Apr 3, 2017

Chapter Three -- Spirit Dance

The clock was stuck at 2:05. 

The night air was still around the house but at a short distance, the storm raged on. Lightning struck the ground, raising tufts of grass, filling up the air with the smell of ozone. Wind pulled up small trees and shrubs from the earth, taking it all up into the powerful swirl of the storm. 

Inside the house, Sybil breathed calmly. Her chest rose and fell, The Wraith in her lap hummed with an anticipating energy. She knew the sword would start talking soon. It had been dormant for too long. It would have a lot to say. About the things she should do. 

She swallowed spit in her dried up throat, thinking about the bullshit that was about to pour forth once the sword started to talk. Hopefully, the storm would be over before that. She looked outside. 

The drapes on her window didn't blow in the wind anymore. Everything around her house was still, but she could still hear the havoc raining down in the distance. 

Dirty tricks, she sighed. No one was going to knock on her door. They wanted to bring her out. She walked up to the door and raised the drapes on the window next to the door. In the darkness, glowing orbs were descending from the sky. 

The storm sounded like a cabal of banshee in the distance, but it was virtually calm as the orbs took humanoid forms. She counted thirteen heads. 13 pairs of glowing eyes, all focused on her small house. All challenging her to come outside of her sanctuary to face them. She had to go, otherwise, they'd wait. And morning would never come for her and her family.

She took a deep breath and unsheathed The Wraith. The blade sniffed at the darkness and the evil in the air and came alive. Its sound in her ears was loud as it started to speak gibberish. Spewing the years of collected garbage in a steady stream of bullshit. She focused and tried to drown out the noise, but it kept rising like a tsunami of chaos. 

Sybil fell to her knees. Her nose bled and she slammed her head in the floor trying to silence the noise. The shock wrecked through her body like a lightning strike. Her teeth clamped on her lip and blood mingled with spit dripped on the floor. 

"Not today," she groaned and slammed the sword point first in the floorboards. Leaning on the sword, she got up. The room swam around her but at least the noise was abating. And through the converging silence, she heard the old familiar voice like honey on fresh wounds. 

"Hello, darling. Shall we dance?"

Can you feel it? I can feel it. 

Mar 28, 2017

Chapter Two -- The Wraith

The air inside the house was charged with fire and a soft smell of brimstone. Sybil was busy pulling bags and things from under her bed, looking for the long case that contained the sword.

There were things coming for her son and she needed to be ready.

She was half under the bed, when she felt her son stir above her. She held her breath, like a thief caught in the act. He stirred some more, and then she felt him crawl closer to the sleeping form of her husband and he went back to sleep again.

Sybil released the breath she didn't know she was holding. She slowly picked up another bag and pushed it out of the way. The case was lying behind the bag. She hooked her finger around the strap and pulled it out as she crawled out from under the bed.

The kitchen was dark.

Sybil took a candle from a shelf and lit it. She placed the case on the kitchen table. Black and ominous. Last time she had opened the case, people had died. And this was when Jorah was but a twinkle in some star system that she didn't even know the name of.

The black case vibrated with an evil energy. She was almost scared of opening it, but the storm was picking up and soon she'd be the only defense her son would have from the things out there.

Sybil put her fingers to the opposite ends of the case, pressed them in. Felt the case confirming that it was her and not someone else.

And the black case fell open -- a flat black piece of cloth on the table. A sword pommel, ivory carved with the scene of an ancient battle, stared back at her. There was no blade. There wouldn't be one till it was needed. And when it was needed, it would appear.

She picked up the handle and tested its weight.

It felt familiar. The slight twinge of excitement that she felt in her belly disgusted her at the same time.

Sybil grabbed a chair and sat down facing the door with The Wraith in her lap.

She was ready. For whatever the fuck dared to knock on her door next.

She thinks she is ready. She thinks...

Also, cool sword name, bro!

Mar 27, 2017

Chapter One -- The Phantom

Sybil sees the entity standing in front of her. She knows her knife is useless. The transparent apparition floats a foot above the ground. She can see the night and the stars outside through the figure's white robe. If it's even a robe. Aren't apparitions dressed in clothes they die in?

"Can I come in?" the weak voice again. Sybil feels like saying yes, but she's seen and read enough bad fiction to know that's a no no.

