From Man to Man Pt 2.From Man to Man Pt 2.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'So, it's come to this?'
Draven stared down his opponent. The axe was heavy in his grip, knuckled white. Circling to the left, boots crunching on the forest floor, his breath came even and steady. He circled back to the right, sizing, gauging. Hefting the handle high, blade glinting in the sun, Draven's muscles coiled.
'I've traded my old enemies for just this one...'
The axe thundered home.
'...I miss the old ones.'
Crunching the head back and forth, Draven wrenched the axe free. Even as the spray caught him in the face he swung the axe again.
Twice more he struck, then a dozen times more. He felt nothing thought lost in the rhythmic economy of each axe-fall. The spray continued, shards and splinters flying.
From Man to Man Pt 1.From Man to Man Pt 1.2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
'I never meant to let you down.'
Draven lifted a stray curl of his wife's hair from her face. She smiled in her sleep as if knowing he was there. As silently as he could, he leant over the bed and kissed her softly on the cheek.
'I've tried everything.'
Rising slowly, as quietly as he could manage on the wooden floorboards, Draven retreated from the bed. By the fractured light from the shutters he made for the bedroom door. The walls of the house were thin and he heard a creak from the neighbouring room.
'Best be off before Kale wakes.'
Reaching for the door behind him, still facing the bed and his sleeping wife, Draven paused. Drawn, painfully drawn like poison from a wound, he found his eyes stray to the chest at the foot of the bed. Shut away from the world under key and lock, he linge
Magnum OpusI wonder if there will come a time when man is surrounded solely by his own creations. Every year, every month, every day that passes man, in his insatiable curiosity, delves into the secrets of the universe. Learning is his opiate; it is his raison d'etre, to grow and change. But it was never enough to be schooled by the disciplines of science or philosophy. No, he must test his knowledge, he must be certain that the flower of the universe has opened its petals to him, has divulged every last, intimate drop of nectar from its tender blossoms. And what greater test, than to fashion the object of your studies by your own hand, what greater challenge of your understanding and wisdom than to improve upon the design? Yes, man has a lust for creation. He was indeed carved in the image of his God.Magnum Opus2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Still, God was wise enough to bless his creations with free will, that they might surprise and delight him, that he might grow to love them. Man, too, tried this-- albeit to a lesser extent. As
Beauty Has A Price.To say designer children are beautiful is an understatement. Their skin is the pale cream of an August sunset, dusted with a soft pink blush. Their hair falls in cascades of lustrous blonde curls, their bright blue eyes accented by a fringe of thick, dark lashes. Their noses are slender. Their lips are plump. Their bodies are curved to perfection. And as if to give the finger to us common folk, they are gifted with creativity and intelligence.Beauty Has A Price.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It is maddening, really.
I watch them as they huddle together with their white teeth smiles, their soprano laughter carrying on the air. The sound reminds me of shattering glass. Sweet, playful tinkles, like wind chimes smashed in a tempest. I’ve shattered a lot of glass.
From the cradle they are bonded, one to another, sharing a common point of genetic creation in the test tubes at DK Labs, incubated by a team of god-like engineers who prefer to call the process ‘prefection.’ It figures they're all close friends.
I like to ca
polarisshe was the kind of girl that filled herpolaris2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
chest cavity with stars and her mind with names,
never one to forget her friends of the sky.
she doodled comets and planets in the margins of her papers
where hearts with arrows and initials should have been.
rockets boosted her dreams into the sky, and
she insisted the martians take teeth from under her pillow, not fairies.
she hoarded her chuck e cheese tickets,
even went as far as to dig them out of couch cushions
in order to fill her night sky with glow-in-the-dark stars
so her friends would never leave her even when
mommy and daddy forgot to tuck her in.
sleepless nights were spent at the window with
her battered old astronomy book, teaching
herself to read with polaris and sigma octantis.
by high school, she was as distant as her life-long friends,
already burnt out, just leaving after-images in the sky.
stardust floated out of her ears,
and dark matter clouded her eyes.
