Storytime: The Midnight Postman

Storytime: The Midnight Postman

The package sat crookedly on his kitchen table, an ever present reminder of a job yet to be done. He checked the clock – not quite midnight – and peered out the window at the skies for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The clouds were still thick, gentle mounds barely visible in the darkness, and he knew that above that white barrier a whole world awaited him. A world that never ceased to bring wonder and amazement, no matter how many times he made the journey. Tonight. Tonight he would make the delivery.

The clock ticked its solemn, steady way to midnight as he sipped slowly on his tea. Earl Grey, with just a touch of honey and cream. His routine was so practiced and precise that as the clock on the mantle began to chime the late hour, he swallowed the last drops of tea.

Standing, he gently placed the delicate tea cup by the sink and stretched, his back cracking in time with the clock. “Time to get going, then.” he said to no one in particular. Slipping the package carefully into his bag – gentle for he knew not what the contents were but should there be a single wrinkle, a single crack, he would never make the journey again – and plucked his bowler hat from the stand, placing it upon his head and running his fingers along the soft rim.

Opening the door, he took one last look around his cozy kitchen, a small smile tugging at his lips before stepping outside and pulling the door closed as the clock chimed its last note for midnight. As he always did.

He looked again at the cloudy sky as he strode across his yard, as quaint and cozy as the kitchen he had left behind. Carefully, for everything he did was with great care, he moved through the gate, a small thing of white wooden slats and a simple latch. Not tall enough to keep anything out, but no one cared to bother him anyway. Or visit.

He shrugged off that thought quickly, for it was a small price to pay for the wonder that was his life.

Walking quickly now, the Midnight Postman – a name he had adopted for himself, though no one else called him that – made his way across a slender road of hard-packed dirt, not bothering to look for oncoming vehicles. There would be none. There never was this far from civilization. Across the road he went, and up the small hill that he considered his own, personal hill for at its greatest height there was a brazier filled with a special sort of wood. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a match – a special sort of match – and lifted one foot to pull it along the sole of his running shoes – a special pair of shoes.

The match flared to life, burning a brilliant blue, and he dropped it into the brazier and waited. To any other, the wait might have seemed intolerable but the Midnight Postman was a patient man. In his line of work, he had to be. Long minutes passed before the brazier flared to life, first a brilliant blue like the match had been, then a soft, vibrant purple, before slowly fading to a soft white with purple and blue flickering at its tips. The smoke pouring from the brazier lifted upward, a steady stream that rose and rose until it touched the clouds above. He watched in silence as it strove to the heavens.

It was time.

Checking that he had a good grip on his bag – it simply wouldn’t do to drop that on the way – he took a deep breath and placed his right foot upon the billowing smoke. No matter how many times he made this journey, that first step always made his heart thud wildly in his chest.

The smoke held, his foot sinking only slightly into its swirling layers and a smile of triumph crossed his face as he lifted his left foot up and began the slow but steady walk up the smoke and into the clouds.

He took care not to look behind at the slowly vanishing world below. He had made that mistake only once, the vertigo it caused nearly breaking the magic of the smoke, and he had learned that lesson well., unlike his predecessor Now when he climbed the winding column of smoke, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the clouds above and his mind on his destination.

As he reached the cloud line he paused, taking in a deep breath of the clear, crisp air that surrounded him before plunging upward, into the cloud. For the briefest of moments, bitterly cold wisps clung to him, pulling at his arms and threatening to steal away his hat, and then he was through. He stood upon the clouds.

The Midnight Postman took another deep breath, filled with the wonder and delight he always felt when he got to this point in his journey. It was the reason he was so fastidious, for having tasted of this magic he would never willingly let it fall from him.

Stretching before him was a landscape that would never be duplicated on the land below. Soft, white clouds became rolling hills and plunging valleys, lit silver by the light of millions of stars and the larger than life crescent moon. Here and there the land below strove to break into the magic the lived above the clouds – tree covered mountain tops, and snow-shrouded peaks. Always, though, the clouds came in and jealously guarded their domain. This was not a place for earthly hubris, and the Midnight Postman was always careful to leave such pride behind. Humbled and contrite, he moved amidst the magic of the heavens, a tiny figure swallowed by the vast, silver beauty.

