Beginning of a fantasy story!

This one's got potential. Serious potential. This is only about a third of what I've actually written thus far, no less.


Standing outside his family’s hut, a small, brown-haired boy of fourteen stared at the sky. Silhouetted by the blood-red sunset were two massive shapes, creatures with giant, slowly beating wings. They were approaching at an angle, as though planning on reaching the edge of the village and continuing on. The boy watched as they neared, utterly transfixed.
One of the things opened its large maw, allowing for a burst of noise to erupt. The boy fell to his knees, covering his ears and slamming his eyes shut. The sound just continued. How much breath did these things have? Then it stopped. The boy opened his eyes, looked around, and collapsed again as the other one started with the roar. The things were circling the village, only high above. From below, the boy could hear the massive wingbeats, air rushing at him steadily. He stared upward at them.
One look was all he needed to be terrified for a lifetime. These monstrous things were beautiful, yet made him believe he was not going to survive the day. Easily thirty feet long, and the tail another fifteen, one’s scales were a black that did not reflect the sunlight, while the other had a shining red hue. Suddenly, the boy remembered some of his father’s war stories. These were dragons.
Each had four powerfully built legs, which they held slack underneath them. These legs all ended in sets of claws, four sharp-looking and then the particularly vicious thumbs. The black dragon’s small eyes glittered gold, while the red’s significantly larger ones also happened to be red. Presumably steering them, balancing them, and also used as weapons were their tails, giant in their own right. On the ends were spikes, effectively making clubs.
Again one, this time the red, opened its mouth. The boy slammed his hands onto his ears, but the dragon didn’t release noise. It released fire. The moist dirt paths dried and blackened from the sheer heat of the blast. The huts on the north side of the village were shrouded in flame, already shriveling like leaves caught on fire. The grass on one side charred, while the trees on the other withered and also caught. The black dragon roared again and together, the two continued on, exactly on the path they had been traveling before.

Taint, part 3

Before her was a vast countryside, filled with rolling green hills and forests surrounding them, no civilization in sight. So, she thought. This was her mind. Massive, and…empty? Maybe this was a part of her currently dormant mind, which would evolve and change without her knowledge while she was awake. Stepping out from the ruins she had created, onto the soft grass, Sierra decided it would be interesting to try hurting some of this world and see what would happen. She imagined a pentagram on the ground, cut in the grass. Inside the circle, which she could have easily stood in with arms spread out, she conjured a pillar of flame, charring the ground. As expected, she could feel a faint spike of pain throughout her body.
So why hadn’t she felt anything when she destroyed the dungeon?
“You’re thinking quickly, dreamer,” said a man from out of nowhere, who was suddenly standing by her side. He might have been tall; Sierra couldn’t judge, didn’t care. His fedora, worn and aged, looked more weathered than he did.
“Who’s the one who had that hat first?” she asked.
“It’s all…a dream.”
“Then who are you?”
“Not part of you.”
He stepped back a few paces, pulling out four playing cards. Sierra saw they were the King, Queen, Jack, and Ace of Hearts. With lightning speed, the man threw the cards at her.
Back to manual breathing, full control. Inhale. Wind, obeying her, pulling the cards together into a near-paradoxical shape, one end on top of the next card, whose other end was on top, so that they joined perfectly. Exhale. The cards, spinning together above her head, whistled with sheer speed.
Inhale. Direct the wind with a flick of the hand, making the cards spiral to the man. Exhale. Intentional dissipation before contact, only to be brought back by the wind in a vortex, coming around behind him and slashing him to bits.
Returning subconscious control, Sierra stared as the man turned to dust; his hat drifted to the ground. Picking it up, she decided it looked nice so she put it on. It did nothing good for her long black hair, but this was a venture in her mind. She had no reason to care about things like that. Suddenly, everything looked different. It was more faded, turning into black and white. She removed the hat, tossed it up into the air, and brought a bolt of lightning down from the blue sky. The ash settled on the grass a few moments later.
“So you didn’t like the gift?” another man said.
“Where are you from?”
“We’re a parasite of the mind,” the man said. “It’s amazing you’ve lasted this long without breaking—no, being broken.”
“But don’t parasites want the host to live?”
“Oh, we don’t care if you live. By the time you’re lost, we’ll surely have infected at least one other, and they will be conquered much more easily.”
Full control one more time. Inhale. Pull to the point of equilibrium. Power. Intake all the power. Slide back into body. Exhale. Rain, hail, lightning falling from the sky. Over in a distant region, the taint was not affected. Inhale. Electricity, flowing from everywhere and nowhere, tearing at the parasite. Pieces, flying off, everything else traveling to another spot in the mind. Exhale. Every remaining scrap of power released into mind. Shudder.
Inhale. Earth quaking, throwing her from side to side. Chasm opening. Exhale. Fall in.