nebulous thoughts wafted from her mouth,
catching on the breeze and s
The Virtue Of Deception Part I of IIITonight Elzio of the Quatronne family was stationed on Hickory Street. His short but muscled frame was terse beneath his trenchcoat as he melded with the city's grime. This was easier said than done in the southern half of Ghileswick where only the wealthiest Ashlanders dwelt, isolated from the extorted hell they'd furbished in the northern Shidaran half. Oh, the weightier crimes and high stakes criminals eventually trickled down to this, the seat of legislation, and they'd left their mark in the gritty residue that dampened the prosperous neighborhood's streets, fulgid and ghoulish in the lamplight. However, it couldn't compare to the hair-raising adventure that was a stroll through the northern docks.The Virtue Of Deception Part I of III2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Elzio had begun his career as a petty thief, though. He preferred the simpler, more prevalent filth of the Shidarans, where his family's drug and arms trade resided. Easier to blend with the shadows when the people themselves had arranged their tenements in a manner befitting
Star SwallowerShe'sStar Swallower3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
her head, a stadium drowning with applause.
yet its seats are empty like the notebooks
where armies of words should be marching.
instead she dismantles clocks
thinking she can play with time.
behind the mountains lurks a darker reasoning
a twisted labyrinth of rationalizations
hidden from the suns brilliance.
Years alone beneath the bleached fluorescent
reading those already dancing in the moonlight.
she is living a literary half-life through them
hiding from the symmetry of the writer.
licking salty rocks of excuses.
saving her secrets for posthumous excavation.
decades of productivity left for moths to chew.
you're throwing coffins into the sea
with each day that passes wordless.
denying us the sweet whistles from inside your skull.
meaningful, impacting stories only you could pen.
Stop climbing broken staircases
towards the pale summer stars of obscurity.
these are still fruitful years of beauty.
remove your armor.
claw beyond your fears.
allow us into your wonderla
Elbows5.22.12Elbows2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I heard a man ask,
"Why stumble in the dark
when you can turn on the light,"
as if God has magic cures
He rations out in doses
instead of letting us learn
on our own.
It's never been that easy.
It's always more of a
dark journey where
every time I stumble
God holds me up by the
elbows and says,
"It's all right."
The man said, "The sun
doesn't rise hoping
it can overcome the dark,"
but darkness never comes
in fear, only understanding
that all things have their time.
The sun goes down.
I wonder if he's ever
in the darkness at all.
It's not that I don't believe
in the sun, I just love her
enough to know she leaves,
and if she didn't
we'd never need to believe
in that elbow-lifting God
who is the only one big enough
to see though the dark.
Objective Proof of GodIf I tossed a coin 2000 times and called it right every single time, what would you think?Objective Proof of God3 years ago in Academic Essays More Like This
I can only imagine some of the things you would be thinking, but they would all stem from one rationalization: that what was happening defied logic.
To make sure we are on the same page, let me give you some quick facts about the Bible: The Bible was written over a span of about 1500 years (from 1445 BC to 95 AD) in 3 continents, in 3 languages, by 40 authors, and has 66 books. It's mostly a collection of letters written to churches. We can verify the dates of the books of the Bible through the efforts of historians, linguists, and archeologists.
" . . . a band of evil men has encircled me, they have pierced my hands and my feet. . . They divide my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing." Psalm 22: 17-18
What event is this verse referring to? If you have a basic knowledge of Christianity, then you know this is talking about Jesus' crucifixion. If you
don't tell me animals don't feel'i don't hate you,' sobbed the raven to the canary, his black feathers all ruffled and bloodied. but she never sang a melody for him and so, she twisted her beak away and never looked back.don't tell me animals don't feel2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
'tell me now,' broke the wolf to the hyena, 'why do you cry to the earth instead?' she shook her big throat and she laughed, 'the devil always listens.'
'when you're gone,' whispered the hound to the fox, 'it feels like forever.'
the clockwork liari. we dusted dreams off people like the first snowflakes of the season. you'd take one and rest it on the center of your tongue because you hated the taste of ice cream and wanted to reset what cold tasted like to you.the clockwork liar2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
you taught me that the cold could be bitter, and so could people's dreams.
you drank out of out-of-order wells because you believed they still worked and that the government was keeping it all to itself.
i never realized how insane you made me before i wrote this all down.
ii. i wished on the sun because i ran out of shooting stars.
and just to spite me, you began wishing on raindrops because you believed that they were so many, one of them was bound to remember you.
but we both ended up laughing hysterically with protruding knives on a bloodstained floor, didn't we?
iii. i talked to clockwork towers and told them to lie because if they stopped for just a while, all the time in the world would seize.
one human, two human
The quiet onesThe Quiet OnesThe quiet ones2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for:
the ones who sit in class, doodling in their notebooks.
