Category: Uncategorized

Quint Tackles Writer’s Block

Furious boiling rage

Fists clenched and facing typewriter

“Damned words come out!”

Voice ripping static aside

Grasps sides with pale gloves

Set leaning down close to keys

“I’ll find you in there

You’ll come out

If I have to come in there myself

And drag you out screaming!”

The static then actually cleared

Teeth lining up on screen

Sharp toothed and dripping bile

Spreading slow and growling

The typewriter sits silent and stoic

Frustrated groan twirl away arms up in defeat

“Fine then!”

He grabs his port

Tipping back onto screen

Where teeth are open

Poured into

Past screen

Into mouth?

Or something close

Quint groans as he sets it down

Rubbing a glove over screen

“Give me SOMETHING!”

He bellows slapping the desk

Typewriter dings

As it reaches the end

“…

You’re mocking me aren’t you…”

He grumbles

Slouching back in his chair

He idly fiddles with a key

Gloved finger

Tracing its edge

Then depresses

Then another

Another key

And more

“I told you I’d get it out of you!”

He cries triumphantly

Fingers flying freely

And back we pull away and into the dark

Witch’s Crush

Hu Card collection

Flip through idly

What to play

Which to choose

Witch’s Crush peaks out

I

I don’t remember this one

But I do love those others

Devil’s and Alien

So

‘Why not?’

I think and pull it out

With a solid click it sits within

Flip on

CRT buzzes slowly

Quintrix fuzzy but come to life

I hold controller as title appears

Satanic and over done

Compendium Maleficarum-esque

Woods at night

Naked women dancing

A book of names

Blood dipped fingers scrawling

I start

Pinball as expected

Though words spelled out

By drop targets say

Vendere

Animam

Tuam

With practiced ease

All targets hit

Score rises

Higher still

Eventually though

All balls are drained

And up comes the highscore page

Enter my name…

As I do something hurts

My finger

Pricked

And dripping

I feel a tug

And am drawn

Rise to the TV

And press the blood against

My name I spell

And soon

Screen fades

Black stares back

And I hold my breath

What had I done

What had I signed

Why was the blood already gone

TV clear and coming back

Title screen

And the book

My name at the top

Technical Difficulties

Disc insert

Installing and transferring

Gigabytes of data

Files and folders

To be compiled later

Into people

Places

Whole worlds

Finished finally

I start application

Black

Silence

Tension

Crash report

Cannot be played

In the style of MacReady

I pour bourbon over logic-board

Whole thing goes up in smoke

Didn’t fix it

Probably made it much worse

But damn if it didn’t feel great

Quint Ponders Plot

Towering over typewriter

Quint ponders his protagonists plight

His suit is crisp clean and carmine

Cuff links lit by dull candlelight

Slowly he surfs his channels of thought

Hand clicks dial over one to two

Static stays but something does form

A bloodied and battered sword

Yes this is it the final piece!

Quint types rapidly

Rapturous plot

His head tilts back as he laughs

Voice crackling over airwaves

As he reaches the end and sets it aside

He rubs white gloves hands over face

Cathode Ray screen

A finger touches letters he knows very well

Worn and incomplete now only read

“Pan____ic”

A sigh rumbles static

And he fingers the switch

Flicks up

Shuts off

And sleeps for the day

The Creative Process

A young man stood

His head to a wall

Pulled back

Swung forward

And crushing his skull

Passerby cried

At this pitiful whelp

Folks tried to stop

To impede

Hell, just to help

He just smiled at them

His teeth a grisly mess

“Oh don’t mind me

I’m just an artist

And this painting, my best”

He mused “just a bit more

Then it will be done

Wait no

Not quite

I’ll erase this last one”

Featured image source: http://davidmoody.net/2014/04/18/hitting-head-brick-wall/#.XAVnORZMGEc

Twister Lit Contest

I was just tagged by the Twister Lit Contest hosted by High Tensile UK and found out this morning that I won! The winning tweet is the featured photo for this post~ The goal was to write a complete feeling piece of psychological thriller fiction within one tweet.

As part of this I am going to receive a signed copy of A Ladder to the Sky by John Boyne who is also well known for writing The Boy in the Striped Pajamas.

The other part is that I’ll be featured on their website hightensilelit.com when it goes live on December 9th!

I am so freaking excited!!! If you’ve found me through their website I do hope you enjoy my writing and decide to hang around~

This is the first writing contest I’ve ever won so this is also VERY EXCITING!

Violent Paths Cross

Wanderer dragged forward

Ever onward past dry land

Through downy soft crystal fields

Stopping briefly for water

In the midst of a silent pasture

Stream burbling pleasantly

Some distance away

The Wanderer saw another

Dressed in garb

So far removed

As his was also

This one in wrapped layers

All but eyes hidden

The Wanderer himself

Dressed in crimson cape

With deep grey and black swirled rags

The Wanderer drew his blade

A humming biting thing

Which brought death swift

The Stranger drew his

Curves wicked and barbed

Its every facet to bring agony

The Stranger gave a guttural call

Challenge in tone

The Wanderer met it in kind

With swift leap the Wanderer landed

Across the lolling stream

Slowly they approached

Blades ready

A careful dance

Not too close

But ever closer

Until

The Stranger lashed out

Flecked with something muddy

Unseen from afar

The Wanderer dodged all

But one barb

Which sliced his arm

As he too swung

The edge cut azure blur

Clear through

A pause

Breath

The Stranger collapsed

Felled in two

Victory

Surely

But

The Wanderer felt a burn

Of something insidious

Crawling through his veins

He knew what this was

And spat on the body of his foe

For the honorless poison he used

He walked to the stream

Dipping in his toes

Laid down his blade

And laid back in the grass

The wind whispered

The grass murmuring

And in them a reminder

He will not be remembered

Nor the trials he faced

All that he accomplished

Was to feed this beauteous place

The Hand We’re Dealt

Cards are dealt

Quick flash to each on the table

I tip my Stetson back

With a broad smile as I eye my hand

One man meets my gaze

Grumbles something crass and crude

Eyes his own cards

And folds quickly on the first round of bets

The next ups the ante

And growls surly for my decision then

I ease back puzzling quietly

Then push forth my pile with simple “all in”

The man beside me whistles

Taps his own chips with a reticent pace

Before he shakes head

And quietly folds as the first did

Then just one and me

He meets me with a sinister grin

Shows his cards

A straight flush three to seven of clubs

I nod solemnly

Set down my own hand with defeat

And show him

A glorious spades royal flush

The table is flipped

The man draws iron and cries

“Cheatin’ dog!”

With cards still fluttering down

I leap from my chair

A hard tackle sends him sprawling

I force back his hand

And with a deafening boom

Little is left of his head

Death March

His boot heels dragged

Through the lone dry grass

Sparse and brown from the wilting heat

.

His Planter’s hat

Wide brimmed and flat

Hid his eyes from the muddled hues

.

Above him cried

A vulture who eyed

The gait of a thing soon dead

.

How long he’d gone

Or what he had done

Few knew and yet fewer would tell

.

He did not curse his plight

As another man might

But prayed it be enough to atone

.

As the sun then set

And a pale man was met

He welcomed the stranger into his arms

.

He gasped a last breath

And walked calmly to Death

He fell down to the hard packed earth

.

The only witnesses here

Are two who men fear

The reaper and his malodorous bird