The Box (Part XVI)

Posted on January 21, 2014 by R. Richardsson

The words rolled off of his tongue before he was able to stop them, fleeing as quickly as they were born, only to be reflected back unto him by the stone on the opposite end of the large cavern. Even as they bounced off of the wall behind him and returned in the direction his mouth had originally flung them, was great wyrm beginning to stir.

It was the mountain of gold within which the dragon lay, nestled beneath a weight so massive that were it any other creature, it would have been crushed. Coins, gems and magical treasures endlessly poured away from the beast, a sight both beautiful and terrible to behold.

“…the gods…the gods…the gods…done?…done…done?”

Even over the cacophony of noise, his words continued to reach his ears. A seed of doubt took root in his very soul as he glimpsed the first slash of red through the riches before him and he began to tremble in fear. Even from this distance, the creature’s size was intimidating!

But more horrifying than the brief peek at its crimson scales was the sheer presence of the monster. Here was a creature that had conquered cities. Armies had fallen before its might and he dared to face it alone?

Two great horns began to cut their way from beneath the fortune. They were scorched near the tips, tempered from years of bathing in the drake’s furnace. His vision blurred, and he nearly swooned with fear as the eyes of the dragon set their calculating gaze upon him.

“THERE ARE NO GODS HERE, LITTLE MAN. ONLY MALIFGORRANAKA.”

The last of the world’s most expensive blanket finally fell free from the wyrm as it rose to it’s full height. Here was a beast which had survived the world’s finest warriors. It had outsmarted the land’s most reviled villians, and now he stood before it feeling every bit as an ant would against him. Indeed, this creature had only to raise one massive foreleg and with the tiniest flick of one claw, it could send him rocketing into oblivion.

“IT’S BEEN LONG SINCE I HAVE FEASTED UPON THE FLESH OF MAN. TODAY I SHALL NOURISH MY OLD BODY WITH YOURS. TONIGHT, I WILL SUCK THE MARROW FROM YOUR BONES.”

The words still held enough power that they very nearly shook him apart! His mind screamed in protest. His nerves were broken and he wanted nothing more to do with this foolish quest. Before this crimson god, he had lost all will to continue. His had forgotten all that he had come prepared with and the sword was an unfamiliar burden that pulled his hand down.

“…by the gods…”

The sword!

As if awakening from a dream, he blinked his eyes and looked down to the hand which held the…

It was gone?

“It’s gone,” he asked incredulously. But that’s impossible! He had only been holding it just moments ago!

“…what have I done…”

His words taunted him, reminding him of the imminent doom that was now upon him. The Great Flame yawned and stretched it’s wings as it began moving forward. It moved from side to side, much like a cat, as it stalked him. There was now only a few moments left for him to act.

“Damn,” he muttered softly. Without the sword, his magic didn’t stand a chance of defeating the beast. At best, he would only anger it even further! And with the blood he had already spilled this day, there was only a little left to use before he became too weak to escape, should the opportunity even present itself.

“It appears I have made a grievous error,” he admitted softly. As he began to prepare one of his most powerful spells, he watched as the dragon god closed the final dozen yards between them. Regardless of what happened next, he knew that it would soon be over.

A rat in a cage (Indy vs traditional publishing)

Posted on January 20, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Street of Dreams

Publishing is a game. You learn that early in your studies if you go through an university. Be it an scholarly journal or creative writing, it’s all hoops you have to jump through to establish yourself and further your career. And the more you become engrossed in it, the more you realized it’s not just about talent, but who you know and how much press they will get for publishing you…..

Why is it that way? Because they say so.

Now, I’m not sure who they are. Though I suspect it might be the publishers and those profiting off of mine and yours work….

I also think that’s partly why being an indie writer is so looked down up.

Ok, we will get it out of the way. The problem with vanity press is that anyone can do it. And frankly there are so god-awful works that in my opinion see…

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She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXIV)

Posted on January 14, 2014 by R. Richardsson

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog. While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience. Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections. Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author. Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

In the city of All Saints, all was as it should be. Its citizens rested safely behind bolted doors and there was very little movement on the streets. The occasional A.S.P.D vehicle broke through the shadows, inside of which two sets of watchful eyes kept to their promise of peace. Even less frequently, the silence was broken as a startled dog warned against those who would trespass onto its territory. All was as it should be, except in one dark alley which ran parallel to Munson Avenue.

With night falling heavily upon the city’s shoulders, there were few places still filled with human activity. So it was that no-one saw the bloodied figure as he limped slowly between the worn tire tracks. But had there been a single soul nearby, it would have been chased into a week’s worth of nightmares by the ghostly face whose haunted eyes told a tale of something darker than the shadows covering the young man’s tracks.

And though there was only the lone figure passing through the murky depths, there were two very distinct voices arguing amongst themselves.

“It hurts…”

“Leave it in.”

The young man reached down and grasped the wooden handle protruding from his abdomen.

“I can’t take it anymore, I have to take it out.”

“You do, and you die.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.

He began to slowly pull handle away from his body, drawing forth the seven inches of stainless steel so recently sheathed inside of him. Pain flared through every nerve in his stomach as small lightning bolts fired along the highways of his nervous system and into his brain. He groaned and paused, reluctant to continue along his current course of action.

“Don’t,” the other warned.

“Why not,” he pleaded desperately.

“Because, you idiot, we’re not finished yet.”

The young man stumbled weakly to the side and into the wooden fence at his right. His knees began to buckle beneath him, but before he could tumble to the ground, his right hand grasped the weather worn oak and steadied him falling.

“I can’t… I’m so tired.”

But there was no answer. None that anyone would have heard. He continued to stand against the tall privacy fence, one hand wrapped around the wooden handle of the butcher knife while the other continued to hold him up. He stared down the path before him, his eyes seemingly studying the deep ruts worn by years of passage as the minutes slowly ticked by.

The minutes grew into the double digits before he began to move once more, and when he did, there was the beginnings of a smile forming on his expression. And, punctuated by his pale skin with the promise of murder in his eyes, the effect was very sinister indeed.