that I lay out for you”.

The Firbolg said nothing but the horned one knew his answer.

“Come now, we have no time to waste” The green rider put out his hand for the Firbolg to take.

Cur ignored it and climbed the mighty stag using the strange vine-like material that made the saddle to affix himself to it.

Bredbeddle turned to the doorway. “I had not forgotten about you my friend, come now shapeshifter, this concerns your destiny too.”

The sounds of footsteps now approaching, calling and gibbering in strange tongues.

“We must hurry, my power wains while my feet are not touching the noble isle.”

Tuan leapt and in mid flight took the form of a crow and perched himself atop the antlers of the great stag.

Within moments the room was flooded with fomorian warriors with savage barbed weapons. Their dark cloaks covering little of their flabby hideous bodies but all that greeted them was corpses and leaves.

Read the rest of the chapter on inkitt please and thanks https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/11

Cur part 2 Chapter 10 ‘The creature doomed to live’

Yay I didn’t kill myself haha. And Corona didn’t get me haha. And I have content yay.

I didn’t post anything last week but poems and stuff because I was just working on this, still kind of slow going but it’s good stuff, and it’s getting quicker. I feel good oddly. It only took the end of the world to make me feel like I was making headway haha.

But I’m actually a whole chapter ahead now, I feel a little reinvigorated, like maybe I might die with a smile on my face after all. I dunno, it’s too soon to tell but I think after this whole apocalypse thing is over my life might actually start making sense. Because lord knows it has not for some time now haha.

A body shouldn’t be this happy when all this badness is going on but I never claimed to be normal or sane and I have utterly no control over my emotions. I just feel happier and more blessed right now than I’ve ever felt in my whole fucking life.

And that’s all I’m willing to say about in case I jinx it haha.

See you…

The veil of night was lifting, a ghostly quietus fell at the mouth of the river Boyne. A rustling of the hazel trees sent shock waves into the quivering still born dawn. A woman, beautiful, her naked skin white as alabaster, her hair a dark earthy autumn hazel, like the trees that birthed the river.

She walked into the river slowly, she walked until the water was up to her ankles, her hips, her chest and until she was gone.

“Princess! Princess!” A whispered voice said. “He means to start without you! You must awake”

“Airmed, is that you?” Ernmas said groggily.

“Yes Princess, you have to hurry, I couldn’t stop stall him any longer.”

“But the sun is not even risen”

“Miach cares not for the position of the sun m’lady, only his own vainglory!” Airmed caught herself “I shouldn’t say that about my own brother I know but he is a fool and his eagerness will land us all in Bres’ keep one day.” The more fulsome maid helped the delicate Princess out of her borrowed bed. And into a robe more befitting witnessing the unveiling of the unknown. “Come now, we have little time to jabber.”

“Alright” Ernmas said faintly as Airmed lead her out of her room and into the strange hallway it felt like she was in only moments ago in the dead of night. She had hoped it would seem like a dream now but it was fresh in her mind. A part of her dreaded what she might witness at the top of that spiral staircase in the lab of Airmed’s brother Miach, son of Dian Cecht.

In her waking stupor lead by Airmed, it seemed like she closed her eyes and opened them once more in that fetid observatory that Miach had made his lab.

It was no different from the first she had laid eyes on it, the complete disarray that struck it was the chaos of a busy mind far beyond her own. But there too was an uncomfortable disquiet that hung in the air. As if a rot was nestled away in some darkened corner not yet to make itself known.

Ogma was there already, stern and solemn but also sad. He unfolded his large arms as the princes entered and made a slight bow. But said nothing and only stared at the centre of the room, where Miach tittered like an excited child.

Miach was lost in his own thoughts mumbling something to himself as he tinkered with unseen hands. Failing to notice or not caring when his sister and Ernmas entered the observatory.

“Ah marvelous, you’re just in time” He said when he made the effort to acknowledge their existence.

“Just in time for what?” The princess asked softly.

“Behold” Miach said as he directed Ernmas to the tank in the centre of the room with the opaque milky liquid in it. “We’re almost ready now, the solution has already been applied.”

“Solution?” Ernmas asked faintly.

“Yes” Miach said as he approached the stone table closest to the tank. One which had been cleared. He returned holding a strange pointed device made of glass and metal. The liquid contained within looked like water but shimmered with a dull putrescence of grey and blue as if it were petulant miasmal clouds. “My own creation, it uses the sacred waters that my father might have used during the great war but refined through my own processes.”

“And the-?”

“See for yourself” Miach smirked faintly as he directed her to the tank Ernmas was trying to avert her gaze from.

She approached it gingerly as if it were some kind of unpredictable beast or piteous retch. Slowly it came into focus. Beyond the milky liquid, pale bilferous limbs appeared, bobbing rhythmically in and out of the queer substance. As she reached the rim of the open top tank she could see it more clearly. The vaguest approximation of what was her father lay naked in the tank, it’s skin slick and squamous.

The body was motionless but for the slight undulating of the liquid. She looked at the face of her father and more closely at his neck as she could see that it was indeed the head she had brought with her. Attached by a means of some kind of metallic string. For a moment it was not Nuada’s face she saw floating in the liquid. But it was her own staring back at her with hideous stygian eyes that filled her with an unnameable terror.

It’s loathsome hand reached out and gripped her tightly by the wrist. The blasphemous thing pulled her closer to the tank. It’s hideous mouth opening filling her lungs with the foetid stench of death and decay. It uttered an accursed ullulating sound as foul black ichor poured from it’s mouth and filled the princess with darkness.

Read the rest on inkitt https://www.inkitt.com/stories/action/300249/chapters/10

3 ring samurai part 3 chapter 7 ‘They’re all the same’

Wtf is this content???? Original content holy lord jesus gtfo with this nonsense!!

Took a while and its probably gonna be the last for a long eternity because I’m kinda spent creatively right now, but I have time considering that new job is yet to start and it could be fucking months until it does. Still pissed about that, who the fuck offers someone a job when they aren’t sure it even exists??? I did two interviews for this job and filled in a shit tonn of paper work only for them to come back and be like “Well we had some internal hires so we don’t need that position filled right now”. Well it would’ve been good to know that before applying for the job, or can I even get a different job, no I have to wait for this one to be vacant which could be months.

But I don’t know what I should do, should I wait or just apply somewhere else. It probably would be in my best interest to wait because I have a foothold already in this company because I knew someone that worked there and I’ve already put in so much time and effort trying to get it. And not to mention my old job is about to hit the christmas shitstorm which is really profitable (but miserable) for me.