Storytime: The Journey

Storytime: The Journey

Every morning she packed her bag for the trip to work. An extra couple sweaters, her good warm boots and woolen socks, along with a few other warm items. In spite of the clothing she packed, Carrie dressed in shorts and a tank top, sliding sandals onto her feet as she left her front door, backpack slung over her back.

Outside, the day is just beginning. Warm and bright, the sun beams down upon the cobblestone street she traveled. It’s one of the few cobblestone streets left, and to be completely honest, Carrie hated them, especially when the light spring rains fell. Then the uneven stones were slick and she had to leave an ten minutes early just to make the sonic train on time.

Turning off her street, she joined the throng that made its way toward the train, all carrying packs filled with warmer clothing while they walked along in tank tops and t-shirts, shorts and short skirts. Despite the crowd, none of them touched anyone else. A relic of the old days, the days of the pandemic, and a habit that many still cannot break. When someone inadvertently stepped too close to Carrie, she shuddered involuntarily and scooted slightly away, watching her other side carefully to make sure she didn’t encroach on those beside her.

Finally, her feet touched the first step up to the train platform and she trudged up them, shifting the pack on her back to a more comfortable position. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the sun continued to rise and cast its rays down upon the residential city.

With the invention of the sonic trains, trains that could cross miles in the blink of an eye, the make up of the world had shifted. No longer did anyone want to live in the cold regions, where snow blanketed the ground as much as grass did. So residential cities had been established in the balmy, warm regions and work cities in the colder areas where snow dominated. It made for a very strange commute. Inside the sonic trains, instead of rows of seating, there were a multitude of individual rooms, pod rooms, only large enough for a single person and their bag.

Carrie made her way to the first available pod room and dropped her bag on the short bench. Right now, the air was a comfortable temperature, not as hot as outside, but warm enough that she didn’t feel a chill in her shorts and tank top. That would change soon enough. She kicked off her sandals and leaned against the wall to wait. After ten minutes, boarding was done and the train lurched into motion, moving slow until it cleared the outskirts of the residential city. Another 5 minutes passed with the train ramping up speed until Carrie’s ears popped.

As soon as that happened, she opened her bag and began to dig out the clothing she had brought. Pulling on thermal leggings before a pair of heavy pants, she then tucked her pant legs carefully into thick socks and pulled on her warm boots, stamping her feet to settle them.

The air was getting colder. Goosebumps appeared on Carrie’s arms as she pulled her long-sleeve shirt and sweater from her bag, tugging them both on and rubbing her arms briskly. Fully dressed with a warm hat over her ears, Carrie shoved her other clothes and sandals into her bag and pulled it shut.

The train would continue to cool as they moved, until it was only slightly warmer than the work city they would be stepping out into. It hadn’t always been this way, but over the years the designers had learned that this way helped curb sickness and ensured everyone was dressed appropriately before the train arrived at its destination.

When it finally rolled to a stop, Carrie stepped out with all the other workers and made her way down the snow-covered street to the office building she worked. Inside, it would be just warm enough that exposed skin was safe, your fingers wouldn’t freeze. Inside, all her coworkers would be dreaming of home, if only it wasn’t so cold as to cut all dreams short before they began.

Adjusting her bag once more, Carrie walked into the building, nodding a greeting to the bundled security guard, and making for the stairs. Her workspace was on the 5th floor, but to take the elevator for anything lower than the 10th was considered bad practice and earned you a black mark on your permanent record. It made things too crowded, and management hadn’t liked crowds for years.

Rambling – Update Time

Rambling – Update Time

I’ve been silent, but with good reason. I have been focusing my creative energy and time toward working on Wings of Shattered Shards, Book 2. Alas, it still lacks a proper name. What it doesn’t lack, however, is a fully handwritten, completed draft 1!

Yes, that’s right. I got to write “the end” for Book 2. Not the end of the series, of course, there is much more that Amy and her friends must do, but the end of this portion of their saga, at any rate. It is quite exciting, there is nothing quite like it. Except, perhaps, putting “the end” at the end of the final draft!

What does this mean, moving forward? What sort of timeframe are we looking at? Well, I know many of you are probably eager for Book 2. I don’t blame you – I’m eager to find out what all happens in it, too. I’m tentatively hoping that I will be able to complete all the edits and polishing for a publication date next year. Will this absolutely happen? I don’t know. I could have more difficulty than I anticipate, or I could breeze through it like nothing.

