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Moving in an old direction with new Tech.
Abominable
Fright
Feeling Ducky v.1
Feeling Ducky v.2 -
Mitch and Kyle and the vampire
“There ain’t no rest for the wicked.”
“Isn’t that a song?”
“Hey, so? We have been plowing through this cave for days. Didn’t you just say you wanted to rest.”
“You ain’t got anything original?”
“So…”
“Thought so.”
“You know sometimes you are the biggest ass, Mitch.”
“Hey, what can I say… ”
“You can say something other than, ‘What can I say!”
“Shutup.. hey, what’s that over there?”
The cave system sank lower and there was no light, except for the torch Kyle put together. That said a yellow glow leaked through maybe 50 yards away.
“I don’t want to go that way,” said Kyle.
“Aw.. come on you weiner. To be honest we really have no other direction to go. We can’t go back up the cave and we can’t take this way because it’s too small for our overgrown bellies.”
Kyle stepped to the left, leaving Mitch to fuss in the growing darkness. That was until something moved far in the darkness.
“Why’d you leave me ass?”
Kyle laughed.
Both men stepped carefully over the fallen stones and small streams of water. The light expanded till it revealed another torch planted in a crevice in the wall.
“Did you put this here?” Mitch asked.
“How could I have put that there when I didn’t know it was even here?”
“I don’t know!”
The two men passed the touch and stepped into an antechamber. A large round room with torches every couple feet.
“Dude, we could set up camp here.”
“Mitch, look.”
Mitch followed several shadows, slowly moving to the left. He stepped forward and went the opposite direction. He held tightly to a hammer, spiked on the backside.
The shadows continued moved along the parameter of the antechamber. Mitch continued following in the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?” Kyle suddenly shouted.
Mitch paused. The shadows stopped and he could make out a quiet conversation.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” Mitch replied quietly.
“Me… what’s wrong with you, idiot.”
“You know…” Mitch began. His temper flaring. He stopped when one of the shadows began to rise and disappear.
He could hear the beating of wings above his head.
“Run!”
Both men ran into the center of the round room. They turned and searched for a doorway. They could hear several beast hovering over their heads.
Kyle felt the cool breath of one of the beast and turned. He trust the touch upward. Fire lite the thin, white hair of a stretched out pale face. The creature screamed and fell to the ground. Another screamed and attacked Mitch.
Mitch swung his hammer and missed. He turned the hammer around and swung again and connected with the spiked end. The creature squealed and walked away.
“Give me back my hammer you thief.” Mitch shouted as he instinctively followed the creature.
Kyle stared at the black eyes of the creature as the flames inch up his head. The creature struggled to dampen out the flames with thin, bony fingers. Another creature flew into Kyle and grabbed him. It pulled him upward then let him go. Kyle hit the ground hard. Within moments the creature was above him and began to pummel him with its bony fists.
The blows were enormous. Each connection knocked his head left then right. He could also hear the rustling of the creatures wings and feel them as they brushed by his left hand. After a strong right cross Kyle grabbed the right wing. He bunched the loose, leather-like material in his hand and pulled.
The creature, surprised, fell to the side. Kyle stood up and without much thought crushed the creature’s skull with his boot.
“Mitch, they have a hell of a punch but I crushed this one with a boot.”
He waited for a response but didn’t receive one. The touch was near the center of the room. The other creature had disappeared but he could hear another fighting in the darkness.
“Mitch!”
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Lament of a SuperVillan
Freewriting lament..
Erik, the Terrible paced the grounds. His minions, despicable characters that complimented the super villain, wandered nervously waiting for the man to make a decision.
“Every time,” Erik shouted. “Every time I do anything this man… Super-something flies in and stops me.”
“His name is SuperAlan.” A large man, dressed in black says as he paces alongside the supervillain.
Erik stopped, “SuperAlan? Are you serious? Alan?”
The large man stopped and stood. He shook, fear erupted within him. He took in a breath. “I read it in the paper. The Daily Digest. They called him SuperAlan.”
“You can’t call him SuperAlan,” Erik advised.
“What do you want me to call him,” the man replied.
“I don’t know. Just make something up… just not SuperAlan.”
The big man thought for several moments as Erik continued to pace.
“So to finance my new evil plan I will need to have a Nuclear submarine in my arsenal. I can alter it to take out Super…”
“Have you came up with a name yet?” He shouted.
The big man jumped.“Yes, sir. Super Pancake.”
