Malady

Young master Stephen Atherton is undoubtedly the fiend known as blackhand. I fear it is by my own doing that he suffers so, however I too suffer his curse. I have sought to gain entry into his mind and have become a fiend myself, nevertheless it is a necessity for survival. He has yet to reach his thirteenth year and already he is able to keep me at bay. Such strength! I must secure it for myself lest I be lost within this ethereal prison within him.

Oh the foolishness of man, attempting to attain the power of God through the science of man. Attempting to achieve the Magnum Opus, the recreation of the long sought elixir of life, Adam’s God given jewel –  the philosophers stone. Yet despite human failings we accomplished this magnificent feat at the cost of our souls, now encased within the lad’s chest and the embedded vermilion gem. My soulless body hoped to regain a semblance of itself in the boy, only for the alchemic residue bonding body to soul to stone, transformed anatomy to impalpable membrane. ‘Tis how I was bound to the boy, my body fettered to the entirety of his hand and arm, and how he attained the varmint title; blackhand.

Oh this sublime insubstantial existence. How long shall I endure? How long before he slips so I may ascertain myself in his consciousness. Shall I wait for his innocence to pass? Perhaps I ought to devour this purity for my own? What am I becoming? What shall I become? Oh Lord deliver me from this bondage, from this juvenile subjugation – I fear the day I truly become… a malady.

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Time to Write: Memories

The past haunts us all. The future holds consequences for something we did in our past.

If you’re not aware, I’m working on a Steampunk horror novel set in the 1800s and I’m struggling with the language. My best friends Dictionary and Thesaurus have been helping me try capture the language and I think I’ve done well. This is not part of the novel but a recollection of the past that I don’t focus on in the novel itself.

What are your thoughts?

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Friday Fiction: Ambition

Now that we’re a week into the new year, let’s talk about our ambitions and goals.

Write a character that is full of ambition and determination to meet their dreams.

Time to Write: Ambition

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The man walked into his office with a slow gait, fatigue etched into his drooping eyebrows and dark matted hair. He gingerly shut the door, the purple and swollen knuckles barely registering as he twisted the key. In the same slow manner, he shrugged the jacket off his shoulders and draped it over the coat hanger before slouching his way to his office desk. His fingers traced over the gleaming mahogany, all around until he fell into the plush leather seat. From within his desk drawer he pulled out a bottle of whiskey, along with a tumbler and set both on the empty desk.

Frankenstein. A name his enemies and work staff had come to call him, and not only because of his amazing stitch work on those who were under him; he was the elixir that gave people life; the scientist who animated the living corpses that straggled his streets.

And at the root of this… madness… well he had ambitions that ran right through the teeming streets of Jozi CBD, along the no-longer-so-dusty streets of Soweto, across the populated Sandton avenues all the way to the quiet walkways of the East Rand. His… monsters, as they referred to themselves, were with him on this ridiculously chaotic road to the top. Top of what, one might ask, and that answer would both overwhelm and seem stupidly ridiculous to the one asking.  But what was ambition if it didn’t seem impossible? Where the odds were tested every waking hour as the country fell into chaos?

He took a sip of his golden drink and grimaced, which in turn became a grin so wide it looked as though his jaws would break. He slammed the glass down on the desk, and as though not satisfied with the action, dragged it over the table and across the office to smash into the far wall.

Alone. Forsaken. Recluse. Fragile. Weak. Brittle. Incompetent. Inadequate. Useless.

He let the words roll around his tongue, spitting each word vehemently as he steeled his mind against the onslaught of doubts plaguing his thoughts. He would punch, sweet talk and stitch up as many as he had to until he was treated like the man he deserved to be; King.

But success SHALL crown my endeavours. Wherefore not? Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas, the very stars themselves being witnesses and testimonies of my triumph. Why not still proceed over the untamed yet obedient element? What can stop the determined heart and resolved will of man? Robert Walton – Frankenstein

Flash Fri…Wednesday

So Friday the 4th of December I was supposed to post a Friday Fiction thing but this was my Friday:

Morning: Work rush because we had to finish everything before we went out for our end of year staff function.

Afternoon: End of year staff function late into the afternoon.

Evening: NaNoWriMo TGIO late into the eve.

What does that mean? Bad planning and therefore no Flash Friday. Sooo here it is. Today. On Wednesday.

Friday Fiction: What Child Is This?

Title: What Child Is this?

