Dark Tales of Unicorns

Insurmountable Excerpt

Written By: Darian - Dec• 15•11

“Time will be irrelevant during this battle,” Zass said, the musical timbre of his voice now taking a decidedly minor tonality to it. Talbot looked at him as if he had just spread his larvae on the deck in front of her. In the interest of expediency, he felt it was a better course of action to move forth with his idea. Closing his eyes, he could hear Commander Talbot speaking as if she was moving away from him in a tunnel, the occlusion effect consuming her voice. Finally her voice silenced and Zass found himself in an earth domicile. It was not familiar to him, but as is so often the case when on a mental field of existence, reality was often defined by the dominant mind. In this case, that mind was Captain Hudson’s. However, Zass was also experienced enough in these situations to realize he could exert some control over the situation, should it arise. Here, time was irrelevant. Perhaps irrelevant is too strong of a word, but it had little meaning. Weeks could pass in here, and barely seconds in what Terrans recognized as the corporeal plane of existence.

He stood in the entry way, behind him a white door with bars running along the course of the surface, covering the glass. More for aesthetics, Zass knew, than security. Yet another artifact of sharing a mind was that he didn’t need to have things explained to him, he simply knew what the host’s mind knew. They were as one, and would remain that way until Zass separated, or, in the extremely unlikely case, Hudson’s mind were to be fractured. This would mean both would suffer. Zass had to be careful. Playing within the mind was like playing in a room full of porcelain figurines. One wrong move could shatter everything beyond repair.

In front, to his left was a kitchen area of some sort, the rooms separated by an entry way and a different carpet. Where he stood had a light taupe carpet, but in the kitchen was what appeared to be a hideous mixture of green with yellow high lights, the walls a wooden panel. In the entry way room, the walls were a flat white with pictures of family members. Not his, but Hudson’s. Zass recognized Hudson’s mother and father though he had never seen them before. The Lieutenant glided through the room to the right hall way. It was only a few steps before he saw the basic layout. Directly in front of him was a rather large bed room, to the left of that, closer to Zass was an even bigger bedroom, and closer still, was a bathroom on the left, and a tiny bedroom on his right.

Confidently, he made his way to the bed room on the immediate right, the smallest of them all. As he approached he felt the air grow still and the mood become vituperative, although no words had been spoken. When he came around the corner in to the room he was surprised by what he saw. It appeared to be Captain Hudson, yet much younger. This was his bedroom as a child, or at the very least, the last place he felt safe. The Captain lay on his bed, playing with vintage Hasbro Transformer toys. The insect like Lieutenant did not know what a Hasbro was, nor a Transformer, but he realized the importance of these toys to the Captain. The mind’s eye was an odd thing. Zass knew he could be in Hudson’s childhood home, a friend’s home, or a combination of several different places Hudson felt comfortable in throughout the years.

The Captain appeared to be sixteen or seventeen earth standard years, but was playing with toys meant for a much younger child. Riding the synapses of another beings thoughts and memories were tricky enough for Zass, whose race were considered some of the best telepaths in the galaxy before their untimely demise. A mere novice would have already been swept up and had his mind turned to ash by the volcanic churning of emotions just below the surface of this memory. Zass pressed on, but before he could speak, the Captain addressed him without looking up from his toys.

“Hello, Zass. I’m glad you could come.”

He noted the Captain’s voice was very much like his adult counterpart, made more evident by him recognizing the junior officer. It was also, Zass reasoned, evidence that the captain was fighting back against this infraction upon his persona.

“Hello, Captain. We are pleased to see you as well. As much as we would love to explore pleasantries, you have left us in a predicament outside of this… place.”

As if not hearing Zass, the Captain spoke again.

“This is the day my father dies, Zass.”

Those words hung like a manatees shadow in the air for a moment, before Zass offered his condolences.

“This must be very painful. I am sorry, Captain”.

“It hasn’t happened yet. I’ve relived this memory my entire adult life. Any second now, the phone will ring. A few seconds after that, my mother will come in here and tell me my father is gone. Ten minutes later, she will come back in and tell me to stop crying, that I was the man of the house now.”

“Captain, we understand this is hard, but this is not real. You have the power to stop this. In fact, it is imperative that you do so,” Zass said as empathically as he could, the musical timbre of his voice increasing in pitch ever so slightly. He heard a phone ring three times and then it stopped.

“It’s ok, Zass. I can stop it. I know how.”

