Tag Archives: insanity

An Unhappy Future

A new home. It was so dull, living with a normal family. His foster parents were irritatingly normal, and they could do nothing to enforce their rules. His foster father refused to call him Vinnie, and his foster mother refused to let him skip the piano lessons she required of him. He was good enough, but his teacher refused to let him advance at his own pace, and after a month, he was still doing scales.

The new home was made all the more miserable by a pre-existing basement and an underground lake not far underneath. He had no place to work, and no place to play– especially not with all of the pine trees around, with their long, thick roots. The boy did manage to install a lock on his bedroom door, and that gave him a modicum of the privacy he once had, although it felt like he was always naked. He was told he had to dress normally– leave his goggles and lab coat home when he went anywhere, brush his hair every day, and even more pointless tasks. Humans just didn’t understand. Read the rest of this entry »


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Two Flowers

A warm touch.  A soft kiss.  The embrace was thirst-quenching for my soul.  It ended with the soft pat pat of coins landing on my bed, and his quiet footsteps leaving the room.  I opened my eyes, hopeful my ears lied.  They told me true.  He was gone.  As I closed my eyes and laid my head back down, I felt warm wetness on my lashes.  Sleep quickly found me again.

Crack!  The whip snapped against my flesh and I howled with an open throat.  My voice echoed back at me from the paneled walls.  I had no time to prepare as it struck me again, across the buttox.  A scream tore from me, and he allowed me to rest while he left, supposedly to get a drink.  Time passed slowly as I waited without a word.  The ache of my legs held apart and my hands tied above my head began to grow from dull to a fire across my shoulders and calves.  I called his name as I spotted the light of morning through the tiny window, but he did not come. Read the rest of this entry »


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The Glass Spire

Twelve years before humans counted the years, a great star fell from the heavens in what is now known as Elkriggsfel.  The crater was massive, and the dust wiped out many.

It is rumored that from each of the surrounding peoples, a representative walked forth into the newly-formed wasteland.  Many died along the way, and those who did not die were not seen or heard from again.

Four generations later, local rulers began to send out parties of scavengers and planters into the allegedly cursed lands.  With water and work, humans reclaimed the land slowly. Read the rest of this entry »


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The Waif and the Seller.

The tiny shop was lively as its owner looked haughtily out across the crowd who inspected his wares.  His lips curled into a smile as he saw a young girl approach the counter. “Welcome.” He said with a polite inclination of his head. “Is this your first time in my shop?”

The child nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The man’s smile broadened, and he pushed some hair from her face.  She was a thin little waif.  Her fingertips were red, and her feet bare and dark. “What would you like to buy?  I’m sure you can afford anything here.”

She seemed surprised. “I don’t have any money.” Her objection fell on ears that no longer listened as he served another customer, who handed over a spilling bag of gold for what looked like a simple steel spoon, while another person paid a toenail clipping for a grand-looking ruby, which another person eagerly bought with two heaping bags of gold. Read the rest of this entry »

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Posted by on February 2, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


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The Perfect Diplomat

Anger and rage swelled and rose like a tide.  This was a betrayal most foul.  I tasted bile at the back of my throat as I stared down at the goblin in front of me, and all color drained from my vision save a hate-filled burning white.  Not only did he single-handedly destroy any chance of a reasonable peace, he managed to get himself banished, and declare war.  I stood slowly and glared at the little weasel. “Treason.” I declared in a quiet voice.  My throat felt tight with ire.  My sword called to my hand, and I pulled it from its sheath.  It sang of bloody revenge, and my rage sang in harmony.  The goblin looked frightened, and began to run.  My sword arm was faster.

The scent of piss and blood filled my throne room.  I yanked my sword out through more of his flesh, and the reek of guts and feces tainted the air with it’s sickly sweet smell.  Dizziness and giddiness overcame me as I looked at the writhing, helpless goblin.  I heard a chuckle before I realized it was my own and became quiet.  He looked to either side at the guards. “Have this cleaned before I return from my study.  Don’t waste your time finishing it off before you throw it into the incinerator.” The guards looked uncomfortable as I skipped over the dying thing and began to stroll towards my study.

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Posted by on January 12, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


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Splitting the Brigade

The village was helpless before the onslaught of soldiers.  Half of the travelling troop split off while passing and marched on the locals.  Steel weapons cut through raised tools.  The old men and women fell before invading blades of an army that bore their own land’s device and colors.  One crafty woman led children into the forest, but she could not gather all of them.  As the village’s fall became certain, more people fled to the supposedly-haunted forest, eager to avoid certain doom in favor of a more vague doom.

As the village behind began to burn, those surviving villagers pushed deeper.  The forest began to drown out the sound of screams.  A few looked back, but were pushed forward by others behind.  At the back, a man named Tanner, with arms like great tree trunks, paused and looked back.  His frown was haunted as he looked back.  His wife and two children were killed before he could find them.  In his heavy heart, he carried his dead family, along with his flame-engulfed smithy.

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Posted by on January 9, 2013 in Semihistorical Fiction


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The roll of the die says “W.”

Walking home was always so spooky, but I liked it.  The rustle of dead leaves in autumn was intoxicating, like the whispers of a black widow on her wedding night.  I breathed deeply the scent of the rotting leaves on the ground.  That sweet smell of death always set my head spinning.  This path through the park in the middle of night during the cooling months of the year was my slice of forbidden heaven.  It always felt like I was going to be horribly stabbed to death, or like I would find someone’s dead body laying in the ditch at the side of the dirt path.

I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat.  The full moon was directly overhead.  I felt my heart pound against my chest.  It looked so close, like I could reach up and touch it.  I turned off my visor so I could walk by moonlight alone.  Certainly, it was stupid– visors were made to light the way, and mine had some minor vision corrective properties.  I looked around.  Everything seemed eerie.  The moon bleached everything.  My breath came and went faster as I continued to walk.  Without my visor, everything looked so different!  The rustling leaves no longer looked like fire, but instead like black clouds of evil hanging over the trees.

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Posted by on January 6, 2013 in Futuristic Fiction


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