Modern Alighieri @modernalighieri - Tumblr Blog

Treading Water

I am swimming, in a vast lake under a starlit sky, Alone in the water with no hope for shore, The darkness below pulls at my body, A weighted blanket of familiar sorrows, I kick and thrash in the water, but slowly start to sink, ‘twas then I saw you, a buoy to which I could cling, a pale light shining in the darkness, A meaningful being, I’ve never been good at relationships, I cheated, I hurt people, I was a real prick, And you were no exception, You tried your best to love me, to help me, to save me, My buoy in the dark, I fear that now I am beyond saving, I can only swim so long, I feel the darkness calling me home, What reason have I to deny it, I broke apart the buoy and now all I can do is swim, until my arms give out, until my legs give out, until my heart gives out... What happens then?

#autowriting

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The Dust

A room. Dark, and dusty, with a concrete floor. The only visible thing being a beam of light cast down at an angle into a dismal rust-colored spot on the dusty floor. The light shines down on the hazy green jacket of a boy. His body curled and alone on the dreary reddish spot. Dust has settled all over his body. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. He simply exists in this empty, dark room.

My eyes blink, they open to see a haze I’ve green covered in a light obscurity of powdery dust. I breathe in for the first time. My lungs fill with the dingy particles and I cough. Dust leaves my body like bats from a cave after dark. Flying forth in every direction into the darkness. I try to move. My body resists my brain. My muscles weak and atrophied. How long have I been here? I push my body off of the ground and leave my legs to the side of me. The dust leaving a permanent shadow of where I slept for so long.

The boy peers out into the darkness, scanning his surroundings for anything. Only then does he try to move his legs. A tattered cloth holds his ankles together preventing him from moving far. He strains at the cloth as he sits in the dust. But he is too weak. His body cannot break his restraints. The knot is far too tight for his frail hands. He has no choice but to seek help. Perhaps he will find a tool or an implement to free him in the darkness. But can he stomach the idea of leaving the light?

If I could just stand then maybe there would be a wall around here. I place my feet underneath me and force my legs to hold my weight. Slowly, shakily I attempt to stand. The dust dries my mouth as I land on the floor. My legs being the only visible thing to me now I look down. Let’s try again. It’s just like riding a bike right? I drag my body back into the light and rest on my knees. “Now stand” I think as my legs strain and muscles ache. After a moment I am on my own two feet. As I stand erect I feel a sharp pain on the back of my head. The clanging of metal on metal is heard above me.

The boy fell down again. His body hitting the cold concrete he stands more cautiously now and reaches above his head. Feeling the foreign object just outside of the warm light. It appears to be some kind of hook hanging just above him. As he feels the hook he touches something soft against the heavy, cold metal. He pulls his hands down to examine it. A simple scrap of cloth. It matches the one around his ankles. This clearly worried the boy but he has more important items on his agenda. It’s time to head into the darkness.

I reach my hand out into the abyss beyond my shadow. Feeling nothing in all directions. There must be something though. I sigh letting more dust leave my lungs. I think to myself “How would I even move?” I reach into my pockets to see if I have anything… The first one has a piece of fabric. The second, empty. I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket and feel something. It’s small and square. Perhaps some kind of paper. But what’s this rigid part? It popped apart. I pull it into the light. A small half used book of matches with a worn down striking pad. Interesting, but why do I have these? I pull my hand from my other pocket to reveal a safety pin and a plastic card. the card has markings and designs across it with a singular line of embossed markings. The back is white with another set of markings and a black line that runs the length of the card. Peculiar, I don’t know what this is but it appears to have some form of written language on it.

The boy puts the bank card back in his pocket and opens the safety pin. He sits and begins to poke perferation holes in the rag. That should make it much easier to tear if he can make it in time. That’s when he hears it. Something sliding across the floor in the dark. The boy freezes momentarily. Listening for the sound. Silence is all that greets him. He moves quicker trying to tear himself free. The slithering starts again. This time the boy works faster and harder. The sound of tearing fabric overlaps the dragging noise and stops.

The boy is gone. The sound is gone. The dust is all that remains.