Zass felt the shadow he first experienced before when he entered the room increase. The oxygen filling his lungs that he knew didn’t really exist became even more stale. The oppressiveness pushed back ever so slightly against Zass’s mind, who automatically redoubled his mental shields, pushing back on whatever was happening. He felt his pulse thudden against his neck and braced himself for the answer he was fairly certain would come when he asked, “How do you know that, Captain?”

Hudson pointed towards the closet door that was only slightly cracked open and said “He showed me how. He told me exactly how to do it so I can stop my mom from coming in here. He promised I could change it all”. Zass heard a knock on the now closed bedroom door.

Zass walked around the room and slowly opened the door, to see the spherical floating visage of a B’rie. Hudson continued even as Zass stared at the creature in front of him, this destroyer of worlds, this murderer of entire civilizations, “He told me all I have to do is wish for this moment to blow itself up”. Hudson took the Transformer toys, one in each hand, and slammed them together before making a noise with his mouth “Ka-pow!!”

“Captain Hudson, that is not correct. You have to stop this”, Zass said forcibly, even as he felt the B’rie giving up all attempts at taking his mind surreptitiously, as he had done with the Captain. Zass felt as if an entire star ship was pressing against his mind, still he did not falter his defenses one iota. He understood now. He understood the B’rie never had any intention of doing any real damage with those fighters. They knew they would pose no threat. The real objective was to distract the crew’s attention long enough to grab the Captain’s mind, to force him to do what they could not. To destroy the ship, and to minimize B’rie resource expenditures. Beautifully B’rie and horribly effective. The Captain stood up and the B’rie drifted behind him, the wheezing of his machinery and sound of choking evident even in this metaphysical plane. Disgusting creatures, Zass thought.

“All I have to do is wish it away with the magic words he showed me,” Hudson said, “Like this: Initiate self destruct sequence. Code Hudson Alpha Walters.”

Zass realized he was wasting his time trying to get the Captain to reverse his decision. He saw now that he was fully under the control of the B’rie who shared the room with them. The B’rie sat, coiled and wrapped around the very soul of Captain Hudson, forcing him to do his bidding. This was, no doubt, the remaining B’rie in the last fighter outside of The Keep. They were willing to sacrifice all of their forces just to get close. Perhaps the crew of The Keep were on the right track, Zass considered. Regardless, he had to go to the source of the problem. His attention focused on the B’rie even as he felt the creatures defenses shore up and repel. It reminded him very much of his own people’s warrior cast, who when threatened, would fall back on their own rear legs and make a loud hiss, almost as a warning.

Warning or not, Zass wasn’t stopping. He mentally unleashed the anger of a doomed race and grabbed a hold of the B’rie’s sphere, bouncing it from one side of the room to another with his mind. It flailed inside of its liquid filled life support bubble, desperately trying to sum every bit of mental energy it had to defend against the attack and hold on to the Captain. It may have been able to do one or the other, but it could not do both. The membrane inside of the bubble began to glow red, its hatred emanating from its every oozing pore. It shouted something through its anger that Zass didn’t bother to listen to. He simply continued crashing wave after wave upon the shores of its ever weakening defenses.

Almost as quickly as the exchange began, it was all but over when the Captain spoke next.

“Zass, what are you doing here? Where is here?”

Zass pushed outward once more, a ring of mental power blasting from his body, wiping out all but Hudson and a fading B’rie image. It looked like a beautiful ring of glowing transparency, but seemed to spring forth from a nova. Like a nova, it decimated all in its path.

When Zass spoke again, it was not to Hudson, but to the B’rie.

“This outcome was predetermined from the moment we knew you were on the battlefield. Tell your masters we are coming,” and with that, one final push blinked the B’rie out of view.

“Zass?”

“I will explain as we go, but for now, it is imperative you come with me, Captain.”

 

That Old Flame

Written By: Darian - Nov• 14•11

There was an undeniable heat in the room that he had never felt before. The walls had begun to melt as the dance of smoke and flames licked his face, and at the center of it all, was himself. He had spent his life being blamed for fires he never started. Way too many to be a coincidence, now that he thought about it. Here he was, in the middle of their marital bedroom and for the first time, he saw it all clearly. He was the reason for the fires. The despair. The pain. It was all him. Even as the images of happier times exploded in tiny displays of flame, he found himself a prisoner to the very event he started.

