Unbridled, righteous rage throbbed visibly in the bulging vein on Mr. Edison’s temple. One hand clenched the paper as he read it aloud. Continue reading
Not to fall in love:
The hardest thing he has done
in quite a long time.
The tome was ancient, the vellum yellowed and brittle, and she was barely able to decipher the scrawly handwriting. This was no luxurious folio like the others she had found in that forgotten Andalusian monastery; no, this was just the notebook of a monk, and perhaps it was mankind’s greatest treasure. Continue reading
This was originally inspired by Chuck Wendig’s slasher-prompt. But as I’m absolutely, completely illiterate when it comes to horror and its subgenres (and also have zero aspirations to change this pitiable condition), it didn’t turn out as slasher (I only know the Wikipedia definition anyway). Perhaps… splatter? Dunno. Don’t wanna. It’s pretty bloody, though.
So, for what it’s worth: warning for 1000 words of violence.
He has the vial ready as he opens the vein with the tip of his finger. It’s pretty, blue on the paleness of the wrist. No waste. No waste! The liquid is slippery and less fluid than he thought. Certainly less fluid than his oil. For good measure, he opens the little valve at his elbow and catches the drop that oozes out. Continue reading
Seems I’ve been in a quite petulant mood recently.
His friends welcomed him with open arms and a bottle of beer when he joined them in their favourite pub, the evening he discovered his wife and his son had left him. He slept well that night, deep and dreamless and alone, and next morning, the sharp sting in his chest when he became aware of the emptiness beside him hurt only a little worse than the hangover pain in his head. Continue reading