#modernalighieri #creative #writing #author #story #art #artist #artists on tumblr #short story

Stress Dreams

Last night I was plagued by several different stress dreams. These are the two I remember.

The Hospital Doppelganger

She lay in a raised bed, unconscious. Her labored breathing offsetting the fuzzy sound of the heart rate monitor attached to her, softly beeping in slow and steady increments. I stand there terrified. My breathing as shaky and unsteady as hers. Nurses and doctors use delicately complex terminology to try and soften the conveyance of a simple message. My sister was dying. They ask if I understand them and I nod though I wasn’t listening to them to begin with. As they clear the room I stand there staring. Watching her breathing through a mask on her face. As hard as I try, I can’t remember her smiling face. Every memory of her is this moment. I relive it in my mind over and over again as I watch the condensation form through the clear plastic. My vision pans to another unconscious body on the floor. My brother has been here since day one. Wrapped in a jacket he sleeps at her bedside uncomfortably. I, having only arrived, feel ashamed upon seeing him lay there. I think to myself that it should be me. I should be the one there, ragged and sick with worry, fatigued to the point of exhaustion. I can’t be though, I never could really be there. I hear then a change in the fuzzy beeping in my skull. The monitor is slowing down. The fear controlling my unwavering body prevents me from speaking. Instead I reach for the only nurse left in the room, gently pulling at her sleeve. As we touch the machine sighs a staunch, singular, all too familiar tone. The nurse moves quickly around me as the room seems to elongate, my eyes realizing what my brain knew all along. As she pulls the paddles off of the defibrillator my vision grows fuzzy. I hear unfamiliar voices and above all the whine of the defib-unit as it charges with electricity. I’m pulled back into the horrid reality as the gelled paddles touch my sister’s naked chest causing her body to seize momentarily. A sea of bodies move around the room frantically leaving me a ghost in a room of the living. Again I’m brought back to life as they charge her body. It flails unnaturally when the electricity surges through. Unable to watch any longer I turn away and close my eyes. I know it’s over but they keep trying. The sound of the third charge invokes the memory of her lifeless body seizing again. From this torment there truly is no escape. In my unfocused panic I hear a nurse call to a doctor from the floor, I turn around fully to see the source. My brother, in a pool of his own drool. The commotion grows louder and more people move around me. It feels as if I no longer exist in this room. Their words echo in my brain. “not breathing” “no-pulse” “overdosing” As the professionals move around me my attention is drawn upward from the glassy, unblinking eyes of my sibling. A lone human figure leans against a bed across the room. One leg crossed over the other, the figure looks completely nonchalant in its observation of the chaos in the room. For a moment I don’t recognize them but quickly it becomes all too clear. I am staring at myself. his face is twisted up in a horrid, mocking sneer. I reach up and touch my face to find it twisted in a similar fashion. Is he mocking me? Mocking me for being traumatized! An anger grows in me like a cinder. I walk toward him, the devil wearing my skin. A I approach him the others around us fade into my peripheral vision. Focusing solely on one thing, the evil grin he bears. Watching his mouth move I cant hear him speak but I see in his eyes he mocks me. The cinder now a roaring flame I lash out at him! Hurling a balled fist aimed straight for his jaw. He catches it. He catches the anger in me and holds it still, laughing as I am powerless to pull away. “It’s your fault.” he whispers. I see his mouth moving but the words resonate in the back of my brain. The flame still hot within me I strike a second time with my free hand! Again he catches me, cackling like the flames inside me. Why does he mock me! Why does this monster torment my soul. His eyes reflect the hell burning within my own. I hate it. I hate him! I want to smash the mirrors he so eagerly focuses upon me! Reeling back I smash my forehead into his. He laughs at my misery. “You did this” I pull back again feeling a hot sensation bubbling up from my last assault. The flames have become a raging torrent of vengeful lust. I force my skull harder into his, leaving a spatter of my own blood on his undamaged skull. My head reverberates off of his as if he were stone. The maniacal laughter only in volume as I grow disoriented. I won’t let this horror win. I can’t let it win! I pull back my head one final time. A thin trail of blood leaks down my brow and into my eye as I jerk forward screaming incoherently. Our skulls connect and the form before me shatters to pieces. Only after the demon had been slain had I realized I was falling out of the hospital window...