Jake was a common man, he had no goals or aspirations. He had only muddled through life, barely. Now he realized, he was different. He wondered why he had never been able to do this before, why he was able to stand in the flames and for the first time, he didn’t feel pain. Then it occurred to him. He didn’t feel pain because the pain she had caused was much deeper. Years of neglect and loneliness, of excuses and abuse from her had taken their toll and while he thought he was numb, the overwhelming fact was that he was in so much pain he couldn’t process it all.

Now he heard the screams, and he wondered, was it hers, or his? Would she listen now? Now that his rage had been personified? His voice, now demanding attention, could she hear it? Or would she only hear the same tired excuses and threats she had leveraged at him time and time again?

The windows burst outwards from the force as another memory rocketed through his brain stem. The stronger the memories, the stronger the waves of  heat emanating from him. He wanted to ask her if she felt that once he voiced his feelings and she dismissed them if she thought they went away?

His voice howled and in a much higher echo, he heard another scream. It was her. Jake looked at the wall beside her and without moving, blew a hole to the outside as reality buckled. He motioned for her to leave. He wanted his world to collapse upon him and him alone. The walls were already starting to break away, it would only be moments. He watched her eyes flicker in the light of the flames as she looked at the hole.

With one fluid motion, she launched herself not at the escape, but at him. She wrapped him in her arms even as she started to blister and peel from the heat. Moments later, the roof collapsed.

From under the debris a tiny flame floated in the air and slowly faded from the night sky.

One Electric Night

Written By: Darian - Sep• 23•11

The Columbus summer had been a hot one, and in David’s Arena District apartment it was exceptionally sweltering. Even though night had fallen, the two east-facing windows did little to offer much in the way of relief. He could hear the thunder in the distance and had made a point earlier of stepping outside to see the on-coming storm. The thick black clouds were so prevalent even in the night sky that David couldn’t help but think it looked like something in a poorly written summer blockbuster. Any second, he laughed to himself, space faring ninjas would drop from the sky and declare war on humanity, or hot wings, or worse, his gaming console.

The storm clouds had looked as if an army had been gathering and was threatening to march upon the clear lavender sky. They swirled and raged, lightning shooting vein-like hieroglyphics across the clouds. The light from the electrical discharge had allowed him to get an occasional glimpse at the heart of the tempest. Its inky darkness seemed to denote an even darker intent. Perhaps, David thought, he had been reading too many scary stories.

He scanned his apartment looking for anything to eat while waiting on the slow moving front to arrive. After taking a quick inventory he saw that he had five empty soda cans, a two-day old pizza and what appeared to be the remains of take out chicken in the fridge. Honestly though, at this point it was hard to tell what it was originally. David made his way back to the living room where he noticed the light flashing on his voice mail. With his curiosity piqued, he took the short three steps to the device and hit the play button.

“Hey David, its Dina. I need to come over and get the rest of my stuff, when is good for you?” said the female voice on the first message. David quickly hit the button marked ‘Delete’.

“Never, Dina. Never is a good time,” he said. Even as he said it, he realized there was something wrong with his voice. How is it possible that it still hurt this much, he wondered. The next message picked up his spirits a little.

“Hey man, wanna game a little bit later tonight? Hit me up!” The voice belonged to his best friend Nick. Nick had been doing his best to take his mind off of Dina leaving him. David knew this wasn’t an easy task and he appreciated him for it. Some gaming may be just what he needed to get his mind off of everything. Glancing at the clock, he saw he had a few hours until he’d hook up with Nick online, so that meant he had time to kill.

He wondered if he should watch a movie. The Blu-Rays were all neatly lined up on a shelf, alphabetized and sorted by genre making it easier for him to see what he had to watch. They were also covered in a thick layer of dust, as was everything in his otherwise obsessively ordered apartment. If it wasn’t for the empty food containers, one would never know he lived there. The truth of the matter was since Dina left a week ago, David could hardly call what he had been doing ‘living’. He grabbed his copy of his favorite sci-fi movie and popped it in the player. This usually cheered him up. Throwing his body on the couch, which sank ever so slightly under his weight, he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Static.

“Why would there be static? Even if the cable was out, there’d just be nothing, not static,” he said to no one in particular. He sat for a moment as the glow from the TV bathed the apartment in an eerie blue and white luminance. It reflected off the windows and his computer monitor, which caught his attention.

“Ahh, the internet, my old friend,” he said, and noted that maybe talking to himself was quickly becoming a problem. He moved his mouse and the familiar desktop appeared. As he began the process of launching his favorite forum, his monitor also filled with static. At the same moment the streetlights outside went out and thunder sounded, this time far closer than it had been previously. He shuddered for a moment before launching into an expletive filled tirade at the cable company, the electric company, and for no particular reason, the weatherman. He continued staring at the static on his monitor in disbelief. This just doesn’t happen. Monitors just go dark when they stop working.

