Book Signing on December 8th!

Posted on November 25, 2013 by R. Richardsson

WHO: R. Richardsson

WHAT: The Rise and Fall of John Rizzerio

WHEN: 3:00pm – 5:00pm

WHERE: Topeka & Shawnee County Public Library

WHY: I have been invited to participate in an event for local authors.

I first heard of this ‘Local Author Fair’ just a little under three weeks ago. Frankly, I didn’t have very high hopes of being able to attend. At the time it was brought to my attention, the library was already boasting over sixty authors in attendance!

But you never know if you don’t try, right?

It’s been my mantra for years and I definitely recommend giving it a try, because the truth is, you simply don’t. You can’t know, and if you want something bad enough, you have to put yourself out there.

I’m about the most introverted person I know. Digging up the courage to step forward with something I believe in isn’t always easy and rejection has been my biggest enemy for as long as I can remember.

While I am afraid to face this enemy, each time that I do I am able to stand taller on the other side of the encounter. The thing about rejection, that I’ve learned, is that it is just a word. “No.” It can be a hurtful word, but no matter how it’s said, it doesn’t have the strength to take your chosen craft away from you.

I’ve had stories turned down by magazines. I’ve also been given a negative (verbal) review of my work. I’ve had time to look at things in retrospect and I’ve learned no matter what a few people might say, the majority still enjoy what I’m creating.

With this, I stood forward and contacted the hostess of the event. I had little hope that I would be able to attend the Local Author Fair, but I had to try. When I received my first response, it seemed that my fears were going to be true. She politely informed me that there were no more open spaces, but, if I left my information, I would be contacted with-in a couple weeks if an opening were to arise.

In my excitement I announced this on my social media, and why not? Here was an event specially tailored for someone like myself. Not only would I be surrounded my dozens of like-minded individuals, but there is also the potential for many more readers as well!

Those two weeks came and went, however, and I have remained quiet, patiently waiting for the word I was beginning to fear wouldn’t arrive.

“It was just too good to be true,” I thought.

But I couldn’t have been more wrong! Late last night, the hostess contacted me and informed me of an opening, should I still want it.

…do I ever!

And with that being said; I’d like to invite any and all readers in the area to participate. If you are coming from afar, I hope you’ll stop by my table and get to know a little more about my story. I look forward to seeing you there!

R. Richardsson

“Never give up, and above all else, try! You might be surprised what happens when you do.”

The Box (Part XII)

Posted on November 17, 2013 by R. Richardsson

From his perch, high above the intersection, Joeshan watched as the creatures feasted upon their kill. His stomach lurched threateningly at the sight of his friend being devoured, but there was little else he could do at this point. His body ached from his own recent attack and he had lost a lot of blood from his injuries as well. If it wasn’t for the dark magic of the sorcerer, he most likely would have suffered this very same fate.

The Destrachan had continued to close in on him, breathing upon him its foul stench as it approached. He had been paralyzed by its attack, a sonic blast so strong that it had stolen the air from his lungs and pinned him to the ground. Slobber dripped off of its bottom lip, splashing first on his neck and then on his cheek as it drew ever closer to his face.

With a start, he realized that he could hear the voice of the sorcerer as he worked his magic from somewhere in the darkness around him, but to his dismay it was only echoes that he heard.

A long, snake-like tongue slithered past the creature’s teeth and over his face, smearing the drool over his cheek as it passed.

He wanted to scream, cry, anything, but there were no reserves in his lungs with which to do so. He trembled as the creature’s tongue suddenly forced its way past the eyelids of his right eye socket and wrapped itself tightly around the orb within. He couldn’t scream, but his body reacted with motion for what his lungs could not do in sound.

He’d lost all vision in the eye that the creature had imprisoned. Small lines of fire burned through his head as the creature first tugged, and then yanked on its small prize. At the moment that he’d felt something give, his lungs suddenly expanded, sucking in the much needed oxygen that had been missing for too long.

As soon as it had returned, he expelled it with an anguished wail. Blood filled the now empty socket and ran down the side of his face, while his one remaining eye watched the creature suck in the connective tissues as if it were a string of boiled pasta.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, white hot, and crippling him as surely as the effects of creature’s initial attack. The Destrachan was toying with him. Through his one remaining eye, he watched as it sucked on the other between its lips while pointing the pupil back at him.

It was at the moment that it crushed the eye between its teeth that the creature’s attention had been drawn to Elladuer’s Last Stand, though he hadn’t known that’s what it was at the time. He was just thankful that he was safe, if even for a moment.