Drifting into Uncertainty

It was a warm sunny day as I looked over the dashboard of the large truck my father drove. The sun backed into the leather lining and the air felt calm. My two brothers and I were his passengers that day and we were following a familiar road returning to my childhood home. I was sat in the middle and my youngest brother between us, me and the next in line that is. I remember the good feelings this brought back as we cruised toward our destination. It had to have been summertime. judging by the smell in the air that vented in through the air-conditioning of the vehicle. Everyone was happy and calm. Ahead of us a smaller car decided to make a daring move and drift in a ninety-degree arc instead of slowing down to turn. The squealing tires left drag marks across the road as the driver completed his turn. The car was silent for a moment as we thought we had witnessed an accident. Almost all of us that is, except for my father. He turned to look at us, then looked at the intersection ahead. It appeared that the reckless driver had inspired him in some way. A quick jerk of the wheel caused our vehicle to turn sharply. The gravity pulling us hard to the right. The truck did not slide as my father had envisioned but instead maintained its traction for a moment too long. We were soon over the curb and off the road. Once the tires hit the grass the vehicle started to turn. Narrowly missing the sign placed there to mark the intersection, we continued to spin out of control. I turned my head to see our unintended destination, the driver-side of a truck of roughly the same size as ours parked in a driveway. I placed an arm over my youngest sibling as our vehicles collided. The force rattled my skull and body, causing out vehicle to slide in the opposite direction and half-way into the road. The other truck was forced apart from us into the closed garage of its owner damaging the door as well as the structure itself. A profusion of twisted metal and shattered glass left between the two vehicles all but ensured the failure of the intended maneuver. It took me a moment to realize what had actually happened. After examining each other for injury, we stepped out of the working driver-side door. I pulled myself out of the truck into the summer sun before being shaded by the figure of my father. He instructed us to remain silent as he did all of the speaking. With that I walked across the street and sat down, my head still pounding. I watched as my father and two brothers approached the door to the damaged house and knocked. after a moment I surveyed the wreckage again. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted someone. An older man in work clothes with earmuffs on. He appeared to be doing yard work and missed the entire thing. As quickly as I noticed this I also noticed my father walking around the building to look for the owner. They found their way to each other and began speaking. It was then that I decided that I should probably go over and hear what was said. As I approached I head my father spinning a beautiful lie about who he was and why we were there. I also saw the old man’s unimpressed face. My father was trying to convince this man that he worked for a local towing company and was here to remove the vehicle and return it to a police impound lot for evidence. He told him that he knew nothing more than the man did about the accident and that he had brought his sons with him because he was called in to perform this off duty. It all sounded very convincing to any five-year-old but the more my father spoke the more I watched as the old man gritted is teeth and gripped the rake he was leaning on tighter. But still, the old man allowed it and as my father finished his tale the old man agreed and let him load my brothers into the vehicle to be driven off. I took this moment to slip away and follow the man into his garage. Naturally he was sweeping away the debris when I caught his attention. “Excuse me.” I started, “I want to apologize for my father.” The man looked at me with intrigue and allowed me to continue. “You see, I was the one driving the truck.” I lied “My father was trying to backseat drive and convinced me I was gonna miss my turn. I panicked and before I new it I was spinning in the grass. There was no stopping the truck.” The mans expression softened as he escorted me to the door. “I have my information if you want it.” I said but the old man simply closed the door behind me and that was the last of it. When I looked for the truck it was gone. My father had left without me. I sighed to myself. Why did I lie to that old man? Why protect my father? Why not let him get in trouble as he rightfully deserved? I pondered these questions to myself as I walked home, my hands in my pockets and the warm summer sun on my face.