David continued to stare and although it almost slipped his notice, he began to see something flutter on the screen in front of him. If he had not known better, he’d swear the static was… moving? But that couldn’t be. Then as if to answer his doubt with a counterpoint of its own, the static started to coalesce. It began to take a shape that made the hair on his arms stand up.

David leaned in closer to the screen, and he saw the shape of fingers. Then a hand. Finally an arm. David rubbed his eyes and as he was doing so, the hand lurched out of the monitor and grabbed his throat. David gasped and tried to pry it loose, his mind swirling about him, his very senses threatening to take leave of him. He could no more budge the tight iron grip around his throat than he could change the orbit of the full moon above him.

The arm pulled him slightly toward the monitor and then casually tossed him back. David’s body hit the wall with an audible thud and he heard a wet snap. It was suddenly hard to breathe and his vision had filled with stars, the outskirts of that very same star filled vision tunneling into darkness. His breath hitched, and the air was redolent of burning ozone.

With his diminished sight, he continued staring at the arm protruding from the monitor. It had taken a hold of the top and a second hand joined it in its arrival on this plane of existence. It gripped the bottom. Slowly, miraculously, a head struggled its way into the blue and white light of David’s apartment. This was followed quickly by a torso, then legs. In a matter of seconds, there was a full figured something in front of him. It was shaped like a man, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen. It stared not at David, but through him.

Its eyes were completely black, reminding David of the eyes on his sister’s dolls when he was growing up. The being in front of him had an almost translucent quality to it, with shimmering shades of tangerine and white-hot blues. The edges of the creature’s body seemed blurred, almost as if it was constantly in motion even when still. When it slowly cast its eyes downward to observe its body for the first time, angry sparks of static lanced out causing outlets to pop and light bulbs to rattle and then begin to smoke.

Terror gripped David’s heart. He tried to crab walk away from the entity, his efforts rewarded with the harsh reminder that he was already against the furthermost wall of his apartment. The bitter irony sat heavy upon his chest as he realized he had only wanted an electronic distraction for the evening.

Still the figure before him did nothing. In fact, it was acting as if it was shocked at its own existence. It seemed angry that whatever had awoken it had done so rather unceremoniously and coldly, casting him into a starkly inferior reality.

Lightning now broke the velvet darkness of the storm clouds directly above him. The creature seemed to be listening to the lightning as it tilted its head, the superheated plasma above a lens through which it could focus its consciousness. It was a conversation only it could hear. Even if David had been inclined to participate, his ears were full with the pounding of his own heart.

He attempted to coerce his legs to move in any direction, but it was as if they simply didn’t work. He pushed his body back against the wall but could not get up, could not move, could hardly even breathe. Terror had gripped him so completely he was scarcely sure where it began and he ended. David let out a whimper and immediately wished he could have it back.

The entity’s attention was now squarely focused on the cowering thing in front of him, its sepulchral eyes now sinking heavily into David’s heart. The ghost of every childhood terror he had ever known now returned to visit their awfulness upon him.

David’s hands desperately searched the floor for a weapon. He found a full can of soda, unopened. How it had gotten there wasn’t important at the moment. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. David hurtled the can at the creatures head. It simply went through the being. The can exploded in a fizzy reminder of how hopeless the situation had become on the wall behind it. The entity blinked in and out of existence when the can went through him. Its existence had been violated once more, and David had the distinct impression it wasn’t happy.

It took two agonizingly slow steps toward him, almost as if it was dealing with having mass for the first time. Its right leg struggled to lift itself momentarily. Whatever personal struggle the creature had with gravity was quickly overcome, as he reached down for David’s face. His steel-like hand clenched around David’s jaw. Once more David felt as if it could squeeze diamonds out of coal if it wished. However, the final squeeze that would have surely snapped his jaw never came. Instead, a green and blue mist began to emit from the arm of the entity. Slowly it started to crawl over David and poured out atop his helpless body.

“What are you?” David asked. No answer came. Instead, the mist seemed to take on a life of its own as it gripped the core of David’s consciousness. His body spasm and jerked. His limbs flailed independently of any thought. The mist began to let go and return to the entity. As it did so, David’s corporal form began to evaporate into a stream of zeros and ones. Very quickly, all that was left were his clothes. The entity stood. It then answered David’s question like it had just heard him speak, as if time and space were simply playthings for the creature that it didn’t comprehend yet. Its voice had a hollow emptiness to it, with an odd electronic hum woven in between the syllables accentuating its lack of humanity. Somewhere in the nothing, David heard the response.