So I was thinking I might start doing Diana part 2 just because I’ve run out of fucks and I think it might be more fun and grounded to write and it gives me an excuse to get back into rereading Dexter instead of these mediocre shadow pulps. It depends on how I’m feeling next week but I have time, so I might as well. Just can’t take this infernal fucking waiting. It’s like the next stage of my life, the best chapter is right over the hill but I have to wait, but it feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life already. And on the otherside my little girl might be waiting further off in the distance, way off somewhere, but I’ll be with her eventually I know it.

I was actually about to write a review for Outer Worlds and shit all over it just because it’s so hot right now haha. I got gamepass so I could play it cheap and I’m quite far into it and not really feeling it honestly, it’s more borderlands than fallout imo. Not to say it’s bad, it’s ok, it just could’ve been so much better and it feels a little safe or just meh. Don’t wanna spoil my review but I was playing it last night and decided to drop it and play red dead redemption instead haha. That’s the first one not the shitty prequel, the one that’s actually fun and interesting and not a boring 30hr horse simulator. I forgot how good it was, classic rockstar at its best is a force to be reckoned with honestly which is why rdr2 hurt so much. Basically I want to give my Outer Worlds review a little more time, just to give a fair shake, I was gonna write it before I completed it but I might do a Prey 2006 review instead and give Outer Worlds a chance to redeem itself.

Anyway short and sweet, this is the end of the Swammy Karl/Riki kung fu tranny arc but it might not be the end of this part because originally this was supposed to be about the gunsmith character but I sort of got carried away with the mimes and stuff and he got squeezed out haha. This segment was supposed to be an interesting seque into that story but it just took over the whole part with the power of self indulgence haha. So it’s not finished, I’ll come back to it at some point – Ryk 2019

Right now, gonna start something else haha.

See you…
 
“What are you doing?”
 
Pookie looked up as he lay prone covered in mud and probably chicken shit and feathers.
 
“Trying to catch, that beast, I guess” Pookie sputtered.
 
Jersey was perched high on the rafters of the barn out of sight talking up as if to herself. Her slight but confident voice echoing through the large richety structure. “What for?”
 
“Training?”
 
“Training? Training for what?”
 
“…”
 
She sighed and said “I see” She said nothing for a moment as Pookie looked up at her leg dangling from the rafters. “What do you want? An apology.”
 
Pookie snorted “What for?”
 
“For trying to kill you”
 
“You were trying to protect him right?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Do you love him?”
 
She said nothing for a moment, seeming to freeze, as if the words sent electricity through her whole body. She sighed, releasing the tension in a long breath and spoke softly as if to no one in particular. “Have you ever met someone that didn’t want anything from?”
 
“Can’t say I have, but I don’t get out much.”
 
“A person that would do anything for anyone and not ask for anything in return?”
 
“No” Pookie said thoughtfully.
 
“He’s an idiot, people like him don’t last long in this world.”
 
“He seems like he can take care of himself.”
 
“You think so?” She laughed. “He’s not like us, not like you” She looked straight ahead as if trying to see a face in the wood grain. “He can’t kill, it’s not in his nature, he’ll always be the frog and we’ll always be scorpions.”
 
“I’m not sure I get that reference.” Pookie snorted.
 
“I’d die to protect him, I’d kill, because there needs to be more people like him in this world, or it won’t survive, can’t survive. It wouldn’t be worth surviving in at all without people like him!”
 
“Trannies?”
 
“No not, what!? Forget it, you wouldn’t understand, you’ll just keep chasing chickens until someone faster than you ends up killing you. There are a million guys like you in this world, you really think you’re that special?”
 
Pookie didn’t say anything, but for a moment his face gave Jersey a window, a glimpse of that lonely orphan boy and she knew she’d said too much, been too flippant.
 
She sighed “Sorry, I can be a real bitch sometimes” Her voice softened. “The trick to catching chickens is… you have to predict their movements, you can’t just reach out and grab them or they’ll flutter away. You have to move with them and follow their path or they’ll just get away from you.”
 
“Thanks”.
 
 
“Here’s your… thing!” Pookie said as he dropped the chicken on the crude wooden kitchen table in front of Riki and Brandon.
 
“What?” Riki asked quizzically.
 
“You told me to chase chickens… as part of my training.”
 
“I don’t remember telling you to do that.”
 
“Huh?”
 
“I asked you to get eggs for breakfast and then you disappeared for an hour.”
 
 
As the sun was setting the fires had died. The gnoxious billowing smoke from the tents had turned into a light aery mist that hung over their crumpled deformed shape.
 
“What happened here?”
 
“You don’t know?” Pookie asked the strangely dressed man.
 
“Not a clue” the swammy said incredulous as he looked over the mounds of smoldering plastic and fabric.
 
“Ha, I guess it was just a coincidence” Pookie chuckled to himself.
 
The swammy turned to face the clown samurai. “How did you know I’d come here?”
 
“You said so.”
 
“I don’t think I did” The swammy said.
 
“Oh, you sure about that?”
 
“Quite sure.”
 
“Well for the sake of plot convenience lets pretend you did.”
 
The swammy gave an odd sidewards glance at the clown and said. “You’re not the one I expected to meet.”
 
“Yeah well, can’t always get what you want.”
 
“Well, I can’t disagree with you there.” The swammy laughed a little sadly. “I wanted to be known for my skill, I travelled all over this godforsaken land to learn and bring them something they’d never seen before. But no one understands, I wanted respect, wonder, not fear. I thought joining the circus would change that but it’s the same, no it’s worse. The circus is run on fear and misery, I wont go back, you wont make me and neither will those damn mimes.”
 
“I’m not here for that” Pookie said as he readjusted his sword.
 
“I see, so you’ve come here to die.”
 
 
“For the boy that can’t smile, for the clown that cannot laugh.” The old man said as he stretched out his open hands, resting in them a strange and colourful sword.
 
The boy took it in both hands without a word. His face rich in the colours of their order, bright and shining. The smile painted over the stolid face of despair.
 
The boy opened it with a stiff jerk, as if breaking a seal, it pulled away like it was stuck. A horrible canned mocking laughter was released like a poisonous gas that sent chills up the boys spine.
 
The old man smiled and said “Cool huh?”
 