Draft 2 is well on its way. I have somewhere around half of it typed up, a good 55k words. I’ve reached a scene that needed a complete rewrite, which I typically do handwritten, so I’ve stalled a little there as I write out the scene again. If I’m diligent, this draft may be finished in a couple of months. I do have some potential upheaval occurring in my life in the near future, however, so that may affect this hope.

I’m really excited about Book 2. There are some exciting things happening in it, some tragic moments, and a few tender ones mixed in. The quest to save the shards continues, and Amy experiences some serious growth within.

Well, I just wanted to provide a bit of an update as to where things were. I will probably continue to focus on Book 2, but I’m going to try and make an effort to start being more active in writing on here.

I hope everyone has a wonderful day, take care, and I hope to see you reading my books one day!

Storytime: A Web of Eyes

Storytime: A Web of Eyes

My breath was already ragged as I tore my way through the underbrush, collecting scrapes and cuts from the branches that I pushed past. No time to stop, just keep running I told myself silently, not wasting the breath to say it aloud. I was not going to give up, they would never catch me if I had anything to say about it.

I burst through a thick bush and had to windmill my arms to stop from falling off the cliff that opened up before my feet. Glancing over my shoulder, I could hear my pursuers crashing through the trees, gaining ground each second I delayed. I looked down the cliff at the river that raged below. I had no idea how deep it was, nor what dangers might lurk in its depth or down its length.

The sound of the pursuers became ever closer.

Taking two steps back, my shins up against the underbrush, I took a deep breath and ran, not letting myself have the luxury of delay or second thoughts. They could not catch me, it was all over if they did.

The jump was high enough that I managed to get all my limbs in order and dove into the water with what was truly a spectacular swan dive. Were I not so desperate, I may have stopped to congratulate myself on my perfect form. Instead, I broke the surface, sucked in a desperate breath and began to swim with the current, rushing along faster than I could ever manage unaided. Risking a glance upwards, I saw two figures huddled on the cliff I had leapt from, pointing down towards me.

I was free for the moment, but did not believe that I had truly escaped them. They were determined, single-minded, and it would take more than a rushing river to win my freedom.

Before that, however, I had to conquer this river.

Despite my best efforts to keep my head above the water, the rushing waters continually pulled me under and tumbled me around. Without the current, I wouldn’t have been able to tell which way to go, I ended up so turned around.

My arms began to weaken, my head dipping below the surface more often than not. As I inhaled another breath more filled with water than air, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it was going to end. Drowned in the river, my body being borne out to a lake or sea somewhere, lost.

Very well, I thought, closing my eyes and feeling a strange contentment fall over me. I felt myself drift downwards and didn’t try to stop, didn’t strive for the surface, not this time. My head began to spin from lack of oxygen and I would have swam for the surface, then, had I known which way to swim. Instead, I let go to the inevitable and ended up with the strangest sensation. Instead of continuing to sink, there was suddenly pressure at my back, pushing me towards what I could only presume was the surface and life-giving air.

I broke the surface, filling my lungs and feeling sensation and consciousness rush back, my plight springing back into sharp focus. What had happened? Groggy still, it took me a moment to realize I was moving faster than the current, and there was still the mysterious pressure on my back. Turning slightly, not an easy task, I discovered that I was sprawled across the back of a dolphin.

Feeling my movement, the dolphin unceremoniously dumped me back into the river proper and swam circles around me for a moment before nudging me again to keep my head above the surface.

“Never thought I’d be saved by a dolphin…” I muttered, swinging my arm over the dolphins proffered back and allowing it to carry me down the river again, feeling a little more in control. “Thanks.” I wasn’t sure if the dolphin could hear me above the roaring river, or even understand me if it could, but I still felt compelled to express my gratitude.

Riding the dolphin, I traveled much faster than I could have ever hoped and I allowed myself the brief dream that perhaps, just perhaps, I had outrun my pursuers enough that they would not find me again.

Eventually, the cliff surrounding the river diminished and I discovered that the river emptied into a lake, and that the dolphin was not fond of the still waters within. Leaving me on the shore where the river spilled into the ocean, the dolphin swam back over the fast-moving waters, seemingly untroubled by the effort it had to put in to make progress. I stood there on the bank until I could no longer see my dolphin friend, and raised my hand in a final, unseen farewell before turning to trudge along the shoreline.

