This is me. Not a character I wrote. Not a fake journal entry. Me. Who am I? A stereotype, mostly. I’m the nerd who lives in a basement (well, attic in my case) and plays video games, reads, and writes fiction. That’s the outside. Continue reading “Real talk – a message from a nobody”
“I tried…” Derek utters through frozen lips, the winter’s cold air stinging his lungs with every breath.
His body trembles – not from any outside cause, but his own sorrow which only builds within his crumbling soul. He is alone. Lost to the world, to the friends—no, the family—with whom his trust had been placed. He counted on them as direly as he believed they relied on him… and now he only feels like a fool. Continue reading “Smile”
The night was sultry. Wait, no, that’s a terrible start! I’ll go again.
The night’s air was electric, filling me bones with an energy they hadn’t felt in years. Yeah, that’s an apt description. Shall we proceed?
Bodies dropped all around, adding to piles already arranged across the smoking sovereign grounds. I’d gotten to the party late, that much was obvious, though I wasn’t empty-handed. Had me two Ulfbehrt blades tucked neatly out of view whilst slipping under the gatekeeper’s arch, entering a town recently set ablaze. Continue reading “The Trickster & the Giant”
This world only gets worse. Day by day. Hell, hour by hour. In the end, nothing we do matters much. We go through life expecting to accomplish something, to matter in a grander scheme. Invent something to change the world. Write something profound enough to enact change. Continue our bloodline to achieve some semblance of immortality through each descendant for years to come.
Inventions become obsolete. Words printed to paper fade, or exist long enough only to be warped to fit another’s twisted viewpoint. Mere accidents or even fate, if you believe in such a thing, can cut down any family tree in an instant. Continue reading “Mad man”
A fire crackles lively, its yellow glow building within the brick enclosure as another section of chopped lumber is tossed casually into its midst. It engulfs the birch within moments, roaring, casting its brilliant light over both men present to view its dancing beauty.
“I swear, I don’t have it!” Marcus glistens with sweat even in the unusually frigid temperature of the isolated cabin. Terrified, his razor-thin frame trembles, too-large clothing draped humorously from his body, swaying with each timid movement. He rests uneasily on the rotting footstool, staring only at the man across from him. “You have to believe me!”
His visitor leans forward in an old, comfortable chair — soulless eyes peering through narrow slits on a ghoulish mask. “I do, Marcus,” he says calmly, weight pressing down upon the pommel of a shimmering sword tucked between his legs, its point digging deeper into the damp, softened floor. “You needn’t wet yourself, mate. I’m harmless,” he says with a light, friendly charm.
“I know who you are!”
“I should hope so,” the visitor chuckles, “that’s the whole point of this mask, chum. Helps get the word out.”
Marcus bites his lower lip, teeth chattering. Wild, desperate eyes gaze in horror at the skeletal figure before him: every sculpted tooth seeming to shift, morphing into an unnatural grin. “You’ve never strayed this far South before!”
“Was never paid this much before, either. Tends to make a difference.”
“You’ll kill me! It’s what you do, isn’t it? Headhunter!”
“Contract only mentions the key. I just have to find it,” assures the visitor, head tilting.
“Then you’ll let me go?”
“You have it on you right now, don’t you.”
His eyes flicker toward the door. “Y-yes…”
“Marcus,” the visitor’s grip tightens around a silk-wrapped hilt, “nobody likes a liar.”