Erik stopped walking immediately and turned on his heels. A smile stuck on the dirty, usually sour face.
The big man returned the smile but was very cautious. Any sort of emotional response could be interpreted badly and the man could end up at the end of a bullet.
Erik, the Terrible was the only employer in the area for a man that spend most of his youth in jail. Assault, murder and a bunch of unsavory connections. Those connections are what got him this job. This job is not something you get fired from. The smallest indication of disrespect will get you killed.
Erik, the Terrible felt the smile upon his face. He rubbed the corners of his mouth and the muscles that pulled them upward.
Suddenly, the supervillain laughed. He did more than that… he roared. This roar was followed by an uneasy response by everyone in the room. A forced reply to a presumed joke.
As spontaneously as the laughter started it stopped and everyone, outside of Erik and the big man continued working.
The big man stared at Erik as the supervillain started back.
Erik laughed again. A short escape of glee.
“This is why I keep you around. What’s your name again? I can not ever remember.”
The big man began to speak… but Erik spoke over him.
“Funny, SuperPancake.. that is so funny.”
He then walked away while Patrick stood alone.
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We’re different. Unfortunately that could be a problem.
Sabrina had come into our lives with a sweep of silk skirts and an attitude that made everyone stop – and smile.
When I was a child the world was a place where anything was possible. It was different in so many ways, yet it was the same in so many ways.
Different in that we didn’t have the technology we have today. The same, in that people were full of hate, especially for women.
That was the advantage of growing up in the Vampire community. We didn’t care. We were all equal among our own. We knew, that if they knew, they would hate and fear us. So as always, we kept quiet.
There were different groups among our kind, and of course we sometimes give each other the stink eye and talk trash about each other. We’re still a little bit human. But I feel that most of us…
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Dream of Death – Journal entry
I had a dream last night that I died. It was something that really makes you think. Don’t think too much into it. It could of had many meanings.
I spoke to my sister in my dream. She had passed before me, which is more frightening. Neither of us is dead but I was learning something from her. I felt comfortable but fearful.
Can you feel comfortable but fearful?
We were both lying in a desert-like environment.. no heat just the sand and the scarce trees and bushes.
This dream just concreted my thought on how important it is to live up to your expectations of life. To enjoy every moment and be good to people. Those people are going to be supporting you when you start to fade away. A belief in God is helpful throughout life but I’m afraid that denies you credit as a strong individual. You can give the grief to God. He will take it but that grief is still yours to own. You have to figure out how to manage it.
It’s like telling a baseball coach to hit a homerun for you. It’s not possible. The coach is there but you have to hit your own homerun.Life is so absolutely important.
This is just an opinion piece here but I believe life is far more important than death or after-death.
Sure, if you are afraid to go to hell you are going to do your best to avoid it… fear has a way of doing that but are you living the best life by being fearful of punishment?
A single-minded focus on a happy afterlife avoids the situations that appear everyday. It’s a coping mechanism that many people need. Just let me get through this tough life and I will be ok.
I don’t agree with this. Life is so absolutely wonderful. So many potentials in this life of ours. I’ve had rough years. I’ve had some problems and expect more.
Life comes with the awesome responsibilities of others. Your actions affect everyone else. I feel it is my responsibility to be the best person because of what my actions do for others.
Sure, I screw this up all the time. Look at me under a microscope and you will see all the germs and micro-organisms swimming around but this is normal. It’s all but impossible to be perfect everyday. -
Finished Reading…
I think you might like this book – “Sylvester’s Choice” by D.M. Baker, Dusty Grein, Talitha Torres, Mandy Melanson.
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Going to church in the Apocalypse
Jim sits comfortable upon a simple grey chair. Dressed in his best Sunday suit, a Calvin Klein stolen from the remains of a men’s store. Jim adjusts the wide brimmed fedora upon his head and settles into the mass of broken concrete and remains of the world’s past.
“The world imploded on itself,” Jim thought stretching his feet out in front of him. He was miles away from Philadelphia but it was still a breathtaking view of progress, peace and hidden angst.
“The whole world was a tinderbox of anger.”
It started as a rebellion. An excursion of terror that was dismissed as palatable. The rebellion grew as others realized life, as they knew it, was incorrect and wrong. States fell and peaceful nations stood and watched as ‘those other people’ suffered.
“Those other people wanted to be at peace. They wanted what we had and became desperate to have it.”