The kid studied the sword sceptically looking at the gawdy leds that made up the eyes of the devil face on the pommel but still he said nothing. The look on his face a mix of wonder and complete whatthefuckism.
 
“This sword will smile for you, it’s blade will laugh for you and if you point the devil at your enemy and pull this it might just save you from the brink of death.” The old man said as he flicked the mystery draw string tucked into the handle.
 
The boy instantly reached for the pully. The old man smacked his hand away.
 
“Not now, and not ever” He said sternly. “The other will make the sword laugh, that one you must master, it’s sound will bring joy and strike fear in the hearts of many.”
 
If you like this sort of total nonsense head on over to inkitt.

3 ring samurai part 3 chapter 6 ‘The carnival is over’

Henlo people, long time no… not see, hear? Read?

Regardless, irregardless? Gardless?

Ok whatever, the content drought is still upon me, no movie reviews because my brother is on another of his ridiculous adventures and still have writers block so the writing is slow as fuck but huzzah there is content today, hard fought content.
That’s not to say I haven’t been busy, quite the contrary, I’m lifting ten times heavier haha. Almost finished watch all of farscape which is pretty good, finished my last shadow book and straight into the next one which seems to have a pretty interesting villain and I keep spilling promix on myself haha.
But in other news I got an interview for a new job which I think I either aced or did so badly they want another interview. The first one was just a weird live recorded one, but I have one tomorrow that’s live. But get this, I get a phone call from the person who’s meant to be interviewing me tomorrow and she says there’s no current opening in the job I applied for. 
Colour me surprised since I didn’t actually apply for a job I just sent in my cv and cover letter and they suggested a job for me to apply to which I did. Why the fuck would you offer me a job that didn’t have openings? I mean wtf is that? I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. I got off the phone with her and I almost broke into tears because here’s me thinking I have this perfect job lined up and this person asks me if I still want to interview for a job I can’t have. So I dunno, I’m gonna do the interview and ask them how long I might have to wait because who knows it could just be until after christmas or something. But if it’s longer than that I’m gonna tell them I’ll keep looking for jobs because that’s fucking clownworld shit.
I really wanted this job, in case I didn’t put it on here, I’m applying to work on a cruise ship because I think it’s perfect for me, travel, meet new people, live rent free, bill free, free food, no commutes. I genuinely hate driving, I can drive but I try to avoid it as much as possible because it stresses me out. It sounds silly but it’s how my father died and I don’t so much fear death as much as I fear making a mistake at all. I know some people find driving relaxing, I am not one of them. I find taking the train with a good book relaxing.
I just so upset when I got off the phone, because, I mean the whole reason I’m doing this is so I can make enough money to be with her, to be close to her, even if it’s just the two months on a six months on, two months off contract. And this is just more time I have to wait until I can hold her again.
I lie to myself, my autism flares up and tells me I can’t do it because x,y and z, I need my personal space, I hate people, I wont have time to workout, I’ll get fat etc. So I’ve bribed the autism side of my brain telling it that I’ll buy it a nintendo switch lite to play in the cabin and that seems to shut it up and make it forget about how hard it’ll undoubtedly be working six months seven days a week and sharing a room with a stranger.
But mainly it’s to anaesthetise that voice in my head that reminds me how empty I am without her, how lonely I am, how much I miss her. How nothing else matters. Because every time I think about that I can feel myself breaking down, even now as I type this I feel nails scratching away at the surface. My carefully crafted armor cracking like an eggshell.
It’s why I’ve been reluctant to write poetry recently, instead I’ve just been rehashing pop songs. Because I’m afraid if I dig too deep and use my real emotions it might just start a flood I can’t dam up. And it gets worse day by day and who knows how long I have to wait now. You’d think it’d drive me to even deeper more effective work, but it’s just too much to bare. It’s easier to just shut it off. But I don’t know how long I can do that. All I have is dreaming of a better outcome but at every turn it seems to go wrong somehow. I mean here I find a job that’s perfect for me and it looks like I’m about to get it but no, I’ve stepped on a rake and it the handle hits me in the face.
Fuck me right?
Canard felt the blood pooling in his brain and it felt like his head were an expanding balloon that was about to pop. The wire tightened around his neck, arm and leg. He was yanked in three directions, they meant to pull him apart like soft bread or a really fucked up pinate.
With his free hand and the last of his strength he pulled on the wire around his neck. Yanking the mime with the shaved head forward and off balance. The mime allowed a small smirk to creep across his face as he stumbled and leapt forward.
Canard dragged him forward with all his might and with a last desperate effort with the only blood left in his stump. He flicked his hidden blade in his peg leg open and cut the bald mime’s arm clean off. The smile didn’t move even as his own blood spattered on his still white face.