First order of business, I thought, I need to figure out where I am. And get to where there are people, where I might be a bit safer.

It felt like an eternity, walking along the lake, though it was more like part of the afternoon, or maybe morning? I wasn’t quite certain what time of day it was and I couldn’t see the sun, hidden as it was behind clouds, to find out, though my rumbling stomach insisted that it was time to eat. I gathered a few berries along the shore, but did not dare stop for longer to try my hand at fishing. Those that hunted me had proven resourceful and fast in the past, I had no reason to believe it would be any different this time. No, I had to keep moving, get as much distance between myself and them as I possibly could. It was the only hope I had. Well, that and the rumours I had heard earlier in my journey of a place of safety, where they would not, could not, go. “South” they had said, but none could give better directions than that, and so my journey had taken me roughly southward. Was I too far west? East? Where did I go from here?

The wind brought shouts to my sensitive ears and I cursed. Was it them again, already? Or just another set? They were all so interchangeable, I couldn’t be sure; dark leather, masked faces, a tattoo of a spider’s web with an eight-legged eye in the centre on all their forearms.

Either way, I couldn’t linger any longer on the bank of the lake.

Choosing a direction almost at random – southerly, and away from the shouts – I dove into the forest and made my way along as quickly as I dared to move, stripping bushes of their berries on my way. The forest slowly darkened around me and the cloud-shrouded sun dipped below the horizon. Soon, I was unable to see the forest floor in front of me and began to trip on every upraised root, catching my clothing on nearly every grasping bush I passed. I could no longer go on, and so with the last of the light I found myself a little hollow in a lightening-struck tree, just big enough to wriggle into. Once I pulled a large, leafy branch from a bush and set it across the cracked trunk, it felt like a cozy, safe little nest. Exhausted, I fell asleep quickly, lulled by the sounds of night around me.

I woke early, anxious to be going and cramped from my tiny hideaway. With more than one groan, I pushed my way out of the tree and stood, stretching out my aching muscles and looking around to remind myself what way I had been going the night before. Thankfully, I could vaguely make out my path from the night before, crushed leaves and snags of fabric. I hoped I hadn’t left so obvious a trail throughout, but there was nothing to be done about it now. I couldn’t take the time to backtrack and obscure my trail.

As I walked through the forest, careful now to leave as minimal a trail as possible, the world around me slowly brightened and I thought I could hear the sound of cheerful voices ahead of me, muffled by the trees. I didn’t feel the now familiar anxiety at the sounds of these voices, leaving me to hope that I had finally found what I was looking for – a sanctuary.

Changing direction slightly, I headed toward the voices and possible sanctuary.

The sight that awaited me through the trees was entirely unanticipated.

A mall. I had heard about them, these relics of a time now gone. I thought they were all long since abandoned, but before me was a bustling shopping centre filled with people for whom the world had not ended.

Did they know what was out there and just didn’t care, or were they so engrossed in their curious routine that they were oblivious to reality? Honestly, it didn’t matter. There may be safety in their numbers, I reasoned, so I joined them.

I entered the mall cautiously, unsure what to expect from this structure that hasn’t yet realized it was obsolete. I did not expect buzzing, bright lights, nor the tidy little rooms filled with all manner of items that I could not begin to understand. There was an entire room dedicated to paper bound together in what I could only assume must be books, based on the brightly lit sign that read “Carlson’s Books”. Who Carlson was and why they was displaying their books in that little room, I did not know.

What is this place? I asked myself as I turned slowly to take in all the strange sights. The mall was packed with people, all of them intent in their business, caring various bags as they rushed from room to room. Unable to contain my curiosity, I grabbed the arm of one woman as she passed.

Ignoring the glare I received, I asked “What is this place? Why are all of you here? Don’t you know what it is like outside?”

She didn’t answer, pulled her arm away with another glare before bustling off into the crowd.

Feeling out of place, I made my way to one of the glass contraptions that appeared to be taking people up to other floors of this crazy building, thinking that perhaps a different perspective would help me understand this place so of out time with the rest of the world. The doors slid shut behind me and I turned to watch our assent. My eyes fell on three figures pushing their way roughly through the crowd, looking just as out of place as I did amongst these people living in the past and my heart sank.