"No," she says. "First state your purpose for knocking on my door."

"Dark forces are rising."

"I know. A storm is coming. But what of it? I can control the storm as much as I can control my husband. What does it have to do with me?"

"Not you. Your son. His life is in danger if she stays here while the storm is here, too."

Her grip tightens around the handle of the knife. "What the fuck did you say? How the hell do you even know about my son."

"Sybil," the apparition speaks again in the weak and tinny voice, "your son is important. Too important for the war that's coming. You need to let me take him to a safe place so that I can train him for the war that will put humanity's fate on the stake. Your son is the only person who can turn the tide in favor of humanity against the threats that we're going to face."

"Fuck you!" Sybil slams the door in the apparition's face. She takes long, deep, quick breaths to calm herself down. Her knuckles are white around the handle of the knife. Her hand shakes and her head is full of thoughts.

"Fuck this." She puts the knife back in the block and walks back towards the bedroom. Suddenly, the house feels colder, malevolent and she can't put her finger on what's wrong.

She reaches the bedroom and there is something standing next to her bed, bending over her son, slowly moving closer, like a figure swimming through molasses. She takes off running and slams her body into the figure standing over Jorah. It makes a sound like a bursting balloon. She punches and tears at the balloon man and there is nothing but a hiss of helium and black paper crunching in her fists. A dreaded stone settles into the pit of her stomach.

The wind howls like a hungry wolf outside and Sybil knows she won't be able to go to sleep tonight.

Her husband is still sleeping, just like his son, who only stirred a little when she made all the noise.

Her mind goes through all the options available to her and it zeroes in on the sword. 

Mar 25, 2017

Chapter Zero -- The Ghost Inside

"Mother, I cannot sleep."

Little Jorah, eight years of age, stands in the doorway of his parents' bedroom. His mother groggily wakes up from her fitful sleep. She pulls the covers aside and beckons the child to her. Jorah climbs in beside his mother. Comforted by the familiar shape of her posture, he closes his eyes and slowly falls into the quicksands of sleep.

Outside, wind whistles through the trees. A storm is brewing on the horizon. It will destroy the crops that are yet to be harvested. The family will have a hard winter. But maybe not.

Jorah's mother, Sybil holds tight to her son as her husband snores away, lost in his own dreams. She feels worried about the crops, but there is little she can do in face of the storm. Her thoughts often divert to the sons of the royals who'd come to her village and take their pick of fair maidens. She'd wanted to be chosen by any of them. Had it happened, she'd have never had to worry about mundane, pedestrian things like wasted crops and how to fill the bellies of her family in the season after the storm.

Her arm aches under the head of her son. She tries to move it, but the boy stirs and moans in his sleep. She decides to bear the discomfort for a little while longer.

The storm is picking up. Leaves, slapped by the wind and spray of water make sounds like ghosts trapped in their bone cages. Chained in responsibilities and customs of the world that forces them to live a civil life. Sybil thinks all this. She sighs and holds a little tighter to her son. She keeps drifting to sleep, but the sounds of the storm keep waking her up, too.

In a tiny moment of sleep, she dreams she is tied to a cross and a man in a crow's mask is hammering nails in her hands and feet. There is no pain, but her blood flows freely, staining the ground, her clothes, and painting the sky in bronze and ochre. Everything is bright with light, but the hammering doesn't stop.

She wakes up to realize the sound of hammering is from this world, and not the other. It could not be the wind making all this ruckus. Probably a traveler trapped by the storm. She lifts Jorah's head from her arm and softly puts his head back on the pillow. Like a thief, she steals herself from the bed.

On her way through the kitchen, she picks up the biggest knife in their house and holds it in an underhand grip so that the blade is shaded by her forearm. She twists a knob in one of the lamps and it glows brighter.

"Who's there?" She asks as she gets closer to the door.

"I need help," comes a low, weak voice. She's not sure if it's a man or a woman, but it doesn't sound dangerous.

She opens the door and her life changes forever.

Are you ready? Are you fuckin ready?

Jan 17, 2017

Never Been Tased

Kell02 pressed the button on the small taser and an arc of blue electricity leaped from the twin prongs with a sharp crackling sound. She had charged the small device last night, now all she needed to find someone who'd give her a taste of what she needed.