Canard had just enough time to cut the wire around his arm before he was pulled off his feet by the wire still wrapped tightly around his good leg.
He bumped his head a little and it felt like falling in a dream. He blacked out for a split second and then allowing for the rush of blood back into his brain. The oxygen back into his lungs he was awake again digging his heel in the dirt.
The fucker was dragging him, reeling him in like a fish on a hook. The one with his arm off calmly picked up his other arm up, maybe he wanted to see if he could reattach it with a little glue and tape.
Canard instinctively shot a glance up and behind the one that had hold of his weapon arm was advancing from behind now. He had to act fast or he was fucked.
He dug the pointy end of his spear in the dirt to try and slow him down. Then he got a cute idea and tossed some dry dirt up into the air that looked like an old man farting dust. Hardly the smokescreen or the mud in his eye that he wanted.
“Fuck it!” Canard spat as he angled his spear like a harpoon and lobbed it at the mime dragging him.
The mime dropped the line turning instantly to catch the spear out of the air.
Canard cursed under his breath as he quickly slipped his foot free of the wire “Shit, that worked last time” He could feel the one behind him closing.
Suddenly he felt like a crab on his back and rose up like a spider and did a fancy break dance spin. Trying to do his best impression of a blender and maybe take out the fucker behind him.
The one behind was too fast and nimble and had seen the blade coming from a mile off and summersaulted clear over the bladed spinning top.
The three were together now, the bald one with one arm on the right still smirking holding his other arm like a club. The one with his spear and the other one on the left. They paused for a moment allowing Canard to see how fucked he was.
Canard stood up and dusted himself off, he glanced over at them and sighed a little “Well, what are you waiting for?” He said as he held his arms out welcoming them to kill him. Hobbled slightly to one side as the knife on his peg leg elevated one side like a high heel shoe.
The mime with Canard’s weapon was eager, emboldened by his new toy.
Canard pointed at him and made a stupid face.
Pookie drove his blade up and under the mime’s jaw and pushed it all the way until he heard a scraping cracking sound. The mime’s spiked club fell in a stunted arc and scratched Pookie’s cheek as it fell from the mime’s limp lifeless arm.
“Over here!” He heard a familiar voice calling him.
In a cloud of brown and orange dust Riki’s little buggy skidded into view on what was left of the road. Riki leaned out and signalled Pookie. Pookie hiked Jersey up higher on his shoulder and cast a glance back at Efron and the dog and then over at Canard.
The mime with Canard’s spear lunged at him in a full speed dash with every intention of turning Canard into a one legged duck kebab.
But to Canard that was the most obvious way to attack, the acrobat pirouetted effortlessly to one side. Letting his spear to pass and grabbing it in both hands along the shaft. In one fluid motion he stepped on the mime’s chest and rolled him backwards. Making good and sure the mime’s body weight sunk his peg leg blade deep into his liver rolling back and launching the soon to be dead prick up in the air.
He landed on his back flopping like a fish out of water before some sensory mechanism kicked in. He flipped back to his feet dropping half a quart of black blood on the sand.
“Ya know it’d be really great if you guys could stay down.” Canard spat through the hard slit that had become his mouth.
The mime who had his spear moved mechanically, as if all sense had left him and only a husk bent on primal slaughter remained. He lunged towards Canards back, the acrobat leaned on his spear giving an exasperated sigh as he heard the mime’s feet scraping the sand towards him.
Canard turned his upper body in one fluid motion and drove the spear over his shoulder piercing through the mime’s skull. The shaft moving so fast it shot in and out like a piston. The mime stood swaying the last one to get the message that he was dead.
Canard drove the point home as he drew the blade up in an arching slash across his chest. The strike splitting him from gut to sternum, he fell almost in two pieces into the loose earth.
“Hey are you done fucking around over there?” Pookie shouted.
Canard turned to look over his shoulder at the two remaining mimes who stood like they were carved out of terracotta.
“Yeah I’m done” He said as he edged an imaginary line. Never taking his eyes off the two that remained as he hopped his way over to Pookie’s voice and the rest of the gang in the makeshift mystery machine.
Likewise the two mimes eyeballed him so hard his balls started to hurt a little bit like when you sit on them wrong.
He broke away from them at a loose dash and looked back and saw them standing there, not following. The night sky behind them orange and backlit by the fires and the rising smoke. Looking like some funhouse smoke machine, the lights just leds flashing. The mimes watched them go and then vanished into the smoke.
He got to the car as Pookie was loading the girl into the back. Efron and the dog were already sitting comfortably like they’d been waiting there the whole time.
“Hey get in” A familiar but odd voice said.
“What the hell’s he doing here?” Canard asked as he gawped at the weird fumer kid Brandon sitting in the drivers seat.
“We’ll talk about that later, wait is that, Jersey? What’s with that shit on her face?” Riki asked as Pookie bundled her into the back.
“We’ll talk about it later” Pookie said. “Drive.”
If you want to read the rest of this total garbage head on over to inkitt.