Conflict: Man v Man

Character: A child born with a pig’s tail

Theme: Fate

Setting: a village cut off from the outside world

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“What child is this!?” The nurse cried. The babe, soft and pink and wiggling a curled tail, cried at the noise.

“Mayhap Father Dawkins be right, the world comes to an end sister.” The older woman stared at the thin tail with abject horror. If such a thing has occurred, what other horrors await them. Father Dawkins may perhaps be right after all.

“Call the father immediately. Alert him that the time nears.”

“Ay sister.”

*********
Father Dawkins paced the water storage tank, a smiled etched across his old face. The nurse had called claiming a babe had been born with a tail. Only years of self-control and discipline kept him from leaping in glee. Patience had proved indeed to be a virtue though he knew there was no virtue within him.

“Henry!” he hollered at the dark haired man limping out of the shed by the tank

“Yes Father?” The man’s hands had been bleached white.

“We no longer need additives in the water, our faith proves fruitful!”

“Truly?”

“Truly! A babe with a pig’s tail is born!”

“Aye Father, our faith lives.” The other man smiled too. For him it was time a man of science proved fruitful. Him.

Writing Prompt: Dog-gone

One always remembers something in particular about a memorable day and for me it was the sun. For a July afternoon mid-winter, the sun was rather bright and the warmth welcome. Of course it was not merely the sun that made the day memorable, this was South Africa after all. It was, rather, the incident that occurred at the corner of Rae Frankel and Hennie Alberts somewhere in Albertsdal or Alberview… it could be Alberton. That detail is  fuzzy. The smell of MacDonalds however is still clear and to this day, the smell reminds me of this incident. This… accident.

Pictonaut Challenge: Mars Initiative

1173 Words

One image, one month, one thousand words.

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He watched the man calmly sip at the foam bubbling at the top of the glass, then tilt it to swallow a substantial amount of golden liquid.

“Martin, do you know what’s on Mars?” Martin gave him a blank look. “Nothing. Nada. Niks! Do you understand what I’m telling you? Nothing! No beer. None of the peanuts on the table. No chair never-mind chair, no wood!”

“And…” Martin replied slowly and thoughtfully, sarcasm dripping off his almost drunk state like droplets on the tall glass in his hand.

“What do you mean and?” Dustin felt heat rise up the open collar of his work shirt. His top two buttons lay open, tie long discarded, folded shirt up to his elbows resting against the wooden table.

“I’m doing it for the sake of mankind.” Martin said, gazing around the quiet bar as though soaking it up for the last time. A solemn look.

“Mankind doesn’t need to be up on Mars collecting dust man! Surely don’t need you volunteering your life for some crazy expedition gig! Come on!”

“Have you seen the state of this planet? We are running out of land and water, our air is polluted. We need an alternative.”

“So you travel to the far reaches of space where there is nothing in the hopes of growing something…out of nothing? Can you not see the flaw in this logic? Can you not see the stupidity of your actions?” Martin turned his head to face Dustin with a deadly look sure to kill had it been a physical blow.

“Stupidity? We are pioneers!” He banged his glass on the table. No one turned to look at them in the nearly deserted bar. “We are tasked to ensure that humans safely reach Mars, with a habitat for exploration and human settlement within our lifetime! We are space advocates, pushing for space and space exploration to happen. Don’t you dare call it stupidity!” Dustin shut his mouth and slunk back into his chair. He’d known this would be the reaction, however he had to first reason with the man before moving to necessary means.

“So I can’t talk you out of this Mars mission?”

“Not even if your life was in jeopardy.”

“Now that’s cruel.”

“One life for the sake of the many. That’s what a hero would do and that’s what I’ve been called to be, a hero for mankind.”

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December Pictonaut -Ascension

 

Image courtesy of: http://www.joshuahutchinson.co.uk/index.php

 

The world of man was infected. Disease riddled bodies cascaded between the mountains, across the arid landscape, unaware of their own infinitesimal existence in the greater scheme; they were like ants. The old man watched them pass by without a second glance, his own eyes focused heavenward. The call was stronger today, a magnetic pull drawing his being to the stars above and yet it was not time to go yet, night time would soon come and so would his ascension.

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Auburn – The Dark Universe: Final Chapter

I look towards the familiar intruder to this private meeting, feeling a budding anger at the  man who had so easily turned against me.