“I am evolution,” it said. The creature then turned its empty eyes back to the monitor and returned to the Internet from whence it came. The night was still young and the lightning spoke, promising that it had many more places to visit before the storm ended.

Insurmountable – A Deleted Scene

Written By: Darian - Aug• 12•11

In the process of editing my sci-fi novel, I’ve taken huge chunks out with an axe. Some of those parts, I really liked, but they just didn’t fit. Either it was too much information the reader didn’t need to know, or in this case, a flashback that slowed the pace of the story. Rather than toss it, I thought I’d post it here. Interesting note: This is the only scene where we ever interact with Melissa. Enjoy!

 

Last Night –

“I don’t understand why they keep getting back together,” she said. Her tone seemed to dig directly into the reptilian part of his brain and he wished nothing  more than for the pulsing waves of anger in his head to show as a warning sign to her. They didn’t, and she continued. “Anyone could see how bad they are for each other…”

He shouldn’t have cared. After all, it was her younger brother and his on again, off again girlfriend. It didn’t require Hudson to reply. As a matter of a fact, he knew it would be better if he didn’t. He ran his finger around the rim of his coffee mug, over and over again, playing the whole scenario out in his head. The clock chimed, it was midnight. Why was she still up anyway, he wondered. He glanced over and noticed the dishes hadn’t been done. Normally, not a big deal, but he noticed the empty wine glass; next to the empty wine bottle, on the counter by the sink.

Great, he thought. Now she can’t even have a conversation with me without being hammered.

The soft hues of the candle lit walls did their best to hide an emotional maelstrom that was brewing quietly under the surface of his eyes.

“All they do is argue,” she said, oblivious to his lack of participation in this exchange. “I just don’t understand”.

Maybe it was the constant fighting for the last 6 months with his live in girlfriend. Maybe it was the fact that he had been shot at no less than three times today, but something inside of him snapped. He leaned forward across the table, shortening the distance between the two of them.

“Melissa, you don’t understand because you lack the emotional capacity to understand. You dropped out of the womb a miserable sod, hell bent on living every moment like you were fifty years older than your natural age. You’ve spent every waking second making sure the only ‘fun’ we have is ‘Melissa approved’ fun. If you had the capacity for true love inside of you, you’d realize they’re young. You never love anyone more than you do your first love. You love them with full abandon and never once think you could be hurt by this person. You give every ounce of yourself to them and that’s why it hurts so bad when it ends, and why you keep going back to them.”

He placed his coffee mug back on the table harder then he meant and the coffee spilled on her lacy white table cloth. He watched the panic rise in her eyes at the thought of getting the stain out. It was then that he realized she wasn’t listening to a damn word he had said, instead simply waiting for him to stop speaking for her ‘turn’. He couldn’t restrain it any longer. The waves of anger quickly overran the sandbags keeping them in check, and rolled over him, enveloping her and her tablecloth at the same time. Like a mad man, he repeatedly slammed his coffee mug on the table, every time spilling more sweet brown liquid all over the place. He seemed to be using the cup to accentuate every point he was trying to make.

“Because you need that feeling in your life,” he said. “After that first love, you never love as freely, as openly, as you did that first time. You always hold a little of yourself back, because you’ll be damned if you get hurt like that again. Of course, you skipped the first love thing, and went right into emotional seclusion, so, kudos to you. And that’s why you ‘don’t get it’. And that’s why you never will.”

Hudson braced himself for the verbal barrage that was coming. Instead, Melissa simply looked at him, stood up, walked over to the candles and blew them out. She glided out of the room and went to bed, leaving Hudson in the dark. Alone, once again.

A New School Year and a Submitted Book

Written By: Darian - Aug• 11•11

One of the things about running the technology department in a public school district, is that this time of year, forget about having free time. As the teachers, many of whom are my friends, and staff, return, our work tickets go up exponentially.

On the upside, I submitted my romance novel, entitled Missed Connections, for publication. It will be close to two months before I hear back from the publishing house. I am still shocked it took me less than a month to write (it’s very short) but three times as long to edit it. I’m sure I didn’t catch everything, but it is a dramatically different book than it was when I first typed “The End”.

Needless to say, I’m very excited but mentally prepared for rejection. Isn’t  that just life in a nutshell, though?