3 ring samurai part 3 chapter 5 ‘Pretty girl’

Yo bonjourno,
In a lot better mood recently because I have plans now, a new job in the works which I haven’t applied for but I got a guy on the inside so I’m sure to get it, although I’m not 100% sure I actually want it haha. It could be hell or it could be great, either way it’s gonna rob me of about six months of my life and if I decide to go back that’s my own decision, I’m obviously hoping I’ll love it and want to do it for a few years, I don’t see it as a lifelong thing because that would doom me to an eternity without any sort of family whatsoever and that would probably sound perfect to a lot of people but not me.
Specifically because I need this job to raise enough money to see the most important person to me on this earth. I’m hoping I can use the money to eventually buy a place where she lives and see where things go from there, but that’s probably a long way off. But it’s something and it’s more than I had yesterday. It’s gonna be hard work but I hope I can find purpose in it and look past it at my goals when it gets tough. 
I know I need to do this or something anything or I’ll lose my mind, the worse thing I can do is what I’ve already been doing which is nothing. It goes without saying it’s probably an end to blogging and writing for some time but this isn’t exactly going well anyway and leaving no audience behind isn’t that hard and shouldn’t be that hard to find again. 
I want to talk to her and tell her my plans but I’m afraid that I might chicken out and just slip back into despair, I’m afraid most of all of myself and my ability to just bottle it. 
I was thinking about when I was working abroad in france and how I totally checked out of that. But that was totally different to this, that was in the gaming industry which if you’ve worked in that industry you’ll know how full of shit it is. Plus I’ll actually be getting paid and everyone will speak english, probably. I basically had to get another job I had no time or the language skills to do or punch out and I chose to punch out because I couldn’t afford to stay and the job was total garbage for no money. 
It was an internship but I was supposed to have funding for it but it didn’t come through so I was working infinity hours at a job that sucked only to be bleeding money everyday just to survive. This going to be different and really exciting. I hope it works out.
As for content, I have it, sorta, yeah I do, pretty much these next few chapters are one elongated fight scene with mime ninjas, I know right, what other slice of the internet would you get epic battles between clown samurais and mime ninjas? Just what everyone in this age of infinite cape shit get excited for next cape shit needed.
Haven’t really been doing much else except writing and trying to like the shadow, I really really want to like the shadow but I read like a page and I can’t keep my eyes open. Doesn’t help that I read at night and I’ve been lifting really heavy recently so sleep falls on me like a tonne of bricks right now. But I .know when I’m reading something good when I can’t wait to read it and I want to stay up all night reading it.
Which is how I felt with the first conan story before I started reading the rest and got really bored with them. Still I wanna start reading the solomon kane stories next, also Elric because that’s apparently what the witcher is ripped off from and it can’t be much worse than that garbage.
Anyway, got shit to do, so see you…
Within a soundless second knives were hurled wildly in all directions. Ghostly white hands throwing them out and sometimes not. Half the hand movements seemed only to be mischievious imitations, feints. Feigning a knife thrown when in fact nothing but air was moved and no sound was made.
Canard stumbled stumbled backward sweeping his staff deftly. Moving knives out of his way like a cars windscreen wiper moving drops of rain. He paused to look down as he heard a mocking twanging sound as he saw one of the blades stuck into his peg leg. “Great” he sighed.
Pookie rolled without drawing his sword. The small thin blades arcing following his trajectory and flowing over his shoulder and head. They pierced the tent wall leaving pin pricks of orange glowing light probing into the dusty murk of the tent.
Before they could catch their breath and counter there was another distinct set of stealth ripping and lashing sounds. In moments there was a new perfectly rectangular door in the side of the tent. A pause later; knives were entering without warning in the same slap dash pattern.
Canard cursed as he span his polearm trying to deflect the flurry of knives aimed directly at him. A few of them slipped passed taking some skin off his arms as they flew by.
“Fucker!” He cried as his swept polearm around like a javelin and in anger launched it through the new gap in the tent. “How you like that?!”
The other assailant still hidden in the falling dust and murk was focusing all their attention on Pookie. From them came an unrelenting torrent of knives and possibly other kitchen implements. Leaving no room for a counter attack at all, there was no pause in the assault. He couldn’t even draw his sword without a knife aimed directly at his thumb. Pookie ducked down pulling his cot onto it’s side as makeshift cover.
He waited there for a second listening to the steady drum beat of knives embedding into the paper thin mattress.
Canard’s staff came walking through the doorway sticking out of the chest of a tall thin man wearing all black with a hood. His face painted ghostly white spattered red with the blood running from his lips. A knife clutched in his hand as he staggered forward his mouth agape with no sounds escaping his petrified face.
He stumbled into the room, his eyes wide and full of a muted hatred. He lurched forward throwing his last knife at Canards head before sagging his shoulders forward.
Canard awkwardly rolled forward on his one leg, his peg clattering on the earthen floor. Springing on his forward hand he swept the leg of the killer forcing him forward onto his staff.
The staff point poking out of his back like the tip of a lollipop someone bit off. The wooden staff bracing him against the ground like a kickstand as he flailed for more knives to throw.
Canard rolled to his feet and kicked his stack flipping the mime onto his back. He gripped the end of his staff ratcheting it as he tried to free it from the half dead mime writhing on the ground. The mime’s eyes still had a dim light in them and finding another sharp shank to poke with he stabbed at Canard’s good leg.
The acrobat shifted his weight quickly onto his peg and pirouetted away from the attack “Would you die already!?” He screamed as he turned about stamping his good foot on the mime’s knife hand. The mime grimacing in a silent scream revealing a stump where his tongue used to be between his blackened teeth.
Pookie sat behind his low cover waiting for the little thuds to stop rattling the cot, gap in the attack so he could act. They had to run out of things to throw eventually, but there was no way of knowing how many knives they actually had.
There, a brief pause in the angry rhythmic thuddings, Pookie waited for another gap, trying to see if there was a pattern. Two knives, then a pause, then three knives, they must be trying to preserve their ammo, which means they’re running low. Then one knife followed by a pause then two more.
Then it stopped ominously.
Pookie had his blade sheathed sitting next to him as he listened to silence. There wasn’t a sound, not even a breath.
Pookie looked over at the stupid grinning face on the butt of his sword and hatched a stupid idea. He didn’t really have enough room to draw his sword cramped up against the wall of the tent and the mattress. Which is fine because if he could he might’ve been tempted to just hop over the cover and charge headlong into the unknown. Which seemed to be working for him up until now. But without knowing the position of his attacker he could be royally fucked with a spork between his shoulder blades.
Holding onto the scabbard he poked the handle with the silly face over the top of the mattress. Predictably followed by a light thunk. He quickly pulled it back and plucked a literal sharpened spork out of the handle of his sword.
“Gotcha now” He smirked to himself.
He positioned himself low and listened “Fuck it.” He cursed under his breath as he gripped the lacquered sheath of his sword in one hand and the ring pull mechanism in the other. Holding it in front of him like he was holding onto the pin of a grenade.
“Gotta do this fast” He said to himself.
In one fluid motion he lifted his sword above his head and over the cover pointing that ridiculous smiling face in the direction the knife came from. He yanked the cord hard like he thought a parachute or a cannonball might shoot out or a thousand lawnmowers might start up with a jolt.
The sword flew through the air like a missile carried on the wings of the tinny laughter coming from the smiling devil face mocking life and death.
Using his staff still poking out of the mime’s chest as leverage Canard thrust his peg leg through the mime’s eye socket. A guttural squelching crunching sound as the leg widened out crushing and piercing the soft eye, cracking the skull. The dull emotionless face of the mime still staring up at him without uttering a sound.
Pookie listened and he heard a hard thud and a clash and clatter like someone tripped and pulled out a whole cutlery draw. Cautiously he poked his head over the mattress and saw the soles of shoes staring back at him. As the dust started to settle a toppled figure lying on the ground like a puddle of spilt milk appeared.
Pookie circled around the mattress and dragged his naked sword off the earthen floor. He looked down at the figure dressed in black, a mat of long hair covering their face.
“Die die die!” Canard cried as he stomped his peg leg repeatedly into the frozen ghostlike face of the mime. Blood and brains and shards of bone bursting up at him with each stomp until little remained except the hood and a few clumps of sodden hair and teeth.
“Would you stop fucking around?” Pookie said.
“What’s up?” Canard replied.
I think we fucked up.”
“You don’t say.” Canard said as he limped over shaking a piece of scalp off his peg leg, some visible teeth embedded into the gnawed and splintered wood.
Pookie stood as he slid the sheath of his sword back into his pants. He pointed his sword at the face of the mime who tried to kill him. Using the pointy end of the sword he turned their face over.
“Well fuck me” Canard said.
“Jersey” Pookie said as he sheathed his sword.
Read the rest of this shit over on inkitt.

Diana in the dark Chapter 14 ‘Two way street’ (Remurdered)

Hey there,

Been a kinda meh week, writing wise specifically, I couldn’t seem to get into the groove until yesterday really. I just sort of muddled through it a little bit not quite sir where I was going but it’s getting there, it’s taking shape.

Specifically in part two I started getting into it and feeling the story a bit more. I think the plot overall is pretty good, you have like an A plot and a B plot and then they progress separately and then intertwine and come together at the end. I think this one might be better received because there’s a lot more stuff happening and maybe it’s more or less convoluted than the first one haha. More characters more villains, tonnes more villains.

