Poetry: yearning of old

 

I yearn for the days of old.
I look to the hills
for adventure and glory.

I look to the seas
to fight the good fight.
To dash to and fro
fighting my way
through the day.

I look to the deserts
barreling fiercely
on my strong steed.
Breaking through the
lines of the weary enemy.

I see my chance!
I push forward,
my sword swinging
back and forth!

My enemy falls,
victory lies at hand!

But then the vision
disappears.

I am left here to stare
at nothing important.… Read the rest

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Poetry: The Walls Fell

 

We lived in our quiet home
and ate of our good bounty,
until the walls fell.

They were built to last forever.
But forever is just a word,
meaningless in the dark.

We fought against
the darkness that invaded.
We were strong together.
Divided, it was still stronger.

It came for our children,
turning them into dark visions
of perverted innocence.

It came for our elders,
splitting their souls
and taking what remained
of their humanity.

Then they came for us.
They ate of their good bounty,
and lived in our quiet homes.… Read the rest

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Poetry: Of Ages

 

The wind knows of sorrows long past.
Ancient souls long forgotten,
yearning to rise again.

Cries are heard through distant valleys,
of the coming of the lost ones.
Storms rise and fall on the voices
of the old, the feeble, the few
who remember of old.

When in times before,
the cliffs turned black
with their coming.

Washing over the mountains,
over the passes they come,
unstoppable in their fury.
They overwhelm all things,
and turn all love to darkness.

Are these simply shadows
of high clouds blocking
the warmth of the sun?… Read the rest

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Short Fiction: Scratches

 

He just scratches the walls, day and night”, Conner said. “His nails came off weeks ago. We bandage them, but he keeps scratching until they’re broken through again.”

Dr. Manheim peered through the small window in the door, watching James run his fingers back on forth on the far wall. Long tendrils of blood followed the path of his fingers, a slow proof of his insanity. “Haven’t you tried a straight jacket?”, Manheim asked incredulously.

We did”, said Conner. “But no matter what we tried, the second we turned our backs he was out.”

From the door, Conner and Manheim could only see James’ back, and the slow rising and falling of James’ fingers.Read the rest

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Short Fiction: Lesson Learned

 

They had said he never listened, and someday he’d learn his lesson. They told him not to go into the old Hill mansion. They told him not to touch the stain on the floor in the abandoned library.

He kept wrenching back and forth, trying desperately to pull his fingers from the stain. It looked like an old, dark grease stain, deep maroon in color and with a texture like oatmeal. He had reached down to touch it, to feel it. Now it held his fingers in an iron grip, despite his wild motions to pull them out.Read the rest

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Short Fiction: Scouring

 

Strapped with duct tape to an old rusty table, Mark could only see the musty ceiling. He tried to speak, but his mouth was gapingly taped open. He could only grunt like an animal.

Sorry chief, I don’t speak ‘grunty’,” Josh snickered, coming into Mark’s view. “You’re pretty agitated, you might want to calm down before you get a coronary.” Josh glared down at Mark, the slight smile slowly disappearing. “And ruin my fun.”

He brought the wire brush into Mark’s view, running a thumb gently across the wires.Read the rest

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Short Fiction: Snips

 

He was getting angry, though he knew he shouldn’t let her get to him. For the sixty third time this month June had said no to his advances, and she went quickly to sleep. He watched her now as she slept, the top of one foot sneaking out from under the covers.

He turned and went back into the bathroom. I might as well get something done tonight, he thought, sitting down on the toilet. He reached into the cup next to the sink and grabbed out the nail cutters.Read the rest

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