This would not be my sanctuary.

I tried to shrink back into the small crowd in the glass cage with me but I stuck out like a sore thumb. One of my pursuers pointed at the contraption I rode and they redoubled their efforts to push through the oblivious crowd. One reached to a quiver on his back, pulling out an arrow that sported a small pouch tied to its tip.

An explosive arrow. Looking around frantically I realized I was trapped with no way out. That didn’t stop me, however. Scrambling through the others in the tiny space, I used the metal bar that ran along the inside of my glass cage to climb up and try to push one of the panels in the ceiling free. I had just managed to shove aside the panel when the contraption was rocked with an explosion, swinging wildly as one of the thick cables snapped. I pulled myself out hastily and leapt free without looking.

My grasping hands found purchase on a beam and I swung up, straddling my savior as I took brief stock of my situation. The class cage had crashed to the ground below, sending broken shards into the crowd. I could see more than one body lying prone, bleeding. Not my problem, I reminded myself, turning my attention higher up to search for an escape route. Just above me, I could see a series of beams and cables that I was fairly certain I could use to get away from my pursuers. At least temporarily.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself up so I stood on the beam and tried to walk its length carefully until I reached one of the cross beams. Wobbling slightly, I climbed up to the new beam and sat astride it as I plotted my next move. I had no desire to be captured or to become a smear on the highly polished floor, so I knew I had to plan each step carefully.

It was time to be an acrobat.

With another deep breath to try and calm my nerves, I leapt from my beam, arms outstretched as I flew through the air, intent on a cable a couple of feet from me. For a moment, I thought I was going to miss, that my story would end here, but instead my fingers closed around the cold metal and I swung far with the momentum of my jump. I was slightly disappointed that nobody except my pursuers saw my death defying leap. My pursuers were too biased and simply could not appreciate my display of skill and athletic prowess.

No matter. I wasn’t here to impress them.

Hand over hand, I pulled myself along the cable, my legs swinging freely, until I reached another of the beams to pull myself up on. Looking back, I could see that my pursuers were struggling to push their way through a crowd that refused to be parted, engrossed as they were in the aftermath of that falling contraption. I had somehow gain gained a little ground, but I needed to actually get down on the ground. I couldn’t stay up in the rafters forever.

Ahead of me, the beams disappears into a dark corner, and I thought I could make out an abbreviated storage space. That would have a way back down, I reasoned, continuing along the beam toward that corner. Thankfully, I didn’t need to perform any further impressive feats to reach my way down, the beam was wide, sturdy, and reached all the way into the corner.

Once I reached the end, it was a simple matter to pull myself up on the storage platform, though I had to pause once did so to allow my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in this hidden little corner. Once I could actually see, I quickly spotted a set of sturdy stairs that seemed to lead back to the ground floor and made my way to them.

Once I was down the stairs, I was easily able to push my way out of the mall, as most of the crowd was still gathered around the fallen contraption. I risked a glance over my shoulder before I pushed open the big double doors to leave and saw that my pursuers were through the worst of the crowd and picking up speed. Without wasting another moment, I dated out of the building and ran as fast as I could down the empty, rubble strewn street. At the front of the mall, the area was pristine, kept in good repair by those strange people who still frequented the mall. Here, out the back, it was the world I was used to: the relics of the old world being slowly engulfed by the rampant plant life that marked the new world.

I was glad to escape the mall that time had not touched. The energy in there had felt wrong.

But here I was truly in my element. I had grown up on overgrown streets like those I now raced along, and I knew I could easily evade my pursuers in this concrete jungle. I kept my eyes open, scanning the buildings and alleys to either side until I spotted what I was looking for. I changed direction slightly, ran up the broken remains of a car and leapt from its roof to grab onto a window ledge. Pulling myself up through the open portal, I tumbled into the building proper and say for a moment, my back against the wall as I tried to catch my breath. Once my moment of rest was up, I took a long swallow from my canteen and crawled away from the window, careful not to allow myself to be exposed. I didn’t think I had been seen, and I wasn’t about to risk it through carelessness.