Remember this was meant to be two books so it has as many boss battles as a fucking videogame haha. Villains coming out of my ears, I ripped one right out of a lovecraft story while I was writing the synopsis so you know he’s racist! No, he’s a weird zombie thing, his personal opinions on the other races will not be divulged. Although I have a sneaking suspicion he hates fish people but so do most people in this book.

Come to think of it this whole series is about literal race wars, in fact most fantasy books are, jesus fantasy is racist haha.

But I still have a fair bit to proof read, I’ll clean up a lot of it there but I’m happy the direction it’s going, we’ll just have to wait and see. Now here’s more of this fill- I mean great content from Diana in the dark again but better.

See you…

Whatever the esoteric message of the photocopy meant, I didn’t have enough time to make any sense of it.

A tight popping cracking noise of a microphone being tapped and tested sounded, then a nasally voice filled the whole room. “Folks, can I have your attention please?” Principle Maria Petro said.  She stood looking down from the balcony, dressed a little like a character from the fifth element in a leopard print onesie?

Cat suit? What are those called? It actually fit with the neon space jungle theme.

She was a short stodgy woman with a nest of badly dyed hair that resembled ramen noodles. She stood under what looked like a brightly-lit star gate or arch, her hair done up as high as it would go.

Thankfully it was a high ceiling, without any fans or low hanging lights. Her face was a perfect mask of confidence and years of stored up aggression from dealing with the most spoiled kids on earth. All the make up in the world couldn’t cover up those frown lines.

“Ahem, good evening, everybody, I hope you’re all having a great time.” Pause for effect. Looking down at her subjects, expecting an answer or maybe an uproarious applause. Ms. Petro cleared her throat and continued on without it. “It’s my pleasure to announce this year’s senior prom queen and king.”

I made my way back over to Paul, strategically elbowing people in their solar plexuses. Solar plexi? Swimming through the crowd, only spilling about half the contents of each cup on other people’s rented shoes. I handed him one.

“Thanks.” He smiled for a moment, then stood bolt upright and his eyes got a little wider.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Err…”

“Don’t say shit!” a coiled voice hissed.

“Wendy?”

“No, it’s the fucking tooth fairy!”

“What are you?” Paul asked looking over his shoulder, but keeping his neck stiff.

Wendy stepped out of his large shadow and poked him in the side with that deadly DG purse, her hand inside it.

I imagined not clasped around her lip gloss. Her hair was coming undone, rogue strands now sticking in places to her patchy fake tan, running from the sweat.

“Brodie stood me up!” she said, shooting me a glare like it was my fault. “They’re about to announce it now, and the queen needs a king, got it?” She spat through her expensive bridgework. “So I’m just gonna borrow yours, you got a problem with that?”

“Err…” I said, eloquent as ever.

“It’s okay, it’s cool,” Paul said as he tried his best not to look as stiff as Frankenstein’s monster with a hand up his ass.

“Walk.” Wendy was still glaring at me.

Paul seemed as if he was resisting the urge to raise his hands like a hostage and started to pad slowly toward the balcony stairs.

There was no direct access to the stage.

Wendy poked him through a set of doors, and they disappeared—hopefully to reappear on the other side of the star gate in one piece. There was an awfully long pause and silence that followed.

“I’m happy to announce—” Principle Petro unsealed a sparkly envelope, very glamorous. She unsheathed a gold piece of card. “This years prom king and queen are…” Sudden sounds of a scuffle could be heard behind her, then a dull pop and another before a shrill scream.

The room froze trying to recognize the din.

Wendy burst out onto the stage, the small pistol in her hand. A ruby red stream of blood flowed from an obviously broken nose.

Paul was nowhere to be seen.

“Gimme that!” She snatched the studded prom queen tiara from Principle Petro’s hand, and shoved the woman out of the way. She tried to pin it to her head with the gun still in her hand. Once it was level, she scanned the room of all the faces still frozen in stunned silence.

Her existence was now a morbid curiosity, a downward spiral, a car crash happening in slow motion.

She saw me looking up at her. Part of me wondering if Paul was still alive, but the other was distinctly darker, and couldn’t keep my smirk at bay. Here I was, a peasant in the crowd watching a debutante fall face first in the mud, and I couldn’t stop the muscles in my face tensing into something like a smile.

“Fucking bitch! This is all your fault!” Wendy screamed and aimed the small weapon. She started firing wildly into the crowd I happened to be mingled in. The tiara drooped down and tangled in her hair as she cried.

Luckily this was probably her first school shooting, in her hands that little pistol was about as deadly as a spud gun and there was just far too much confusion to hit anyone in particular.

The crowd predictably woke from their frozen morbidity, erupting into a flurry of fight or flight lizard brain comprehension. They stampeded toward the nearest exit. Climbed all over each other so as not to become the lucky recipient of a nine millimeter kiss blown from a killer queen.

My first instinct, unlike that of a mere prey species, was not to fight or to flight but to hide and wait. Watch and see. I told myself I couldn’t leave without knowing what happened to Paul. He wouldn’t abandon me, and I couldn’t let my mask slip off completely without at least trying to save face. What kind of girlfriend would I be if I just ran and melted into the maddening crowd of lurching farm animals, leaving him to bleed to death?

The exits were currently expurgating a constant stream of furious humanity. The true meaning of an ancient Roman vomitorium now fully realized. Another fortuitous exit was marked out for me with a sign above the alcove that read, “The glow zone.”

I broke from the herd and darted for the exit, looking up to make sure she noticed I was distinct from the throng. She cursed in Spanish and fired a warning shot over the bow of the balcony, missing and chipping the horsehead ice sculptor. “Go Trojans!”

Wendy banged the guard rail of the balcony and disappeared into the back.

I pushed past a door with a porthole in it; it flapped shut behind me like a saloon door, screeching loud.

In the laser arcade equipment room, racks of laser tag sets hung from multi-colored racks glowing with the magic of LED. An instructional video on game safety was playing in a loop. A middle aged Hispanic man with a shaved head and set of terminator sunglasses appeared on screen, instructing me on how to safely clip on one of the vests in a succinct monotone.

Thanks but no thanks, a glowing piece of plastic on my chest wouldn’t do me much good in a gun fight.

Never bring a glowing plastic laser gun to a gunfight, Diana.

