Monday, 20 June 2016

Ode to the Obscuring Mists

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, for those of you who read the description, you may note that this blog is now on Facebook and also possesses an email! While I leave the decision of liking/subscribing up to you, and naturally emailing questions (I also take recommendations, and will give you credit for coming up with the idea, but if you have an idea for a short story then I recommend you write it yourself and claim the glory), I would like to point out that I have made some meticulous google documents and am using these to sort this blog (as I have garbage blogger skills and can't reorient the page or make tabs, this is my solution to confusitude). If you're new, read these first! If not, use these to remind yourself of past events without sorting through meaningless files! Now to the poem (sorry; I'm working on a story - promise).

A restless fog blows o'er the stars,
Obscures all light from near to far.
Flowing o'er ground these tentacles writhe;
To soak and crawl, slip and strive.

This encumbering warmth provides a sharp contrast,
To the crispness in the air, the day before last.
But now the air is sloppy, like we dog tongue,
A thickness which entraps the lung.

To stride through this,
Is like such a sweet kiss
As comes from the king of mist;
He who's wrapped us in his tryst.

P.S. please comment if these links don't work.

Friday, 10 June 2016

Peace, Pain, and Prosperity; Part 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Whoo! Another story! This'll be the first one in almost two months (The Transmutation pt. 2 came out April 26th), so I just wanted to say hi. Also that I'm working on another four stories; The Transmutation pt .3, an interesting horror plot I came up with, another story in my ongoing arc, and this one pt. 2. In terms of this one I should give you some context. The idea for this story was seeded during a Book Club meeting, when I asked if anyone had ever written a dystopian fantasy where the world ended and everything got better, and someone said "so you write it." I did. Never fear, though, it will have plenty of irradiated horrors and monsters. I won't let you down. But I'm blabbering: please enjoy.

The clouds swirled brightly through the sky, a multicoloured hue of smoke and mirrors. The air was alight with their scent, the fragrance of freshly baked bread intermingling with the anxious calm of an approaching storm. This subtle calm was in contrast to the ground, where there was a noticeable lack of colour. It was a black, ashen landscape of sheer uniformity, punctuated by twisting spires. These remnants of trees possessed an odd serenity, a haunting beauty that lent an edge of melancholy to the atmosphere.

It was into this irradiated setting that I stepped, that morning. I stretched, groaning as the sharp winds eased the aches in my muscles. I reached into my bunker's main entrance, retrieving the small cloth in which was wrapped my lunch, before shutting the hatch. Then, having commenced whistling William tell Overture, I sett off into the wastes. I was accompanied in my endeavours by the soft tap-tap-tap of my feet sinking into the ashen ground. I glanced up, noting with worry the darker shades present in the clouds. It would rain later. Cresting a hill, I found what I lusted after beneath the roots of an once-tree.

I pulled out the mutant tubers, feeling a pang of regret as I felt their breaths slow and stop. I ran my hands across their furry bodies, silently apologizing for their necessary sacrifice, before dropping them into the rucksack I carried with me. They would make a good stew later. Suddenly, a crack of light split the heavens, and a sound like the rumble of cavalry joined it.

I muttered a quick curse at the G-Ds, before quickly glancing about me. Seeing no caves nor holes, I started to panic, before suddenly noting with a severe sense of relief a nearby tree hollow. I ducked inside just as the rain started, a hissing acid which burnt and blinded. I knelt against the back of the tree, crossed my legs, and awaited the end of the storm. After having pocketed the few weak tubers who rooted in the hollow, I removed my lunch. I closed my eyes as I ate the stew, listening to the patter of the rain and reflecting on the end of the world.

Tuesday, 7 June 2016

On Soul and Serendipity

A gentle brush upon the leaves,
a twisting taste of aching breeze
which cools the skin and calms the soul,
like some storm ravaged atoll.

A brief delusion it is to be,
in such calm serenity.
Such peace shall inevitably fade away,
ne'er to be found another day.

Shadows and whispers overtake,
such small happiness as we can make.
And shallowed halls and wells shall fate,
a road to sadness, path to hate.

For life is a circuitous route,
'tis for the triumph of Ouroboros to flout.
In misery and hope, death and life,
these deep contrasts are ripe with strife.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey, guys. Sorry for such a lackadaisical May. I meant to write a short story (as I've been doing way too much poetry lately), but inspiration escaped me save for this short poem that I wrote last week. But I've got a new one in the works, now, so we'll see that one soon (fingers crossed).