I made my way slowly through the old building, testing the floor before I put my weight fully on it. It wouldn’t do to escape them just to bring everyone running as I crashed through the floor. I found another exit, one that led into an overgrown alley. I could barely see the sky with all the plant growth around me. Good, I thought, they won’t be able to get up high and find me, now.

I pushed through the plants, seeing to make my way out of the alert when a bright color on the brick wall, almost competition obscured by clinging vines, caught my eye. Unable to contain my curiosity, I pushed aside the vines to reveal words written in bold, bright orange paint. It was a small poem, written years ago, but my breath caught as I read its words. It was about me.

Fear not, young runner
The web of eyes does not stretch forever
Seek out the warmth, like birds of old
Sanctuary awaits, if you can be bold
The sound of the ocean in your ears
Will let you know you can shed your fears

My mouth dropped. I was stunned. This writing, bright though it was, had clearly been written long before I was chased. Possibly before I had even been born. The sanctuary was south, of that I was now certain. And the sound of the ocean? The only way I could reach the ocean from here was by going west. My path was now clear. I would head west until I reached the ocean, them I would follow the shoreline until I found this sanctuary where the eyes of the web could not reach.

I was going to be OK.

Poetry: Adamantine Finger

Poetry: Adamantine Finger

An oldie, the companion to Crystal Eye. Had to make a few small changes in this one, but I think I’m satisfied.

Testing one.
Testing two.
Testing three.
All systems online.
All applications loaded.

My head turns mechanically
To stare at my creator,
Tracing my aluminum shell
With an adamantine finger.
Finding each tiny flaw
And marking it with a red ‘X’.
My frozen expression tries to wince
But it cannot move

Two small taps on my hard chest.
I can feel a ticking inside my breast.
  Tick
     Tock
   Tick
My internal clock
Ticking the seconds away
Until my expiry date.
When I will no longer be the best
Replaced by a newer self

A tap on each beady eye,
And I can see an array of colors.
Blue, red, green, purple, and beyond
Two more taps, one for each ear,
And I can hear an eternal laughing,
Because all I am is gray.
Never to enjoy the rainbow,
That for a moment brought joy
But now holds only pain.

Tap, tap.
Each arm can move now.
Firmly in one hand,
I can now see a knife.
Faulty programming asserts itself,
I bring it across my opposing limb
And draw forth motor oil.

Staring in shock at my fluids leaking,
I fail to notice two more taps.
It is with surprise, then,
That I notice my legs will walk.
I take two steps forward,
My creator takes two steps back.

I stare in sorrow,
Wondering why.
Trying to understand
Why he will tap me with his finger
But not touch me any other way.
My eyes leak my washer fluid,
As I try vainly to touch
What does not wish to be touched.

He fades away into the darkness,
Fading even from my mind.
Until all I am is a silly machine,
Leaking oil and washer fluid,
Clinging to vague memories
Of a time of love,
A time that never was.

 

If you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.
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Poetry – Anxiety

Poetry – Anxiety

It starts slow
It starts quiet
The heart beats
With quickened steps

Breath shortens
Gasping

Then it starts
The trembling
The shaking
Fingers forgetting
How to grasp

Bubbling up
From deep within
Are all the thoughts
That keep you down
Reminding you
Of all your faults
Never remembering
All your strength

 

Poetry: Crystal Eye

Poetry: Crystal Eye

An old poem of mine, one of two written about slightly depressive robots. The other is far more… depressing than this one. I may tweak the other one to share, but haven’t decided yet. For now, please enjoy the first moments in a robots life, in Crystal Eye

Preliminary scans complete.
Bringing systems online.
Diverting power.
Operational in 3, 2-
Brrrriiiiing
   “Hello?
   …Yes, this is he.
   …No, not yet.
   …Perhaps, but I-”

I opened my eyes to light,
Brilliant and painful all at once.
I hadn’t any way of knowing then
That my existence would revolve
Around these contradicting feelings.

I cast my complaining eyes about
To find a man with a crystal eye.
He put down an object, a phone,
And walked to where I stood.
He looked me in the eye,
And there was a warming in my metal breast.

I was circled then,
Feeling so much like an encircled deer,
Terrified as I stared into the headlights
Of his single crystal eye.