 

Loverman Chapter 8 ‘red right hand’

Bet you didn’t think you’d see this, yeah neither did I.
This is basically me trying to procrastinate so I can finish this shadow book I’m reading that of course is really boring before I start the next Cur. I really hate leaving books unfinished but this book is dragging it’s fucking feet so hard man. I want to just finish it and get back into the Conan stories that are fucking amazing. So I can soak up that lovely Conan badassery and keep it in my head, pass that spirit on to Cur 2.
Because I really feel inspired when I read something like that and it’s just like rocket fuel to my creativity and energy.
So hopefully I’ll finish the boring ass Shadow book and I can get back to Aquilonia like a boss. 
It might be surprising to hear that their are stories so stupid and shitty that I write that even I abandon them. Like sometimes I get halfway through something I think will be fun and interesting to write and then I’m just not feeling it and I drop it for something better.
This coming from a guy that writes weird samurai clown nonsense and that’s the stuff that makes it, even what doesn’t make it, wrap your brain around that. But I figured since I put some of it on inkitt I might as well finish it and I saw how close I was to finishing it, like a chapter and a half, there last chapter is next. So I thought ‘fuck it’ kill some time, get some content and maybe have some fun. I guess I just didn’t really get into the character of Ericcson and I didn’t really care about his struggle and if I can’t care about him how the hell is a reader going to care about him?
So I kinda rushed the ending a little but it’s a an ok ending, it did everything I wanted to do with it. I just wanted to make a fun little lovecraftian super hero revenge story with lots of gore. Maybe some people might enjoy it, who am I kidding no one is going to read this haha.
One can dream.
Ok well that’s pretty much it, gonna make a start on Cur 2 tomorrow unless some unforseen circumstance comes along and a bus hits me or something. Won’t be able get much done over the weekend because I have lots of day job stuff to do but I should have something to show of it the week after hopefully.
See you…
It was getting dark, Ericcson was fully awake as far as I could tell. He slowly planed my mother’s Crysler to a stop near a tight grouping of dying oak. The trees loomed over head bare and exposed as the sky burnt out and blackened like a struck match.
The car creaked under him as he got out and slammed the door in the fashion he had become accustomed. He came around the side and picked up the bag I was currently calling home and placed me on the hood of the car for whatever reason. Maybe he thought I needed to stretch my legs, or get a lungful of fresh air, having neither faculty it seemed like a waste of time.
He went around the back of the car out of sight and I heard the trunk opening and closing.
I couldn’t see much for the trees and the looming darkness, he’d angled the car towards an old broken fence. Through the trees I could see a dilapidated red farmhouse and a barn that looked like it needed a new lick of paint.
The ground was a mix of grey and browns, dry and desolate, the leaves blowing in the wind were grey and floated like ash.
I looked closer at the fence, it was more like a small coral for sheep but with no gate. A few of the planks had given way and the fence had slumped slightly to one side, the wood looking sodden and old. On second viewing the coral seemed too small for animals and then I noticed the pieces of wood propped up at even intervals sticking out of the ground. Some of them stooped with age and decay.
Ericcson without a word came around the front of the Crysler after slamming the trunk. Obviously not content with just mistreating the drivers side door of my mother’s car. In his hand was a shovel and all at once it made sense what I was looking at.
Some folks in the more rural parts of new England preferred to have their own private plots. Or if they were just too poor they could opt to intern their dearly departed on any land they owned and create their own tombstones.
So, not a sheep or pig pen but a small family cemetery.
He started digging as the sun went down and then after it was down by the head lights of my mother’s Crysler, never stopping and never seeming to tire. After a while it almost seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all. As I recall it must have been cold but as I had stopped breathing all together I hadn’t thought that his breath should have been visible also.
I decided to give it no further though. I tried to focus on the sound of shovel carving the cold earth like a butcher chopping thick slices of meat. He sunk the blade of the shovel deep into the ground with what seemed like an icy resentment for it being there.
She wasn’t buried very deep, I know nothing of the actual burial but I know most all of her family were lying beside her already, waiting. I believe I read something about it in the paper, in any regard they weren’t currently living in that farm house. She was most likely interned by the state, otherwise she’d have been filed away on a cold shelf in the morgue.
I heard the shovel hit something hard and the sounds of his effort cease. The still night and the sounds of him scratching and scraping away dirt with the cold shovel blade, then his hands. His black nails scratching at the coffin lid. I imagined for a moment that it was her making those noises from the other side of the lid. For what could surprise me now, after the impossible things I’d seen, the impossible thing I was.
It was hard to make out with the stark light of the headlights but I saw him stand. Then I saw him stab down hard and the crack of the wood as it splintered under his boot. He lowered himself down into the hole where I couldn’t see, gently like the honeymoon in the marital bed.
There was then a low sound like a dog whimpering, mad whispered talking. I suddenly felt dizzy, like I couldn’t tell which way was up and there seemed to be pictures projected on the sky. Then it was around me, a room, a padded room. Lying on a bed, my head attached to a body I didn’t recognise. Silence and then a song whispered in the night and a knock at the door, the door to a cell.
L is for love, baby
O is for only you that I do
V is for loving virtually everything that you are
E is for loving almost everything that you do
R is for rape me
M is for murder me
A is for answering all of my prayers
N is for knowing your loverman’s going to be the answer to all your prayers.
It was a woman’s voice singing but there was no music, sung almost like a nursery rhyme, whispered through the door of the padded room. But at the same time it seemed to be all around me. Me? The me experiencing something close to a memory of Ericcson himself in that damned nut house.
L is for love, baby
O is for oh, yes I do
V is for virtue, so I ain’t gonna hurt you
E is for even if you want me to
R is for render unto me, baby
M is for that which is mine
A is for any old how, darling and
N is for any old time
Like Now!
Suddenly she was there, I had no idea how, but she was on top of me. I couldn’t stop her, couldn’t want to. She was strong and forceful and hateful and my limbs felt numb and heavy and willing. A face I knew somehow but changed, a mask of some obscure emotion covered her face and she tried to be someone else and no one. Her features mashing together in some hideous parody of feminine beauty.
Her lips burning and biting into mine, a hollow sinking feeling, cold heat.
And that ring, she was wearing the ring.
The ring.
“It’s gone”
Ericcson’s voice came from the hole.
“Her wedding ring is missing”.