#modernalighieri #writing #creative writing #story #dream #stress #art #author #artist #artists on tumblr #car crash #hospital #suicide #death #lying #heart monitor #dark theme

Holding On

Soft rock plays on a spinning record sat atop a milk crate on the western wall of the dusty room. A small bookshelf stands behind it in the corner. It's contents loosely organized and tossed around as if someone was looking for something but couldn't find it. The singular window has its venitian style blinds drawn along the southern wall. Blocking out the sun. Tiny rays poke through the lattices like pinholes, revealing the mixture of dust particles and smoke that fills the air. Two old mattresses imperfectly stacked upon each other decorate the southeast corner's floor. While posters for some artist or another crook along the pseudo-wooden walls. The mattresses are covered only partially by a thin blanket that falls down onto the musty brown carpet in the center of the room. Partially covering old record sleeves that are scattered along the southern part of the floor. The blanket partially covers a pair of black denim jeans. The jeans are long and slender reaching almost all the way across the room to the milk crate where one of the legs end in a black-socked foot. The other leg is bent and folded underneath the first leg's knee. The pants waist remains unbuttoned and a black leather belt lay open attached to it. The boy's stomach is exposed revealing a small amount of scraggly hair. His dingy, white, short-sleeved, V-neck has been pulled up. Out of the sleeves his arms spill. One lazily folds over his stomach and the other laid out over the blanket and the record sleeves. In that hand he holds a jet black cigarette that should have been ashed a while ago. His neck tilted as his head lays back on the chest of his companion. A dingy shadow of hair runs the length of his jaw and chin. His mid-length black hair spreads apart like an ocean parting on the rock that is his pointed nose, exposing his closed eyes and lazy smile. His companion, poised upward against the mattresses, is by comparison a shining light in this old dank room. Her long straight hair a pure white as if it was formed from the same smooth porcelain as her skin. Her eyes shine even in the dreariness of the room. She wears a white denim half jacket with a black tank. Her hand gently plays with the hairs on the boys stomach. The other placed lovingly over his chest. Curled under the boy are her legs covered by skin tight black denim ending in soft bare feet. Her head resting atop his. The smoke from the cigarette wafts up into the ceiling where it creates a thin layer above the dust. The boy takes a long drag and let's the ashes fall to the floor. His eyes remain closed as the record spins. He wants so desperately for this moment to last forever. He clings to every note of the song, the smell of burning clove, the feeling on his stomach and the warmth of her body against his. He could tell her right now that he loves her. But doing so would, in his mind, move time forward. So he enjoys the messy room, and the spinning of the record. The gentle scratching and the rise and fall of her chest. He enjoys the hazy feeling and the hazy air. He enjoys this moment for an eternity. The record stops spinning...

#writing #creative #love #romance #author

sacrasinistram

MASQUERADE

All of these spirits, My circle of souls, And yet I feel empty inside.

A hollowed out shell, Filled with nothing but air, And my bones feel heavy despite.

Surrounded by friends, In elegant masks, Their faces they always must hide.

Pretending to be, Sombody they’re not, The mask is their only respite.

My mask is so fragile, And itchy to wear, I want to expose my true self.

In this I’m alone, Nobody would try, And I would be left exposed.

I want it to be real, My friends to be true, their masks they could never shelf.

An now I feel hollow, Surrounds my souls, When I reach out they only riposte.

So I keep searching, For someone like me, So I dont feel so empty inside…

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I Saw an Angel Today

Today I saw an Angel, and this time much like the last. I longed to touch it’s silky wings.

Today I fought my inner self, the battle was a draw. I’ve scorched all of my insides.

Today I stop my feelings, I want to stop the fear, My heart, the angel brings.

I saw the angel once again, A glowing naked form, Warm, soft, love abides.

As I explore the light I crawl deeper in the dark So cold I’m shaking

My heart is racing But it’s not good Or is that what I tell myself.

RUN RUN AWAY LEAVE STOP

YOU HAVE NO CONTROL YOU ARE NOTHING YOU ARE WEAK YOU DON’T DESERVE AN ANGEL YOU DON’T DESERVE YOURSELF KILL YOURSELFKILLYOURSELFKILLYOYRSELFKILLYOURSELFKILLYOURSELFKILLYOURSELFKILLYOURSELF…

im scared

Today I saw an angel, again, and I am scared of her… because… of… me…

Notes from the author: Hello everyone, sorry for the break in form but I started writing this about myself and had an anxiety attack during this exercise. The piece lost all structure and became sort of a stream of consciousness. Figured I’d keep it so that I could show you who I am.