Eyes (Short Story, only one part)

So, I wrote this one a few weeks back and hadn't remembered to put it up here until now. For those of you who may have read the manga Parasyte at some point, this'll make maybe a little more sense, since I based some of it off that.


John remembered this dream, or ones like it. Today was the fifth anniversary of when he started having this dream. As always, he woke up tied to a chair, arms at his side. The chair was the one he sat at in his dining room, just a generic chair. He had been in dentist’s chairs and thrones with sharp edges. But today, he felt an empty space at the back of the chair where there was usually a slat.
Looking up from the chair, John saw the man he always saw, who looked a little like him, but better. He walked back and forth a few feet away with an iron rod in one hand, a hammer in the other. Turning his head, John saw a forge and an anvil. This didn’t look good. The light that came from nowhere and everywhere, as is usual in a dream, hurt his eyes tonight.
“What are you going to do with that piece of iron?” John asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
The man didn’t respond; instead, he placed the rod in the forge until it was white-hot, then put it on the anvil and started to hammer the end into a sharp point. John saw no bucket of water to cool the metal. No, this looked downright bad.
Open your damned eyes, body, for once, John thought. Open your eyes. Open your eyes. Open. Openopenopenopenopen…
Stepping close to John, the man spoke: “You have committed a crime.”
“What crime is that?”
“Child neglect, and attempted murder,” the man said.
Bringing his arm back, the man took the iron poker he created and thrust it into John’s belly, waiting a few moments before taking it out. John emitted a scream.
“I wanted—” thrust in “—to be friends.” Pull out “You—” thrust in “—left me alone.” Pull out
John moaned. “Who are you?”
“A creature—” thrust in “—of your dreams.” Pull out
“An alien? A parasite?”
The man stared John in the eyes. “The second one. I was,” thrust in “your eyes.”
“Some parasite,” John said, gasping as his body withered on the inside from the burns, “who kills their host. Let me open my eyes, or I’ll die here, and you will too.”
“You will recover from the pain,” the man said, twisting the poker around in John’s stomach.
“I’ll be a vegetable mentally. And you will be left to die, stuck inside a breathing corpse.”
“Why don’t you want to be my friend?”
“I can’t live in the world of dreams forever. You’ve damned yourself, parasite. Damned…”
Everything faded.

Taint, part 2

Still not the end (of course)


Inhale. Yes, she was still alive. She could see. Darkness, though, with occasional torchlight. Winding corridors surrounded her, an utter labyrinth inside her own mind. Exhale. She couldn’t forget to breathe. As she walked, the shadows danced around her, making wild shapes upon the cold stone walls and floor. Was this a dungeon?
Inhale. The moisture and musk of that left untouched for ages flowed freely into her nostrils. She remembered who she was. Exhale. Nothing could stop her now.
Focusing, she let her body regain control of breathing as she pulled herself out of her miserable physical form. The body tried to pull her back in until she removed herself just far enough to hang in equilibrium. She pulled all the fire, all the energy from the air, wrapping it around her, inside her. She could barely see her arms raise like lightningrods to the power through the dancing sparks that invaded her vision.
With a gentle push, she slipped back into her body fully, closing her eyes for a few moments before reopening them. Everything appeared more vibrant, more intense, more detailed. And so, she imagined fire before her. A tiny ball of it appeared, barely the size of a grape, hovering a few feet in front of her. Sierra envisioned it contracting into one point, and then expanding on through the other side. Just as when she had partially brought herself out of her body, she had to exert a force of will on this globe of fire. It wrapped itself in, shrinking into a single point. Sierra started walking back, letting the fire hang in its own state of equilibrium. To be safe, she brought up a barrier of air, spiraling larger and pointing around her so as not to let anything touch her.
The point exploded; the entire area near her ripped itself from everywhere else. In her mind’s eye Sierra saw an entire universe being made from this point, as “science” taught it. No, this was true creation, caused by a bit of willpower, as fire brought itself to be, igniting once-damp air. Sierra closed her eyes and let everything settle after the fire burned itself out in seconds, seeing ruins when the dust had settled. Everything was open to her now, every bit of unexplored region in her mind, except that which had forced her here. She must stop the taint.

