The girl from the mire: part 3. To survive in Hell, you must become devil. This is the final part. The epilogue. The Factory. The Sanctuary. Conversation like a skull on a coffee table. Bullets and Ghosts and simulations. David. 18+ graphic violence and sex scenes.…
Kat wants to be free. Free from her tent pissing husband's infidelity. Free from her ability to forgive him. From her reasoning. From everything that grips her existence into complacency. Free from her life.And the moonlit night is warm. Smells like a campfire. Tastes of rum and genocide cola. Wants the wilderness. Walks the trail. The lake's motion is inviting. Strips naked on the beach. Goosebumps where it matters. A skinny dip. Her friend Gibral follows. Across the lake. His body against her body. An ancient pier. A moment of molasses drips release. Bare feet on prickles. Exploration. A woodpile. The silhouette of a wretched old cabin. Eyes watch from the depth beyond the open door. The myth of a poisonous porcupine which once killed a Kodiak. Gibral's corpse. Quills cover her face. Trees like lassos and scourges entangle her ankles. The flesh of a burnt skull peels like curls of paper. An old man screams. His well and good voice shits its language like an owl at a trespasser in the territory of...https://a.co/d/dBtXRaY…
The girl from the mire: part 2Were we ever alive? Were we ever here? Were we ever?Judith exists in a graveyard. Her tombstone is so old that it looks like a smooth glacial stone. Protrudes into her dusty, dormant grass world. Inhabitants are terrified of their interpretation of her, since they can only witness Judith's shadow. To such corporeal, it seems like nothing casts a dark reflection upon the corpse grey rocks and the twisty dead border trees. She grins into every nervous wretch with each encounter.But something lures. At the bottom of a dirty old lake there's a house where a back door to another world sparks a glitter in her curiosity. Adventure awaits the graveyard girl if she decides that it's time to leave the purgatory of her home.Judith's been numb for so long that she's forgotten what it's like to feel. No knowledge of society and its etiquette. Naked before the spectre of such ideological apparatus. Maybe it's truly time to be departed. Her red head axe awaits through the vertical rabbit hole. So does the bone saw horror of who she might've been."The living night is dissipated in the brightness of death." Michel Foucault Warning: graphic violence and graphic sex. 18+Second place in the 2022 Lotus awards Adventure genre.Fist place in the 2022 Lotus awards Science Fiction genre.First place in the 2022 Witchwood awards writing style category.…
Aphotic pine trees stand biblical; as if of microscopic hairs on the albino face of God. His almighty smile is the very bottom of an empty temperature.Bristles of frozen conifer needles sound like worlds of clocks that will never animate. Never grow to slow again.Life seems of permanent hibernation. Except the man. His movement in the wilderness is of a handless pocket watch counting down like lead weights sinking beneath a river. A river he comes upon and crosses. Execrates his own movement.Giant aeries built of jack pines and antlers and spines decorate the coppice. Paths of stumps. Wine dark skin. A boy screams. Ravens laugh. The white on white watches. Teeth like Kavan ice.Armageddon in his arms. His hatchet. Swings. Chops.…
Legions howl like the death of decades in an abandoned century.A woman who's time is fed flees from a traitorous, high-rise dwelling of cullers; survivors who she destroys for the murder of her family. What might've been follow in the steps of her past.Her sanity crunches like the disruption of bones from sockets.She escapes into the steps of her future, through a vermilion city of what might've been; the anthropophilic epistemology of eschatology. Disintegrating flip flops are all that prevent her bare feet from touching savage ground. Mal'akhs. A zoo. The highway. Fundamentalist campers hunted by a pack of hyenas. This is the story of time's fed. She runs from the aftermath to the epilogue, through the diluvian apocalypse of what might've been; through extinction and the final horrors within the Ark of a young earthen God.God and Man are undead.…
We are ghosts waiting to be ghosts. This book concerns a girl who becomes conscious with no memory of her past. The world of this story is where the cavernous brutality of Veronica Roth's Divergent crashes over the parapet and into the stranding paranoia of JG Ballard's Concrete Island and both are beaten to death by the panopticism of Michel Foucault's Discipline and Punish. This is literary fiction disguised as dystopian horror. Warning: graphic violence and sex. 18+"The soul is the prison of the body." Michel Foucault Accolades:#1 in existential.#1 in Nietzsche #1 in Foucault#2 in postmodern1st place in The Inclusive Watty Awards horror category. 2nd place in The Riot Awards 2022 Horror/Sci-fi category."The uniqueness of this story is superb, never have I ever seen anything similar to it, from your plotline to your writing style. Awesome!" -ibirockerchick (judge)2nd place in The Rain Flower Contest 2022- horror/mystery genre. 2nd place in the Writers Appreciation Awards 2022 best hook category. "This is amazing. The plot looks original, unique and refreshing and so is it's execution. I fell in love with your writing and descriptions. They have me hooked for sure. The pace is also commendable." WAA judge…
The bright lights have been witnessed for the last time. The world is ending. And yet, it's just another epilogue for Monica and Blair. Written for the lights herald the end contest. Now a collection of short stories and one shots. It's a work in progress. Accolades Winner of 'lights herald the end' dystopianapocalypse contest 2022Winner of The Dreamer Awards 2022 short story category.…
The thing that we take the most for granted is time.…
Two friends, Glare and Raj, secretly attempt to dig up a legendary body underneath the bleachers of their high school's baseball diamond. What they find holds within it no explanation. What they find laughs at them like decades. The school custodian isn't impressed.…
These are my thoughts on life's labyrinth.Accolades #1 in panopticon#1 in foucault #1 in whatareyou…