P.S. I also typed this on my phone so pardon any issues that may arise from this.

sacrasinistram

Demon Days - Intro

01 - Intro Fade in scene to a darkened, cloudy, sky. Rain pours down and a flash of lightning illuminates the underside of the low-hanging clouds. Another flash of lightning refocuses the scene to a city street, rain falls down onto the cobblestone road and a lone streetlight illuminates the left side of the path. Lightning flashes again to reveal a shadowy silhouette in a trench-coat standing below the light. The man is ominous and wears a fedora. Another flash splashes the scene with white eyes and a crooked smile that remains momentarily as it fades to show another silhouette standing below it. The two figures appear almost identical save for the hands that are now shaking. One hand is thick and bulky, and the other, slender and sharp, with untrimmed nails and swollen joints. The camera pans up to the sky as the strangers shake hands and the rain falls upon them. They laugh menacingly as the camera fades out.

sacrasinistram

Death's Door

Challenge: Free-write until inspiration leaves you.

Rules: None

Only now, at the end do I realize that nobody will come with me. No wife, kids, friends, or money will follow me through this door. I step forward toward the large wooden door. The door appears to be in pristine condition. Very well taken care of from the hand carved frame to the soft black finish. There is no paint on this door, perhaps its made of Ebony or Blackwood. The door feels smooth and cold against my hand. As I touch its surface the hair on my neck stands on end and a shiver runs down my spine. “It’s going to be cold. I wish I’d have worn my jacket.” That was the first time I’d acknowledged my guide; though I’d been seeing him for weeks now. I’m unsure if it’s a “he” or not but it seems fitting. As I make my comment, I turn to face him; again for the first time. He stands tall, taller than any man, and thin. He was unnaturally thin for his height…

sacrasinistram

The Storm pt 1

Challenge: Write a short story about a given character.

Rules: Must be at least one paragraph.

Character: A nurturing 66 year-old man, who comes from a comfortable background, lives in an eco-friendly home and tends to lose track of time.

As he bean to rouse himself from his slumber Taylor realized that he was no longer in his warm bed. “Where have I run off to this time.” He wondered to himself as he sat up on the cold concrete floor. Though he could see no walls to the room, due to the combination of thick hazy dust and a lack of windows, he felt assured that he was in the basement. Taylor began to search his person trying to find any clues as to the events of last night. He started with his pockets, reaching into their mysterious depths he found only lint and cloth. It was only after he pulled his hands out of his pockets that he realized what he had in them all along. A thick lock of blonde hair was crumpled in his hand.

Taylor knew that it was not his hair, he was a brunette. No this hair was all but alien to him. The light dangled and swayed above him as he tried to see beyond it, no luck. With a heavy sigh Taylor forced himself to his feet, dust rolled off of him as he did this forcing out a light cough. “How long was I here?”

His once pale hand, now soiled by a powdery tan dust, was the first to penetrate the darkness as he stepped through the boundary cast by the light and into the void of black. The first thing he found was a cold metal door with a vertical handle. The refrigerator was a welcome entity, it meant that this was indeed Taylor’s basement. He opened it to search for some cool liquid to calm his nerves. The light didn’t come on, so he probed the reaches for a container, still no luck. Unfortunately he had set up his basement electricity on a separate circuit than the rest of his home. The fridge was hooked into the testing outlet, used mainly to determine if the rest of the house was destroyed by a natural disaster.

He quickly found the door and played with the light switch in vein. He knew the auxiliary power was the only thing keeping the light on. He finally decided to open the do- “Damn this lock” He finally decided to open the door. It was beautiful. The sunlight cascaded down on him with a gloriously incandescent warmth. It put Taylor at ease as he nearly floated up the stairs into his kitchen. It was dusk when he arrived on the first floor. This realization made Taylor uneasy, it meant that there wasn’t much light left in the day and he needed to have power for the evening. Dread filled him as he hurried up the stairs and into his bedroom. He checked the readout display for his solar panels, they sat firmly at zero. Another wave of terror hit Taylor as he started to realize that it had been much more than one night. He had batteries that stored enough electricity to last for a week and now those were empty.