I would be publishing it under a pseudonym. Not because I’m ashamed (or I wouldn’t broadcast it on a website attached to my real name), but because that genre is completely different from the science fiction and fantasy that I write. In a way, anger made me write it.

One of my teacher friends asked me what I was writing. I told her “A science fiction story”. Her response was “I knew it couldn’t be anything real”. It didn’t bother me at first, but the more I mulled it over, the more upset I became. In my fiction, I touch on loss, and love, and the everyday let downs of life. Pain. That is a constant no matter what genre. If it’s wrapped in a science fiction shell, does that make those feelings any less real? If I can take an alien, put you inside his head, and let you see loss through his eyes in a way that (hopefully) affects you, haven’t I done my job, regardless of the genre?

Yet eat at me, it did.

So I decided I’d write a story about the kind of person you may work with, or meet at the grocery store. I wanted to make her an interesting person. I wanted to tell the story from one point of view and I wanted her to be real.

Hopefully, if you ever get to read it, you’ll let me know if I accomplished that goal.

Custom Badass ’78 Distortion Pedal Review

Written By: Darian - Aug• 01•11

Those of you that know me in real life realize two things about me: I eat too much asparagus and I do a mean impersonation of a musician.

A few weeks ago, some of you may recall that I was happy to receive my new Custom Badass ’78 Distortion Pedal. I also knew that before I passed judgement on it, I needed to gig with it. I’ve now done two shows with it, so I can speak confidently about my experiences.

I am using the pedal with a 15 watt Egnater Tweaker and an Epiphone Les Paul (*sigh*) with Seymour Duncan Alnico Pro II’s in the bridge and neck.

The first show was at a charity event and I switched my amp to Brit, classic, clean, and and turned the gain down on the amp. Though I had slight breakup from the amp itself, my distortion sound was primarily coming from the pedal.

I hated it.

It sounded like every distortion pedal I’ve ever plugged into a solid state amp (the Egnater Tweaker is all tube). It was ratty in a bad way, definitely chintzy. I easily spent half the show dialing in different tones on it, all of them equally horrible.

Only self control stopped me from selling it on eBay where I picked it up for around $70. I decided I would give it another show.

I’m glad I did. I changed my amp settings to modern, and hot, leaving it on Brit. I upped my gain considerably.

It was like night and day. I set the gain on the pedal at about two o’clock and when engaged, it gave me exactly what I was looking for. It had a super saturated sound with a squishy bottom end (ala the first VH album minus the talent) and I used my tube screamer to boost for leads. It has been a while since I got that many compliments from musicians and audience members on my tone. I had no trouble cutting through whatsoever.

The pedal is build like a tank, and looks gorgeous to boot. The 9 volt adapter plug was a lifesaver. My band plays mostly classic rock but we tend to “heavy them up” considerably. Not cookie monster vocal heavy, mind you, just heavIER than the original recordings. The audiences in the area seem to enjoy what we do.

Bottom line: this pedal will be on my board for a while. If you’re in the market for a distortion pedal, give it a try at the very least, and then let me know what you think!

Reality Wept Part 2

Written By: Darian - Jul• 29•11

Fitzroy’s tiny hand reached down to help Macobe up off the ground. The old man sat for a moment longer before accepting his offer. Macobe knew Fitzroy would be no real help, but it was nice to feel important.

Then again, the child now wiping fresh tears in front of him should feel important already. He had just beaten back a devourer as old as the living universe. Macobe dusted off his robes and tossed his long white hair over his shoulders.

“Did I do ok?” asked Fitzroy.

Macobe considered him for a moment before answering.

“Yes, Fitzroy, you did wonderful.”

“What was that thing?” the child asked.

“So full of questions, aren’t you? Fine, come inside,” Macobe said.

They entered the cottage and Macobe waved his hand as if dismissing an insect. The door closed behind them and the slab of wood he had removed earlier sprang up and assumed its position. He walked over to a seemingly plain grey wall inside and planted a seed in his own brain. That seed took sprout in the form of conception. That conception bled into reality and what sprang forth was a tiny universe. It now appeared to be kept inside of a vault that did not exist prior to Macobe wishing it so. He heard a gasp and turned to find Fitzroy’s jaw resting on his own chest.

“How did you do that? What is that?” the boy asked as he reached out to touch the tiny stars that coalesced inside the vault. They swirled and retreated from his finger as if they weren’t quite sure what form to take.

“Don’t touch that, boy,” Macobe said as he swatted the finger away. Fitzroy, however, did not seem deterred.