After that Ericcson was aimless, seemingly inconsolable. Driving through the night with no destination. No goal in mind but a rising foul hatred for everything outside of my mother’s Crysler. Of course he didn’t tell me this, he’d barely said a word to me after we left the asylum. His anger, hopelessness, radiated off of him, I could feel it like heat from a lamp, smell it like second hand smoke.
‘Anger’ was a poor choice of words, there was a seething boiling disdain fomenting inside of him for nothing in particular. It felt like he wanted to tear the sky down like it was some pathetic backdrop in a school play. Pull the stars down from the sky and shatter the moon and let thick cool blackness blanket everything forever.
His restlessness was getting to me so I suggested he get something to eat or drink, anything to calm his nerves and take his mind off whatever it was on. He didn’t answer me but he soon pulled up at a little roadside diner connected on one side with a gas station outside of town.
I’m not sure why I insisted that he try calm himself or why I thought food and drink would suffice to do that. Maybe I hoped some kind of routine would spark something in him. Or if I saw him eat a cheeseburger he’d seem more human and I could feel sorry for him instead of revulsion. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him eat or drink anything since we’d met, nor had he really slept. I was starting to wonder if he needed to or if he was even still alive. Was this really Zane Ericcson or something else wearing his face?
Regardless, some part of the man remained, the part that was driving him on, that was fueling his hatred. Why else would he visit his wife’s grave, why would he feel this sucking melancholy pulling him under a writhing tide of black bile hatred? If not love, then what?
An hour of staring at a cold bacon double cheese burger and soaking under halogen lights past by. Ericcson decided to skip the slice of keylime pie and top up of coffee and fill up my mother’s Crysler instead.
The gas station was dimly lit and in disrepair with a dingy mini mart squatting behind the pumps. A dagger eyed Asian man glared at us from behind the counter. The diner across from it, I had assumed was an all night affair but after we left it closed and they turned all the lights off.
The silence didn’t last long, punctured by a loud tire squeal and the vein rattling bass beats of urban music.
I saw them pull up in what looked like a Lincoln town car, square, with box like edges, black with a dent in the rearside fender. All this I could see as through protest I had been elevated from my position in the duffelbag on the seat. To my new lofty position of hanging from the head rest by the handle so I could at least see out of the window. A strange thing lacking a stomach but still suffering from phantom car sickness, it helps to see the horizon as most sufferers know.
They parked the car at a haphazard angle and one of the youths got out in a cloud of smoke. The music louder than ever, an oddly shaped hand rolled cigarette hanging from his mouth. He started pumping the gas as one of his friends got out to go into the mini mart. His movements loose and heavy like he was bouncing, his arms swinging by his side.
The one smoking the cigarette noticed Ericcson and shouted over the music. “Hey what’chu lookin’ at man?”
Ericcson said nothing and made no attempt not to stare at the youth.
A moment of awkwardness past then there was a loud series of pops from the mini mart and the one that had entered jogged out, a pistol hanging from his side.
“Ayyo! I said what’chu lookin at man?”
“Who dis?” The youth with the gun said, gesticulating with the pistol as he spoke not looking at Ericcson but pointing the pistol in his general direction. “This nigga wanna die too?”
“Ayyo, we gonna be late to that party man!” Another voice from inside the car shouted over the music.
“I don’t give a shit, this mufucka can I.d us man”
“Then waste his dumb ass, what you think we can wait around here all night?” A moment past as the one with the gun just stood and sweated as he readjusted the gun in his hand. “Bitch ass” The smoker said as he sucked his gums and pulled out his own gun. I can’t say much for guns, my family had never been big on them so the make and model eludes me. It was silver and rather large and I knew the dangerous end was pointed at Ericcson.
“I said; what you lookin a-“
The youth with the cigarette stopped talking as he noticed the change. He focused on Ericcson who remained constant like a waxwork, but the night was silent. No birds chirped or dogs barked, no cars passed, no wind. The pumps, the cars, the gas station, the road, the diner, the sky, were all gone. All moved away like props on a stage.
The youth gaped and his cigarette fell and hit the ground with no sound as he stared at the endless nothingness. The blank black canvass that surrounded them and then there were sounds. Only the sounds of Ericcson’s shoes as he walked closer to the youth. The tap tap tapping that echoed over the dense writhing darkness sending shocks through his veins. Each footstep like a dentist drill skipping over his teeth. The silence itself becoming thick with a terrifying low hum.
His body deflated, all the muscles in his face sagged and his arms shook at his sides as if they weren’t connected to anything. His posture was that of someone floating shoulder deep in a black pool. He felt light and weak but constantly in a comatose rhythmic somnambulist motion.
Ericcson stopped too close to him and took both his hands smiling like the devil himself. He helped the youth clasp the gun tightly in both hands. Then he forced him to put the gun in his mouth.
Ericcons smiled as he bit down on the barrel of the gun and said “Pull it niggerman!”
The youth flared with a rage that was as sudden as it was flaccid, his trembling fingers pulled the trigger and blew out the back of Ericcson’s head. A thick black brain matter exploded out of the back of his head like the ink of a squid and he fell backwards slowly as if he was sinking and then he stopped.
Ericcson rose to his feet from mid fall with a queer slithering motion and he laughed soundlessly.
There was a loud thunderous bang and suddenly reality bobbed into jarring focus like falling in a dream. Everything was the same but now the gun was in the mouth of the youth.
He pulled the trigger and his eyes rolled back into his head as he covered the car in brain matter.
His friend who had come out of the mini mart froze and then started up again like clockwork firing wildly at Ericcson who hadn’t moved from the pumps. Ericcson grinned and raised his hand, out of his sleeve. A vicious stygian tendril shot out and in a blink of an eye had hold of the youth with guns arm and was wrenching him about like a dog with a chew toy.
The tendril, with an inhuman level of strength whipped the youth through the windscreen of the car. His head imploding against the toughened glass and landing in the drivers seat.
The youth in the back of the car got out the otherside and started firing over the roof. In an instant one of those foul tendrils clutched at his throat, wrapping it’s veiny muscular limbs around his neck. The tentacle yanked him across the roof of the car.
Another tentacle slashed at his wrist, severing the hand completely before the one around his neck twisted his head off slowly. His cries trailing off in a distended vile screech like a dying animal.
His body fell from the roof of the car with a terrible wet thud.
Ericcson’s feet scraped the concrete as he walked over to the dead man’s car and casually turned the radio off. He searched the dead man’s jacket pocket, the deadman closest to the pumps. he pulled what seemed to be a piece of paper out of it and walked back over to my mother’s crysler, staring at it intently.
If for some insane reason you want to read the rest of this chapter or this weird ass story, head on over to inkitt. Red right hand

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