I was moved to speak then,
To express my discomfort of the examination,
But found my voice to be a disappointment.
Where I had envisioned the sound of nightingales singing,
I heard only a hollow tin noise spew forth.
My pitiful efforts did not go unnoticed,
For the man, my maker, laughed cruelly.

My hurt I could not show,
For my eyes seemed colder, more immovable,
Than his hard, sharp crystal eye.
I wanted to cry in pain,
Make that all-seeing eye
See not the steel on my polished surface,
But the pained gears underneath.

Alas, my efforts were as fruitless then as now,
And ever will I be a mechanical slave to him,
Unable to speak,
For shame of an ugly voice.
Unable to express,
For lack of a soul-seeing eye.

 

If you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.
Please let me know what you think!
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Poetry: Gloss

Poetry: Gloss

Another 15 year old poem.  What can I say, I decided to browse the old poetry account and am kind of digging the stuff I’ve found. I’m not certain what my thoughts were when I wrote this, but reading it now I see a duality of human nature, and how we try to disguise the ugliness within ourselves

 

Gloss over your enameled voice
With lacquered paints
And glittering pens
Until we see no more

Tell your lies
All sickly sweet

Polish and shine
To a bright perfection
The other side
That demon within

Tell your lies
All sickly sweet

If you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.
Please let me know what you think!
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Poetry – Jester Poor

Poetry – Jester Poor

Written on or around April 20, 2004, an old poem of mine. May end up posting a few of these as I go through my old AllPoetry account.

In a land far far away
A secret prince his lover courts
Glimmering dances, shining balls
Silent touches lost in noise

In this land so very near
That secret prince with lover close
Be no more than jester poor
Raucous joke, silent glare

Breaking glass by clumsy touch
Anymore, no stately prince
His hands out helpless wide
And arms bleeding careless free

This jester poor be lost again
Mirror mazes, one too many
Hedges tame now grow amuck
While truthful cards scatter wide

Ten by one, one by ten
Lover never, shunned is he
A silly hat drooping sad
In this land so very near

f you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.
Please let me know what you think!
FFF Book Cover Second Design
Storytime: The Request

Storytime: The Request

Make sure to read Part One and Part Two!

Still trying to stretch the kinks out of her legs from sitting so long on the holobus, Sam knocked loudly on the warehouse door. Scrawled across the metal door was a crude drawing of a laughing clown with the words ‘Down with normies’ and ‘half breeds not welcome’ scrawled below it.

Sam bit her lip, the words hitting her hard. Never fully accepted into the mutant world or the normal world, Sam had been walking a thin, dangerous line her entire life. At least she had found friends like Tash who, even though she had probably been the one who scrawled the words, had actually welcomed Sam with open arms. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed her friend to put filth like that outside her hideout. Not exactly incognito.

After what seemed an eternity, Sam heard a rustle on the other side of the door followed by the loud clank of a stiff lock being opened. The door opened to reveal Tash’s grinning face on the other side, and another vaguely familiar face beneath a mop of black hair.

“Tash!” Sam exclaimed, hugging her old friend before focusing on the person behind her, “Jay? Is that you? Never seen you with black hair. You alright, man?”

“You knocked really loud…” Jay mumbled, a band of muted red moving from his scalp to the tips of his hair, followed by a cheery yellow as Sam pulled Jay into a friendly embrace. They had never been overly close, but she missed all her mutant friends. Trying to make it in the ‘real’ world meant she couldn’t associate with them anymore; not if she wanted to remain a full citizen.

“I’ve missed ya, Jay. Tash. How are you? Tell me everything!”

“We’ve been good, considering.” Tash tugged absently at one of the wires running from a small device behind her ear into the base of her skull. Her skin was silver and covered in fine scales, and she had upgraded herself with a number of implants. In fact, Sam was pretty sure that Tash had replaced one of her eyes with a bionic one since they had last seen each other; it just didn’t quite focus properly. “The sentinels have been getting better at tracking, so we gotta be out of here quick.” Tash pulled Sam inside the warehouse and, after peering cautiously out the door to ensure no one had followed her friend, slammed the door shut and clicked the lock back into place.

“We’ve been moving lots.” Jay put in, a dark navy blue replacing the yellow in his hair. He fished a tuque out of his pocket and pulled it low over his head, allowing only the tips of his hair to peek out. He’d been wearing his emotions on his head all his life, but still wasn’t comfortable letting anyone but Tash see them. He and Tash weren’t related, but everybody considered them siblings. You never saw one without the other being close at hand.