“Are we-,” he stammered, “are we wizards?”

Macobe let out a laugh and as he did so, the entire room seemed to light up and take a breath. The walls expanded ever so slightly before returning to their normal state.

“Wizards wish they could be us,” Macobe said.

He could tell from the screwed up face Fitzroy had sprouted that he didn’t understand. Macobe sighed.

“I was hoping with the onset of your powers you would also get awareness. Something is slowing your development. That won’t do,” he said and looked back at the universe inside of his wall. He felt a heavy sadness grow across his face, but chased it away with a bright smile he didn’t feel. With another thought, the vault he had opened now closed just as wondrously.

“Sit down, Fitzroy, I have to tell you something and it’s better if you’re seated.”

The boy looked around for a seat, but seeing none, Fitzroy looked back at him. Macobe smiled and two exquisite chairs, ordained with intricate wood detailing, appeared and provided a sharp seam against the squalor that was their home. He gestured to the seat as he took his own. Fitzroy plopped himself down as well.

“The thing you saved me from today was a barely sentient chaos wave.  They eat away at reality and if left unchecked, would have destroyed reality many times over.”

“How did I do what I did?” Fitzroy asked.

“I’m getting to that, boy. I am an agent of Order.  It is my job to to act on Order’s behalf. Me against a universe of entropy. I have done this for,” Macobe paused for a moment before continuing, “for far, far too long.”

“Am I- am I one of those? Agent things?”

“You were supposed to be, yes. But as I said earlier, Fitzroy, something is slowing your development. Probably the same something that has organized the chaos waves that have been besieging us for so long now.”

“I don’t understand,” said Fitzroy, and Macobe heard a trace of fear in the boy’s voice.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. I barely understand it myself. I believe the person who has been orchestrating all of this for so long now, was someone that Order had long since written off. The being that held my position before me was somewhat disgruntled. But if it is him, as I suspect but cannot convince Order, he has had millions of years to organize these attacks.”

Macobe looked at the boy, but he seemed too afraid to ask anything.

“Fitzroy, where do you think you are now?”

“I don’t understand the question,” he said.

Macobe motioned around the room. “Here. This, all of this, where are you?”

“Home.”

“Ah, and by ‘home’ you mean Earth, yes?”

“I guess,” said the boy.

“The truth is, we are in a nexus. A hub for Order where we can more easily defend the whole. You see it as Earth, because that is what you’re consciousness can understand. The scope of your consciousness will open soon, I hope. It needs to,” Macobe said. He swallowed hard and became acutely aware of how his whole plan was falling apart.

“Why does it need to? What’s the hurry?”

Macobe didn’t answer for several heart beats. He didn’t know whether to tell the boy. But, as he had just told Fitzroy, time was short.

“Because I am dying.”

A Grim Pact – By Adam Slade: A Review

Written By: Darian - Jul• 27•11

I won’t make any bones about it, I consider Adam to be a friend of mine. It was the kinship I felt immediately upon exchanging a few words that propelled me to purchase his novel, an Urban Fantasy entitled A Grim Pact.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy making Mr. Slade uncomfortable, and, when lucky, even move him to tears. He has asked me to go easy on the sexual advances, but I can’t help myself.

Mmmmm- sexual advances…

Right. Sorry. The book.

A Grim Pact

Grim Pact is a sequel, but I did not read the book before it, entitled A Reaper’s Tale. I intend to do so now, but more on that later. The fact that I did not read the one prior to A Grim Pact allows me to review this book on its own merits.

Merits is one thing this book has plenty of, fortunately. I would love to be mean to Mr. Slade simply because I am an evil person. Yet the bottom line is this: It’s a good book. If you are interested in having your concept of “death” rattled, and enjoy an intriguing tale of demons as individuals, this book is for you.

The overall darkness of the subject matter is sharply contrasted by his protagonist, Mal. Mal is a quick-witted Grim Reaper, one of many. His girlfriend, another type of demon entirely, makes for a perfect pairing. Both of them dispense their humor so flawlessly that you forget you are in the head of a dead person, dealing with denizens of Hell.

As if that wasn’t enough, there’s a killer on the loose, one even demons fear.

Who sent the killer? What are they after? Come now, I can’t give spoilers. I will tell you this, the journey throughout this excellently written novel make you feel as if you never have to wait too long to get an answer, and it makes sure you have a good time regardless of what is happening. I can’t help but feel he is building to something  much bigger, but never did I feel as if he was holding back from the reader.

