Creation

The Robotic Hermit

Surreal Digital Art from Rolan Gonzalez, see more of his work here!

Now sit here my love and watch, just watch. Watch as I stand apart but steady, arms wide open in invitation as our new world forms before us.

Feel the breeze across the skin of your cheek and know that I am conjuring a place so sublime you’ll shed tears for me once more. Listen to the sounds of a Universe all our own gasping into existence. Smell the new grass beneath and the fresh leaves above and know that never again will we be denied. Taste the clear waters that clash around us, that flow and bend and rain.

This place, this bright open space where no single man is yet King, is mine to mold and yours to protect. For we are done with smite and folly, done with jealousy and malice. We rise higher…

View original post 22 more words

The Dark Room

Nobody Behind the Door by Nicolas Gouny

You know exactly what they look like; black and shimmering, with big long jaws full of bright white teeth. They stretch their arms out, but never come closer than you allow them to.

You stand there and wait, using the light beyond the door to study every shiny scale. They growl and sniff and howl, restless in the dim.

You think they’re the reason you’re still here, that you can’t leave until they are gone. They know better.

The Woodland

A Ceepy Forest by tsonline, click-through for full size!

There’s something about the mist that swirls at your feet. It slows you down, makes you feel heavier than you should. The torch in your hand sends a bright beam out ahead of you, but it’s a narrow field of view. With every creek and crack of movement it shakes and stutters, flashing from one line of trees to the next.

But it isn’t the dark or the noise that’s making your stomach twist.

It’s the smell.

There is no breeze, no wind to offer relief from the dank, lingering stench. It’s tangy and old and rotting, like vinegar left out too long in the heat. Putting a sleeve over your face makes little difference – it’s sunk into your clothes and hair and skin.

You try to ignore the muffled groaning at first. Focusing ahead and pushing through the grey, you pretend it’s all in your head. But the light drifts up of its own accord, as though your hand has made a decision of its own. And now you have to look.

It’s not a face you recognise. The tree has taken whoever it was. Sunk its branches into the skin and creeped along until there’s barely any flesh at all. Thank god for the night, the dim and the shadows that save you from seeing the extent of the infection. You stare and try to make out the words cracked lips are trying to form, but you feel as though you could remain there forever and never understand.

It’s the tear streaked, blinking eyes that finally breach the confusion. You follow their gaze, tilting your head to look down, but it’s already far too late. The roots that have circled gently around your ankles are already half way up your calf.

You don’t remember coming here, and you find your fingers shake as you switch off the torch. You drop it to the ground, can hardly make it out as it rolls away. There are thin vines at your waist now.

You don’t struggle.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Bit of an experiment with the dreaded second person present tense there, but since the Weekly Photo challenge over at the Daily Post is Creepy, I figured it was appropriate. Make sure you check out the artists work! :)

Arrival

Late for the Train by alexiuss (for Romantically Apocalyptic)

They arrived at a brightly lit, mismatched station. Millie ignored the hushed whimpering of her fellow passengers as the train came to a stop. She clambered up onto one of the seats to get a better look. She pressed her hands against the window.

Tall brick columns stretched up into nowhere, as though at some point there had been a ceiling to hold up. There wasn’t one now, and if Millie tilted her head back far enough she could see the gloomy sky above. The platform they had come to a halt in front of was one of many, cut into several rows, with different tracks running between them. Rusted pipelines, some glowing hot, snaked along the outline of the station, spewing steam into the open air…

Hope everyone had a lovely Sunday! As per, a new chapter of Underground is up over on JukePop Serials, you should totally go read it and let me know what you think. :D

Carriages

The train eased into the station on silent tracks and Aidan looked up to watch the doors slide open. A crowd had gathered along the length of the platform, their silent figures bent solemn against the shadows. They made no move to board, but there was no great hurry.

Above them, suspended by twisting metal was a clock with only one hand. Aidan watched it tick slowly round and wondered, certainly not for the first time, when it had come into being. Perhaps it had always been there, and he’d simply neglected to look at it. Or maybe enough people had come through believing that the station should have one, that the clock had barged into existence the same way the train had after the rivers had run dry…

Hi everyone! Here’s a post to let you know the third chapter of Underground is up over on JukePop and you can read it by clicking here! Yay!

White Spaces

Click through to read the story over on JukePop!

The bus was a green line RCL model routemaster, beautifully preserved. The seats were clean and comfortable, the patterns on the fabric the bright and nauseating sort you tended to find on public transport. It looked as though no one had ever sat on them. The metal bars on the backs were polished to a shine and free of fingerprints. Were it not for the lingering whiff of old tobacco in the air, you’d have thought the bus fresh off the production line…

Well, the lovely team over at JukePop Serials accepted my submission, so the first chapter of Underground is now live for you to read! If you fancy a little more dark fantasy in your life, please check it out and let me know what you think. And if you have an account over there already, voting and commenting would be fantastic too!

For those who have read my previous post, you know that Millie’s story has been ten years in the making and I’m really excited about finally sharing it with you all. And also terrified. Maybe a little coffee addled…

I should probably go lie down.

Ten Years in the Making

As any well weathered traveler will tell you, it’s usually best to abide by the rules of the places you find yourself in. But when the first rule is that no one living should be there, abandoning all hope may be the least of your concerns.

When eleven year old Millie finds herself stepping through the dark and onto a strange-looking train, there’s not an awful lot she can do. Without her parents and the comfort of familiar surroundings, Millie is left to ask strangers for help. But the other passengers are silent and sorrowful, looking anywhere but at her – and they won’t tell her the name of the next stop…

It’s hard to believe really, but this novel (my first, completed, honest to god finished novel) has taken me over a decade to write. It started life as short story in my first semester at university and by the end of the term I was pretty damn sure the bloody thing was cursed.