Another story, Taint

I needed to get writing again...this is only the first part.


Perfect was the girl’s dream, even though she could not see. Flawless as she drifted around, as closely connected to her dream as her hand was to her. Everything was blissful, everything blossoming or growing, magnificent and majestic.
Inhale. The scent of spring, of coming rain, of pollen drifting like she was. Exhale. Perfect.
Inhale. Clouds coming closer to her, or she to them. What was that in the background, that sound? Metal, grinding on metal, faint but still a roar in the girl’s ears. Exhale. How did that taint still remain? She could feel it in her lungs, a toxic, metallic residue which was inevitably destroying her.
She had to get away. Think, think! Anywhere but here! A seaside cliff, with the sound of crashing waves, scent of salt everywhere. There the taint was, drawing closer, screaming like a banshee, metallic sounds and rust flying everywhere. Inhale. Closer yet, again ripping her apart. She must jump off the cliff! Exhale. Now, or she would be wiped out by this taint.
Somehow, she fell. Was it a rock that tripped her, or a more physical bit of the gale? Inhale. Energy pulsed in the air, threatening to rip her apart or deafen her. Crawling, she found the edge, pushed and leapt, without seeing anything. Exhale. The taint was falling behind. Yes!
Inhale. Water, so close, about to make contact…
Exhale. Alive. Reality. She opened her eyes, saw nothing. Breathing harder, she felt herself crying. No, she couldn’t be crippled! No, she couldn’t go back to that taint! No, it couldn’t be manifesting itself in this reality, too! Passing out, drifting off…nothing left…

Breaking Out

It's been a while since I've written a poem, so this felt good.


Confusion around,
No peace to be found
In a darker hour
In my mind’s own pound

Now I’m breaking out
From a prison without
Any windows near.

I can change my mind,
And now I see you blind
To obvious things.

You’ve lost me this time
To my truest rhyme
I change my own mind.

A Justice (short story)

For a few moments I was hesitant about posting this. It's on the macabre side, so if you're not into this thing-I doubt I am myself, but I guess I'll write anything-don't bother reading it. It's certainly not for everyone. The justice I speak of is perhaps small, but it seems to reek of something many people call Karma. I just call it being badass.