Mr. Slade can write action scenes, dismemberment scenes and tender scenes all with equal flair. Not to mention the man loves a good banana. He pulls you in to the character’s  head and holds you there with gripping story telling.

As I said, it’s a sequel, but at no point did I feel lost throughout the novel. What little bit you do need to know, you’re told in a way that is unobtrusive and easy to absorb. Don’t let the idea that you haven’t read the first prevent you from getting this one, but I can’t imagine it wouldn’t be worth your hard earned cash as well.

Overall, I loved the book and would absolutely suggest it to any fan of Urban Fantasy, demons and death as a concept.

Adam’s blog can be found here and you can purchase A Grim Pact here! It is well worth your time.

Excellent work, Slade. But I’ll get you yet.

Reality Wept

Written By: Darian - Jul• 26•11

The sun bled its final hurrah across the wind swept grass as a dark mist began to form immediately over the horizon. It encroached ever onward, seeking he who held the strings of reality in his vault.

“They’ve returned!” said Fitzroy. A small boy obsessed with playing at manhood, Fitzroy was prone to exaggeration. This was not one of those times.

“Dammit, not now. Too soon,” Macobe said.

He watched Fitzroy run back and forth between the two doors in the cottage. Each time he grabbed the heavy slab of wood across the door to make sure it was solid.

“Fool boy, you can’t lift those, what good are you doing? Now get out of the way, I need to go outside.” 

Fitzroy ran to his room as Macobe gently lifted his fingers, sending the plank of wood flying off of the door from the other side of the room. He stepped outside and the cold winds that always seemed to precede the mist blew his robes back. Macobe felt his arms tense involuntarily and a prickle ran down the back of his neck as he looked at the creature. Behind it was the absence of life. Of existence. Entropy. It was simply a white slate.

He held up both arms and a surge of blue energy cascaded forth from his body, meeting the mist well before it had reached his domicile. How many times had he fought this thing back? How many times had he alone been responsible for repainting reality as best he could remember it?

Occasionally he would forget a city or a people. Atlantis was a large mistake, he acknowledged that. Yet it was a thankless job. His knees buckled for a moment and he cursed under his breath.

“Not today, creature, you tell your Master that today will be no different than the last time, or the time before that!”

He lurched forward, and used the strength in his legs to once more stand upright. In doing so, the heat of the blue light spread even further outward. The darkness retreated. Macobe pushed forward. This would go exactly as the previous attempts had gone. The enemy would poke and prod his defenses, but in the end, find him equal to the task that the universe had given him.

Using all of his might, he pulled his arms to him, and shoved as hard as he could. The energy that was an extension of him hit the darkness hard. He leaned in to the devourer now and quickly approached the point where the mist would retreat. Except now, the darkness stopped pushing back. Macobe fell forward and like an angry serpent, the darkness raised its head and struck at him, ungaurded.

Macobe let out a scream as the power cursed through his body, ripping him asunder, atom by atom. He felt the hatred of the mist course through his veins until he could no longer separate his thoughts from the spitting disdain it had for all life. He had failed. He had manned his post since before the dawn of time, and now, he had failed.

In the distance he heard a high pitched sobbing sound, a child mourning loss. Then the darkness was gone. In its place was a vibrant tangerine ring of power far brighter than anything Macobe had ever seen. He looked back to see the source. It was Fitzroy, his eyes swimming in tears, but now a curious smile on his face. He was proud of himself. Macobe sat upright, sure his legs were still too unsteady for him to stand. He looked at the child, now slowly walking to him.

“It’s about time, boy.”

Pregnant Women Still Smoke?

Written By: Darian - Jul• 24•11

My daughter competed in a youth talent show yesterday. We went to the event and almost as if they were waiting for me, no less than three pregnant women, who were smoking, stepped in front of me as I got out of the car.

I literally looked around and met the eyes of a Sheriff who was on duty. I gave him my best “Did that just happen?” look and in return he gave me a shrug that said “I can’t arrest people for being stupid”. Fair enough.

Anyway, she did incredibly well and took fourth place. I sent a YouTube link to my om to watch, who immediately sent back an email informing me of all the things she should have done better. Thanks ma, just like when I was growing up.

This morning I got some edits back from a friend who has graciously agreed to edit for me, so I banged those out. Then I did some major restructuring of my sci-fi novel and I am really happy with it. For now. That was the first five hours I was awake today.

Other than that, it is way too hot to go outside, so we are Netflix instant streaming today. Stay cool, people!