Alone they're harmless and keep to themselves.
But don't be fooled, their brains are a flurry of activity.
Put two or more of them together, and you'll wonder what the heck happened.
These "quiet ones" start talking, start plotting.
They've planned each other's brutal deaths....multiple times.
They've discussed the zombie apocalypse....and how they'd start it.
The end of the world has four backup plans....to ensure its demise.
And you can almost guarantee your death has been penciled in for next Tuesday.
So be careful, 'cause it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.
Loneliness:a limbless spider entangled inLoneliness:1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
its own web,
writhing and awaiting to
only to be devoured by the fly.
And The Angel Said...And the Angel Talked with MeAnd The Angel Said...7 years ago in Articles & Interviews More Like This
Monday November 12, 2007
Today, I met an angel. Well, not like your stereotypical gorgeous, tall, winged-being-from-above angel. He was, well
I was on my home from school on the light-rail (train), just gazing out the window and not really paying attention to what was going on around me. It was cloudy all day, and I was in a somber mood, thinking about various things concerning school, stress, and my health.
A middle-aged man smelling slightly of alcohol and wearing worn-out street clothes took the empty seat directly across from me. I took no notice of this. The train was pretty empty and the guy could sit wherever he wanted, for all I care.
Not a minute later, however, a clear, loud, Hello, cut through the silence between us and snapped me out of my drab thoughts into the present. I turned to him a politely said, Hello, back, not used to being
Dark Horse RisingHe was an ugly black horse now; his legs had lumps, his mane was torn up and his tail had been hacked into different lengths. His eyes were filming over with cataracts and he would stand out in the middle of the pasture, staring at nothing and only dipping his head a little to snag a bit of green grass. His owners had taken him in out of pity, but had discovered that the once great race horse was too old to even take around the lead at a walk and too grouchy to do much more than eat and occasionally take a wander by the fence and look out across the way at the folly of chestnut mare youth. Then he would snort derisively and wander away again.Dark Horse Rising3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
In his time, he was great; a champion. Two out of the three crowns in the Triple Crown races and second place in the last crown was enough to ensure that he would be remembered. But he went on to win many other races besides and then enjoyed time as a stud. However, as time wore on and left him behind, old injuries flared, owners became negligent
e.e.cummingsThe day you left, I skipped school to see you off.e.e.cummings2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I said, "There are more important things than school."
You said, "I never said there weren't."
Now, I mostly miss you, and usually on Sundays, I make my way to the place where we used to sit out Sunday School. There's still a Bible on the rock where I think you might have left it, and I pick it up and read it. I've never gotten past the gospel of Matthew, because every time I read it I see you staring at the sky and asking if Heaven's hypothetical.
There were stars in the sky that night, and you said you used to think they were god shining through a curtain.
Once we talked about Our Father who Art in Heaven and you told me that if you were a believer, you'd say both your fathers art in heaven, and hallowed be their names.
I remember the day I skipped fourth block, and we sat on the rocks and smoked. You told me it wasn't good to abandon my education, so you taught me e.e.cummings-
"I like my body when it is with your
I learned t
Sufficient Unto the DayA figure from the lost generation, but decades too late,Sufficient Unto the Day2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
winds up the street in tendered, forceful apathy.
It is hard to tell, whether this hollowed ghost walking
on hallowed ground is laughing or crying--
either way, it's been drowned by the screeching of the bellows
and the muting veils of cinders and ash.
Yet watch how our figure's eyes narrow lovingly at the flakes
of backbreaking sable snow, of embers shoveled,
of a father's sweating back, thin and scarred,
rippling in grotesque time to the spitting of those chimneys-- blackest chimneys!