In order to grasp the horror of the incoming wave of the rebellion the, once peaceful, states punished the fallen states. They pummelled them into submission as the rebellion scurried away and rebuilt.
“The rebellion spoke of oppression and sold a solution to the ones that were listening and beat the mantra into the ones that were not.”
The rebellion rekindled as peace washed over the world but failed to soak the population. The positions of the politicians had changed. They had a demonstration of brute strength that worked. A policy of terror that would save the peace and color the people white with candy-coated smiles.
“I didn’t see any smiling happy people roaming the streets with an oversized lollipop and a skip in their step,” Jim thinks as he hears a distant rumble.
Void of emotion, Jim watches as a tower of glass falls within the city. It’s steel structure standing upon the human optimism that used to exist. The dust cloud bellows upward toward the sky only to fall short and roll outward.
The emotion empty, except for a partial tear hanging onto the dirt covered face of an overworked, post-apocalyptic father of four. Jim turns his head suddenly. His chair skirts over the concrete and tumbles down a mountain of rubble.
“Daddy, Katie and I want to play ball with the Watson family down the street.”
Jim looks down and stares at the blue eyes of his youngest child. Her face covered in dirt and her clothes torn.
“Well, you have your playing clothes on already. Watch out for debris? Make sure the adults cleared the area you’re playing in and someone is there to watch you.”
“Ok, daddy,” the small child answers and turns when Katie pulls her hand but she stops and turns.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear,” Jim replies.
“What are you doing?”
The tear, hung so well, builds and becomes heavy. It falls and disappears within Jim’s shoulder.
“I’m at church.”
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Hestia, the fire elemental
The Hestia elemental walked slowly through the trees. Dontarius stared at the creature. It’s blackened, wood-laden form smoldering underneath a ferocious flame. For a moment he was happy to be tied to a tree six feet from the ground.
The struggles of walking into a world of fantasy struck him as he watched and pondered. The logic of a walking fire elemental below him. He still struggled with the realities, the physics, and science of this brand new world but his heart yearned to find his wife.
Herocislies told him earlier in the day that his wife was likely struggling in the Living Prison. Not a happy place, he imagined.
The Hestia disappeared into the forest ahead of him and he again was left alone. Unlike the forests of Earth the trees were quiet and the only noises he heard were when things approached. Dontarius struggled with the restrains but the thick rope held tight. Unable to free himself he fell asleep as night fell over the sky above.
A noise snapped Dontarius awake and he opened his eyes. It was morning and the sun above shone through the canopy of trees. The noise repeated and he recognized it as a loud clap. It was closer and followed by shouting. It sounded, as if, someone was herding animals.
“Hey,” he shouted as he tried to turn.
Small footsteps returned his call and soon a dozen small sheep appeared beneath him. He sighed at the sight of something he knew. The sheep were followed by a tall man, with wings. The wings stood three feet above his short, brunette head of hair.
“Hey, you!” He shouted but the man ignored him. The man jumped and fought the urge to turn around. “Hey, can you help me out here. Come on man.”
The bird man turned around immediately, as if pulled by a rope. His thin, sculpted face would of turned any woman into jelly on Earth. Dontarius returned a smile sitting on the bird man’s face but it disappeared.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” said the bird man. He spoke English but it seemed old and had a vocal punch at the end of the words.
“Hey, dude. You cannot leave me here” Dontarius spat, imitating the accent.
The bird man stopped and turned. He looked up and thought.
“You will make a valuable negotiation tool to the Mur. They often broker the train riders to the Conductor for souls.”
Dontarius grumbled. “I’m not interested in a negotiation.”
“Not much of a choice.”
“Right,” Dontarius replied. “Can you help me or not?”
“You remind me of another train rider I knew a hundred years ago. I think I can help you out.”
The bird man began to work on the knots as Dontarius waited and balanced upon the small wooden wedge that he stood on. As soon as the tension fell Dontarius fell forward. His knees unable to hold his weight. He fell into a bath of thick brown leaves and lay motionless for moments.
“I’m so sorry about this, friend.” The bird man tried to help him up but Dontarius’s legs were too weak. “Sit here.”
Dontarius sat against the tree as the bird man lead several of the sheep back near him. He then watched as a travois was framed in using large branches and layered with leaves.
“Alexander, will help you escape the forest. It can be quite daunting. Oh.. Alexander is me.”Dontarius returned a smile and was happy to be on his way again to find Rebecca.
Matthew R. Stitt // The Writer’s Archive 