“I’ll be there soon” Sinister says without turning his head. He raises his hands in question at me. His offer played over in my mind once again, that and the option of receiving the cure for the sake of survival. Also, the very idea of using evil to create change as a necessary evil…well that was so sinister I couldn’t imagine a better way to display the injustice others suffered, by letting them suffer the same injustice themselves. At the same time, now that Sinister was being called outside, escape swam to the surface of my mind before sinking into my skull like a cement brick in water. Mr Sinister stared down at me from behind his mask as though he could see my dilemma and as a challenge to this I attempted to project my thought at him louder, ‘Escape to death or life at your hands, I will come out on top’ but it was stupid to think he could read minds. Nonetheless I felt better knowing that he was not invincible, at least not in this sense.

“If you will excuse me,” he says finally, to me “apparently I have some business to attend to. I shall not be long.”

JHB Writers Sprint – The Chat

Prompt 2 – Pick a random item on your desk to write about – 25 minutes

I picked my Laptop – wrote this on my computer. Yes I have both next to me, at the moment it’s the closest I got to two screens 😛

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Lincoln flipped open his laptop and stared at the blank screen. He waited for the tell-tale signs of the other user on the other side in the form of a blinking cursor, but nothing appeared. He felt his heart sink in his chest, such a heavy depressing sensation he could not stand the emotion. He took another sip of the rapidly cooling coffee and almost willed the cursor on.

>Don’t stare too hard Linc
_Oh gawsh I thought I would die

Lincoln sighed in relief, joy replacing the previous feeling, his fingers itching to chat but he let his fingers remain still on the keyboard,

>You won’t die if I leave you
_Don’t talk like that
>You know its true
_My heart would stop beating. I know. I almost had a heart-attack while waiting for you here
>I was a few seconds late
_You are never late
>Well maybe I can be. Maybe I should be
_No! Please!
>Fine
_Thanks! Tell me more please
>Not now
_Why not?
>They are here with me
>…
_Oh

Lincoln quickly wiped his hands off his shirt, shifted his glasses further up his nose and placed his hands once again on the keys of the keyboard

Imaginary

“I thought there would be some sort of nostalgia…waking up here in this room. But too much has changed.” The boy rose from the bed, pushing the blankets off to sit cross legged on the bed. The morning sunlight fell across his face to make his light brown skin seem translucent
“Well, it’s been years since…you know”
“I’ve been imaginary? Yeah I know.” I ran my hand over his black hair, relishing the feel of it as I had never been able to before – not like this anyway
“You’re not imaginary, you’re…”
“I’m not real either. That’s okay. This is better I guess. I don’t get to grow up and have a beard like you old man” The boy stretched his legs out on the bed, wriggling his toes into the crumpled bed-covers.
“I’m not old” I teased. He smiled with both his dark eyes and his lips
“Stresses of life got you so caught up in life, you can’t see those old man lines etching across your forehead.”
“I’m twenty five monkey!” I shouted in mock anger but he laughed as his sad eyes fell upon me.
“Thirteen more than I was given.” I sighed. He continued
“Don’t worry I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything but I just want to let you know I’m ok. I’m imaginary after all right?”
“Of course not! You’re not…” He slid back onto the bed, putting his hands behind the back of his head
“It’s strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures…that’s something I read once but is relevant to us now isn’t it? Except…I don’t have a future, you know? And you are continuing on as you should.” he smiled broadly at that but his face was down – disheartened.
“Hey listen now…”
“Nope sorry old man, not listening. I’m here to say good bye. You don’t need me anymore, not like you did back then…afterwards”
“You mean after you died.”
“I prefer passed on.” we both stared at each other, I fought the coming emotion welling up within me.
“You’re right, I couldn’t imagine life without my best friend – not then. How else could I have kept you in my memory except by recreating you as you are now. I mean when you started getting sick…” He rolled off the bed and walked across the room to the window, his face looking up towards the streaming light.
“You’re all grown up now. You don’t need me to fend off evil villains from another dimension or power up to levels over 9000 in order to save the galaxy. You got your whole life ahead of you but…don’t forget me okay old man. Remember me for who I was not what I’d become. Remember me during all the good times, all the fights both fake and real. Most of all, remember the dreams we had and fulfill yours as I would have wanted mine.”

I continued to stare at the empty space, hit by the sense of loss I’d once felt all those years ago when I’d lost a friend. It was still real, even now. I guess some imaginary friends never leave, especially when they were not so imaginary to begin with.

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In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/imaginary-friend/