Only the industrialist knows of prayer, of feeding the swine on the hill
in barest hopes they'll nuzzle a truffle or two down, that your
children can sit and imbibe the sweet Elysium, suckle on the milk
of Wisdom the squirming piglets know instead of breaking their stems
forcing their blossoms through the tarmac.
Our figure tears at this, its careening riance echoing through the city.
Oh dearest cynic, knowing not the irony of temperance and
4 Kinds of StorytellingHere's an old journal from 2010 about storytelling. Because I have a lot more readers these days, I think I'm going to start reposting some of my earlier posts for my newer audience. So for you old timers, feel free to skip.4 Kinds of Storytelling1 year ago in Personal More Like This
In full disclosure, I slightly edited this journal to make it a little more balanced (while also fixing a ton of typos).
I feel like the word "storytelling" gets thrown around a lot in our industry. Yet when I look out there at some comics, I don't always see a lot of evidence for it.
It feels like people in comics pros--myself included--often use the word only because we feel like we're supposed to. Over the years enough professionals have been accused of being poor storytellers to the degree that everyone is now afraid of being a pinup artist as opposed to a bona fide storyteller. But it's not enough just to claim you're a storyteller.
Most people reading this probably h
AlliterationLearn to love while living life,Alliteration8 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
not learning how to live.
Fighting frees the fortunate,
forgetting to forgive.
Desire drives the desperate deeds
despite the do'ers dreams.
Strive to save the sinking soul,
subdued by silenced screams.
To gleaming gold she gave her gaze;
glorified her gaudy guise
Willing works of wonder
withheld by the wistful wise.
Recall the reign of royal men
remember raids of old.
Heed not to the hating hearts,
lest havoc take it's hold.
Clichei. true loveCliche2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
& you were that one famous line
of a love poem 1863 sonnet
scripted down your spine, verses
of sternum & shuddering heartbeat.
i remember the sheets twisted blue
as the eventide, your eyes like thelassia,
that species of ocean grass. we swayed
to the music of galaxies colliding.
our song was the day the tides
finally curled round the moon's face.
eventides, thelassia eyes, moon
great and heavy as that one lucky coin
that refused to land, to grant a wish
or let luck decide for us. there were
star crabs scuttling under your
oragami skin. & i never realized
all the ways that you folded
until the doctor came back &
you folded into yourself,
please don't tell me it was disease.
please don't mention the fact
that there was a constellation
blossoming underneath your skin
as if it excuses the metaphor
of your candle-eyes dimming.
i was there for the treatment.
you weren't, rag-doll girl. you
hung limp as wet clot
You and Me Against the WorldI'll be nineteen and he'll be twenty-one. He'll be made of scars and half-truths, and I'm sewn together by unfinished stories and abandoned inspiration. They'll say it's wrong because love can't bloom from a broken past. But their warnings will fall on deaf ears because you'll be staring into my eyes in a way that whispers, "It's you and me against the world." So I'll take your hand, our fingers and destinies intertwining to create a whole new adventure.You and Me Against the World2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The first months will be spent in a cramped apartment, bills and heated arguments piled up to the ceiling. I'll cry some nights because you're never home, and I'm fearing the worst. You'll walk in the door at two a.m. one morning, and I'll be in the bedroom, tears and old memories flooding my eyes. And I don't know what will be special about that night, those tears, but you'll break down. You'll hold me and apologize until your voice is hoarse. "It's you and me agai
Treasure Planet OuttakesOuttakesTreasure Planet Outtakes6 years ago in Humor More Like This
By Kaptain Kitty
Scene: Jim is solar-surfing through the mines and is approaching the huge rock grinder.
Jim: Lowers sail in order to fit through one of the holes in the grinder. Come on!
He goes through hole, but is a bit too late and is crushed in between. GAHHH!
Director: Sighs. Thats the FIFTH stunts man this week.
Scene: Jim has once again been brought home by the robo-cops.
Jim: Look, mom, it was no big deal. There was nobody around. Those cops just wont get off my
Jim: forget it.
Mrs. Dunwoody: Mithuth Hawkinth! My juith!
Sarah: Arrrgh! For f*** sake! Would you shut-up about your b***** juice, you f***ing b****?!