Sam’s eyes swept over the interior of the warehouse. It was dark, lit only from a couple of the florescent lights that hung from the rafters; lights that flickered constantly and threatened to give Sam a serious headache if she spent much time here. What Sam could see by the flickering light was pretty off-putting. There was a nest of blankets up against one of the walls; at least Sam hoped it was blankets and not something more sinister. Near that was a shower curtain that seemed to be attempting to hide a bucket covered with a board. The curtain didn’t even touch the ground. “Oh god, Tash. This place is the worst! Why are you here?”

Tash looked confused for a moment, but then realized what her friend meant. “Oh, right. This is just the front, to throw the sentinels off for a minute or three if, when, they find us. The idea is that they will think this is just a nest for one or two mutants, and hopefully not search further. Our hideaway is a little more, well, hidden. And nicer.”

Sam was led to the back of the building, which sported a row of lockers, two big piles of crates, a couple grimy buckets, and a large, industrial sink. Tash reached behind the sink and pulled on something that, with a dull click, opened up the wall behind the lockers. On some sort of automated system, the lockers sank into the wall and split off the both sides, revealing a set of stairs that, presumably, led to the real hideout. Sam took a moment to appreciate the genius of the design – there was no scraping on the warehouse floor, and the seam that opened lined up perfectly with the wall joints, making it invisible when it wasn’t open. The stairs themselves turned sharply, so they wouldn’t take up much space on the ground level, which would make it far more difficult for the sentinels to pinpoint it.

Getting down the stairs was not fun. Dark, steep, and with a distinct smell that clung to the air. Sam would have breathed a sigh of relief when they stepped into the brightly lit, clean, fresh-smelling basement, but she had no breath left.

“Alright, this is better than upstairs. I admit it.” Sam declared once she had recovered somewhat. All around her was the computers, monitors and other devices that she had grown accustomed to seeing in Tash’s hideouts. One large, central monitor seemed to be displaying the location of all sentinels within a 10 mile radius, the intelligent machines just weaving through the streets, monitoring constantly for illegal activities and persons. Even as she watched, three sentinels converged on a single alley and Sam felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach, knowing they were rounding up another mutant whose only crime was being born different. “This is new.”

Tash looked up from the smaller computer to see what Sam was referring to, “Ah, yea. Picked them up after one of the last raids. It was too close, almost lost Jay in that one. Been able to use it to help a couple mutants out, too. Gotta be careful though, don’t want anyone finding the hideout.”

“It looks big for just you and Jay.”

“It ain’t just us anymore. I mean it was, after you got your citizenship last year, but I decided it was time to expand operations. We’ve taken on a few talented strays, but they’re all out right now. Didn’t want them seeing you, or you them.” Tash chewed on a licorice, using the candy to gesture as she spoke, “Plausible deniabilty and all that.”

“Ok…” Sam said slowly, confused, her tiny wings shifting “You’ve never been that careful around me before.”

“I’ve never been about to ask you something like that.” Tash grabbed Sam’s hand and led her over to a corner that seemed to be set up as a living or social area, with a couple couches, a small kitchenette and worn out armchair. Tash sat on one of the couches and motioned Sam to join her. Jay settled into the armchair, his hair a ombination of shades of blue and black, with a shot of green once in awhile. “I need your help, Sam.” She said earnestly. “I need access to data that only a citizen can get to. I can’t hack it, because it doesn’t exist in the datasphere. I need you to go to the Library and find the name of one of the scientists that was involved in the mutant uprising. I’ve found something, recently, that suggests the scientist may have hidden away a powerful weapon that can only be used by those with mutated blood.” Tash rubbed her hands together, a look of delight crossing her face, “If we can find that, we can take our rightful place in this world!”

 

If you enjoy my writing, the best way to support me is to purchase a copy of my debut novel, Fledglings First Flight. You can pick up a copy via the links below. It is also available free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

Please let me know what you think!

FFF Book Cover Second Design

CA: https://amzn.to/2pwFZYv
US: https://amzn.to/2oOQUNc
UK: https://amzn.to/2MQuaUI