There was a time when Kell02 would spend hours on her phone looking through all the dating apps, just to find someone who'd be willing to tase her on their date.

"No hookups" her profile would proudly state. "I am here for one purpose only. I need to get tased. I don't care if you're a guy or a girl."

Mostly, guys would reply to her profile, asking if she was some kind of freak. Girls, well, girls knew crazy from miles away. She had talked to some boys at length, but they always backed out in the end. No one, so far, was willing to zap some sense into her. She had realized the fault of her approach soon. She was laying it all out on the table by being truthful and honest. She needed a new tact, something so stupid that it falls head over heels into genius category.

So, Kell02 put the taser in her pocket and walked out into the world looking for a man (or a woman) who'd tase her. She had no idea why this desire manifested so strongly in her, but it was something that she needed and wanted with all her heart and soul. She'd even offered money on online forums for someone to tase her. But what can an unlucky girl do? No one took her up on her offer.

These online bozos, all talk, she thought to herself and spat on the ground. She had walked quite a bit looking through the shops in the market. Looking for someone, even though she didn't know who or what she was looking for. She let serendipity guide her feet and oh, did lady luck love strong legs?

Night fell and Kell02 still kept on walking as the cars on the roads decreased in their numbers and creatures of nightlife slowly emerged from their cocoon, like moths straining to break free, spreading their wings to emerge as beautiful butterflies.

She walked the road near the lake as lights from the city danced on the rippling surface of the water, creating strange reveries as some kind of acid trip dream. She stood close to the railing of the lake and leaned on it, just looking at the lights on the water's surface, wondering all the time if she'd get to get tased tonight. Kell02 lit a cigarette and watched the smoke plume around her fingers as she took a drag, inhaled it in deep and blew smoke into the night.

She heard someone walking in her direction. It was a man wearing a sweatshirt with an oversized hood. She could hardly see his face under the hood. He was bigger than her and built like a brick house. His walk suggested that he was not the kind of man that people fucked with. He was the kind of man that fucked people up. But she was not afraid, she had her fingers wrapped around her taser.

"Excuse me," the man said. He had a small and gentle voice for a man so big. "Can I bum a smoke?"

She took out her packet of cigarettes and shook one out for him. He daintily took a cigarette and she offered him her lighter. He lit the cigarette and handed the lighter back to her. They stood there at the railing, smoking for a while, without speaking, without looking at each other. Just two absolute strangers in the night.

The man finished his cigarette and flicked the butt in the water. He started to turn and walk away, but he stopped for a moment.

"You know," he said, "it might sound weird, but can I ask a small favor from you?"

Kell02 shrugged. "Go ahead."

He put his hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt and brought out a taser that was a bigger and advanced model of the taser that Kell02 had.

"Would you tase me, please?"

Two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl.

I think I should write more of these. Right?

Jan 8, 2017

2017. Plans that will fail.

Not a story, this.

Just the plain ol' me, talking to the plain old you. Maybe you're special, but I have no way of knowing that. I'll just assume you're reading and you're well, wherever you are.

2016, in review, was not that stellar a year creativity wise. I got busy with other things and I was not able to meet my writing goals and aspirations for this blog. But that's done and gone. No point in crying over spilled milk. We have 2017 on our hands and should I make promises about what I want to do with and on this blog in this year? Nah, I don't think so. Promises get broken and plans fail.

So we'll wing it. If we succeed in doing something amazing here, so be it. If we fail, then it won't matter because no one will know about it.

I finished the black card chronicles last year. There are a few other stories in the oven right now. Slow cooking in my brain pan.

I am going to edit and revise the black card story, add some chapters, flesh out the characters some more. I have some problems with the story and I need to improve it by adding and removing things from it. Once that is done, it goes on kindle and away from here. So, if you've read it, good for you, if you've not, then wait for a better version on Kindle.

Other than that, Project City is going on about 25,000 words. Yes. But that project is nowhere near completion and I need to devote some serious time to write that.

I am working on two new short stories. I swear when I was younger and I had no idea about writing, I could bang out these fuckers like it was going out of style. Now I obsess over the plot and narrative like I am some kind of pro-writer. No. I am just a hack. I have stories in my head, and I want to tell them. Just like the first story I wrote on this blog, just like the last story I'll write on this blog.

So, onwards 2017. Let's hope for more fiction and less talking.