Once there was a little boy named Johnny who lived in a house in the country with his daddy and mommy. One day, while Johnny was playing in the backyard with his toy trucks, one of the doors opened and a little man popped out...
That boy is dead.
But little Johnny's memories live on in the heart of a much older man. That man sits by himself in the dark and types, words flowing out from his fingers and across the glowing screen like the line from little Johnny's fishing pole. Through the old man, Johnny is still fishing, this time trying for the "big one,"- your attention.
I am the old man.
I am little Johnny.
And now, I have your attention.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Bit9-Where
Where do I belong? No one can tell me for sure, though many try. Some people have tried to point me in what they consider to be the "right" direction, but is it really right? Is there any such thing as the right direction? Or are all directions wrong?
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Tales of Augelond CH1.3
Her first reaction was not thought.
It was, mostly, an absence of all thought; Elia Uunt's brain shut down completely, trying to block future memory of her husband kneeling on the bloodstained carpet of his den with his head pressed too firmly between his hands, as though he was trying to squeeze orange juice from it. There was something dripping from it, though; but the scarlet color of the drops indicated it would have a flat, coppery taste, not the sweet citrus of the orange.
He moved forward, putting his clawed, bloody hands on the carpet and digging in with his fingernails. Dark shreds of bloody fabric gathered in his hands as the carpet tore up under all his fingers but one: that one left its bloody nail embedded deep in the wood of the floor beneath. The thing which had been Aardn Uunt, loving husband and kind father looked up at his wife and screamed, and the shock expelled the air from her lungs in a shriek of terror. His face is gone, she thought, oh my god his face is gone...
It was, at least for the most part. The gentle features that had belonged to her husband had all but melted off, leaving a dripping, bloody mass of twisted muscle and teeth. She gasped as his eyes centered on her, their once pleasant violet hues now overlaid with a sinister, rotten green glow.
The monster rose.
It was, mostly, an absence of all thought; Elia Uunt's brain shut down completely, trying to block future memory of her husband kneeling on the bloodstained carpet of his den with his head pressed too firmly between his hands, as though he was trying to squeeze orange juice from it. There was something dripping from it, though; but the scarlet color of the drops indicated it would have a flat, coppery taste, not the sweet citrus of the orange.
He moved forward, putting his clawed, bloody hands on the carpet and digging in with his fingernails. Dark shreds of bloody fabric gathered in his hands as the carpet tore up under all his fingers but one: that one left its bloody nail embedded deep in the wood of the floor beneath. The thing which had been Aardn Uunt, loving husband and kind father looked up at his wife and screamed, and the shock expelled the air from her lungs in a shriek of terror. His face is gone, she thought, oh my god his face is gone...
It was, at least for the most part. The gentle features that had belonged to her husband had all but melted off, leaving a dripping, bloody mass of twisted muscle and teeth. She gasped as his eyes centered on her, their once pleasant violet hues now overlaid with a sinister, rotten green glow.
The monster rose.
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