A Justice

In an instant, the woman forgot who she was. Before she had built up the courage to open her eyes, she felt cold metal pressing against her, keeping her upright while she was presumably unconscious, and still held up now. She couldn’t help thinking about her hunger and her thirst, though she knew that more important things were right in front of her. She wished she had not bothered opening her eyes.
Harsh, artificial light shone down on the laboratory, all stone and steel and stained with blood. For being such a condemned place, it was massive. Did the owner of this place believe he would never be found? Stone tables, slightly tilted, everywhere, as though this was something from the Dark Ages. Without warning, a man who she guessed owned the laboratory stepped into her view.
The man seemed decaying, more stitched-together masses of flesh than real human. His hair was a long, stringy black that looked as though he had torn it off a witch and made a wig. His entire face was wrong, with too-high cheekbones, the nose tilted to the side, smallish eyes slanting towards the center of his face. The pupils were vertical slits, like that of a snake’s. Fear coiled up inside the woman. Somehow she knew all was lost before she looked at his hands.
“You see before you a genius, a madman, an atrocity,” he said, voice too deep and pure to come from a man as small as he was.
The woman’s eyes widened.
“Too afraid to speak, I see. But will you be too afraid to scream?”
Her eyes slammed shut as she forced the sudden bile back down her throat. When she opened her eyes a few moments later, a hand had appeared before her.
Tentacles the size of normal fingers waved incessantly, as if they had minds of their own. Occasionally, one would twitch as though struck by electrical shock, stopped for a few seconds before starting the motion again. The rest of the hand was normal, but without muscle—she could see the man’s bones through his thin layer of flesh.
“Will you amuse me?” he asked.
He raised his hand up over her head before resting it on top. Some of the tendrils dug into her skull, feeling their way into her brain. Two slid easily into her ears. She could still hear everything: her pulse, her heavy breathing, the grinding of joints as the man stepped forward.
“Play time, my little pets,” he said, voice suddenly hoarse and dry.
She could feel the tendrils inside her head, charging up with…something. A jolt. Light. Bliss. Agony. She thought she might have screamed, but the sound of electricity covered everything. Then another pulse, and all the ecstasy that tried to hide the pain was gone. Shock after shock, minutes passing before another one. Her heart thundered. What breath did she have? Then a stop, suddenly, but the tentacles were still in her head.
“Did that feel like hours had passed?” the man asked, voice deep again. “It was probably about thirty seconds.”
Pulling his fingers from her skull, he turned on his heel and began pacing and muttering to himself before moving over to a table far away from where the woman was and coming back with a small knife. He quickly took one of her arms, which she couldn’t feel, and made a cut at the end of her finger. On the other arm, she saw, was an IV tube, but she didn’t know what filled the bag.
“I have three good options,” the man mused, probably to himself. “Since you are going to bleed slowly, with nutrients coming back to you, it will take maybe three hours for you to pass out from the blood loss. Firstly, I could try to time it so that you pass out from the shock of the lightning just before the blood loss. Secondly, I could attempt to focus enough power to make lightning come out of your finger, harming as little as possible. Lastly, I could see how quickly I can overload your system.”
Gasping, the woman managed to speak. “Third one…please.”
“I will take ‘mercy’ on you and choose the third option.”
The man took his time walking back to the table to put the knife down, before coming back with a hideous grin marring his face even more. He raised both his hands and let the tendrils do the rest, easing their way back into the woman’s head. She could feel them again, locking into place in a half-dome above her brain, tips sticking into the mass itself. Small, preliminary shocks began, linking together into one massive charge. Lightning seemed to strike through her, ripping her apart, shattering her soul. Fire inside her, excruciating pain, serenaded by a darkness that devoured her whole.
Laughing, the madman turned and dug his tendrils into the side of a man’s face. No more than the scum deserved for trying to sneak up on him. With a powerful jolt, the attacker flew a few feet before his face took a journey across more of the stone floor.
“Resilient fellow. Yes, I see you getting up. I’ll fix that.” He chuckled.
Kneeling down, he put both hands into the man’s throat. The unified charge came more easily; he thought he saw lightning come out of his victim’s throat.
“Servants, take the bodies away,” he called.
“Yes, master,” the two servants said, slightly bowing and always keeping their gaze from him. Even the artificial intelligence he had created pretended to fear him. He could never have dreamed of such a good existence.
“Come out of hiding, assassin,” he said to the thin air.
From the shadows stepped a man, a dagger in each hand. Another one, looking exactly like the first, came from the opposite direction. Gradually, a small army of these men, each one looking slightly transparent, as though made from smoky glass, surrounded him.
“Would you perhaps mind showing me your real self?” he asked. “From above, I assume.”
Smiling, a more solid-looking man appeared from the darkness above a chandelier. “You found me,” he said with a shrug.
A knife carved through the madman’s heart as he was looking intently at the man on the chandelier.
“Actually,” the man with the fatal blow said, “I found you first. You assumed that none of these copies were the real one…though I doubt that you would bother to look at each one.” He pulled the heart from the chest without much trouble. “Not beating. I assumed as much, but I know it has given you power in your undeath. Power I might be able to take for myself.”
He began to walk away, turning around once more. “It will feel like hours have passed when I leave. It will have been about thirty seconds.”