Now, as he watched the scene unfolding below, he understood why the creature had suddenly abandoned him its next meal. There wasn’t much left of his elfin companion. The armor had been blasted to shreds by their sonic attacks and was scattered about the clearing. Four of the Destrachan surrounded the elf’s remains, where they occasionally foraged from what little meat was left on his bloody bones.

They were well fed. It was very likely that they didn’t eat this much in one sitting and their midsections were swollen to the point of bursting. They rested close together, not so much as for warmth, but as if it were from habit. Unlike any predatory creatures he had ever seen on the surface, these willingly shared their kill, that the next may have enough in its belly.

He began to cry, clear salty tears from his good eye and bitter blood-filled ones from his empty socket. The pain had since faded to a dull throb, one which would be a constant reminder of what he had lost, but he would never forget the the next thing he saw.

Far below, where the creatures lazed near their feast, Oramiir strode across the clearing. He paused only to take the elf’s weapon and entered the tunnel branching off to the left, from whence the breath of the dragon still emanated.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXX)

Posted on November 17, 2013 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!

———

“Scott, what the hell are you doing,” Lucy shouted, awakened from the noise.

He continued to stand by the wall past the foot of the bed, where he pondered over his bleeding knuckles as if he hadn’t heard her. The injuries weren’t serious at first glance, the blood only trickled thickly down the the back of his hand, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should be feeling some kind of pain.

“…huh,” he muttered. “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she screamed angrily. Her voice began near a normal pitch and rose until it was loud enough to wake any dogs that might be sleeping nearby. Scott winced slightly, but continued to stare at the back of his hand as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

“You punched a hole through my WALL, and you call that…nothing?!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, you fat cow,” he replied indifferently. His eyes looked in her direction for the first time since she spoke. “And for God’s sake, cover those things up. You look like you’re trying out for the next GILFS GONE WILD video.”

She sputtered, pulling her sheet up over her chest, as a hurt expression crossed over her features.

“GILFS,” she repeated slowly. Realization finally dawned over her as to what he was meaning and the hurt was instantly replaced by rage. “How, dare, you talk to me that way?! After everything I’ve done for YOU?”

He chuckled softly as he lowered his hand and slowly approached her from the side of the bed he had recently vacated.

“Wha- What are you doing,” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer, only reached down and collected something from the floor and, in one swift movement, launched it at her face. She screamed as she thought that he was attacking her, only to discover that he had only thrown her considerably sized brassiere. By the time she removed the left cup from her face, he was opening the door from her room.

He was halfway out of the house when she caught up to him. He noted, with some satisfaction, that she had at least taken the hint he had left her with.

“You son of a bitch,” she shouted as she spun him around. “I’ve done things for you that you wouldn’t have gotten from anyone else!” Her right arm pumped once, quicker than he had been prepared to react to, and her fist connected solidly with the left side of his face.

He hadn’t been ready for the attack, but he didn’t lose his footing from it either. His head followed the course of her swing as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. This was the only reaction she got from him, and he slowly returned his terrible gaze upon her. His face was already beginning to swell where she had hit him and in a few days it would match the bruise on the other cheek. As his eyes fell upon her, she took a careful step away.

“…I said; Shut. Up…”

The other no longer spoke words he could understand. It now chanted in another language, repeating the same few phrases over and over in his mind. At first it was comforting. It could have been the words of a shaman about to heal his patient, or of a priest about to deliver his prayer in Latin, but it had slowly grown in volume and fervor until it became a maddening cacophony of voices.

He shook his head back and forth so violently that from her perspective, there were blur lines in the space between each side that his face stopped.

“Scott,” she said more than asked. Her voice had become child-like in her state of terror and the sweat over her thick frame had suddenly grown cold, sending chills down her spine and causing her to shiver ever so slightly. “You’re scaring me.”

“Get. OUT,” he screamed.

His grabbed his head just above each ear, as if to hold it still, and leaned forward, groaning.

“…let…me…out…” he whispered softly. This time when he spoke, it was his voice, but then it also was not.

She took another step backward as he began to struggle with himself. He continued to clutch at the sides of his head as his body whipped violently back and forth. It was as if he were wrestling for control over some unknown entity inside of him.

“NO,” he screamed as he slammed his head into the wall next to him. She began to scream as his thick skull broke through the wall, and together, their voices filled a house which no other person currently inhabited.