“The girl!” Taylor doubled over in pain as he remembered that there was a girl with him before he passed out. The pain in his head was so intense that he vomited. While regaining his bearings he knocked a picture off of his nightstand. He looked down to be greeted by Maya’s beautiful smile. It brought him back to a simpler time, before he needed to worry about the storm. A time before the lights went out, and the dust ate the planet. When he had her and his land and his money. Her beautiful smile was complimented by a soft form. Her face was framed by her gorgeous blonde hair, it smelled of fresh strawberries. and her skin was as smooth as freshly spun Chinese silk. The world before was a memory, and a memory it would stay.

Taylor’s reminiscing was cut short by a loud bang. He was startled to the point of death before he realized that the sun was casting its final beams. He ran to close the iron shades, finding one badly damaged and hanging from its tracks. He hadn’t the time to repair it, instead he sealed off the room making his entryway inaccessible. The storm had already begun, it picked up dirt and tossed it through the air strong enough to hurt as it splashed in Taylor’s face.

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sacrasinistram

The Moon was a Witness

Challenge: Write a short story centered around the title provided.

Rules: Must be at least one paragraph.

Title: The Moon was a Witness

She was so meticulous in her methods. So confident in her planning. On the night of Tuesday, June 24, 2014, Adam Hughes would simply disappear. She knew his allergies, his daily routine, and (seeing as she was his maid) when he was alone. He arrived at home at precisely 8:23pm and by 10:13 he was dead. She never actually witnessed him fall, she made sure that she was “out of town that” night. Checking into a hotel far away from the former man. This required an accomplice you see, somebody else who hated him just as much as she had. His wife was more than willing. After she heard the crash, Claire entered the room. She cleaned up the mess and had him placed into the trunk of her car. driving out into the middle of the Mohave. She found the spot she had marked and she began to dig. As she formed the hole she began to contemplate her plan. Was it really so perfect? Was it this easy? Was this the right answer?

Claire’s resolve began to crack as a tear formed in her eye. For the first time since she had decided to go through with it, Claire felt remorse. It’s true that she had hated him. She had even wanted him to die. But was killing him the appropriate response? Her internal guilt began to fester as the tear had welled to the point of bursting. She wiped away the tear before it had time to fall. At the bottom of her hole, on her knees, Claire wept. She cried for what seemed like hours. When she finally opened her eyes the sun washed over her in a warm wave of emotion.

Claire’s heart stood cold as she heard the first step at the top of her hole. The silhouette of a man blocked out the sun. Day had turned to night and every bone in her body begged her not to. But Claire was compelled, she turned to face the entity. It was Adam. The horror streaked across Claire’s face as Adam stood over her. His blank expression took her voice and their eyes met like two trains. The moment was broken as a shower of dirt fell on Claire’s pale face. She tried to scream but could only gasp. The dirt poured into the hole at an unnatural rate and Claire was paralyzed with fear. Her breathing became rapid as Adam turned away. She tried to fight but her arms had been pinned. As the last of the dirt filled the hole Claire cried out. The last thing she saw, was the moon. Outstretched before her the porcelain globe was mocking her. The marble floated so freely, unbound by the laws of man. Unbound by her guilt. If only she could see him again. She would talk to him, she would get the help she needed. The light finally diminished and Claire screamed.

When she awoke, Claire was still at the bottom of the hole. The sun had just started to rise and Claire, rolled around in her head the toughest decision she’d ever have to make. Ultimately, she decided that I no longer matted what she chose. The guilt would haunt her forever. She patted the loose dirt with the head of the shovel, drove over it a few times to pack it down, and drove off toward the house. To this day, the body of Adam Hughes remains un-found.

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•18+ Adults Only

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sacrasinistram

The Empty Mirror

Challenge: Write a short centered around the title provided.

Rules: Must be at least one paragraph.

Title: The Empty Mirror

You were always so perceptive. Almost too perceptive. Catching me out of the corner of your eye. Running down the long, dark hallway that I had prepared just for you. Every time you slammed the door, it was in my face. You never knew why you ran. Why you felt that fear when the hairs on your neck stood on end. Every time I got close you’d jump out of the bathwater. You saw me there, staring down at your naked body, about to wrap my hands around your neck. As soon as you’d sit up I’d be gone of course. Wouldn’t want you to see my face. You’d be washing your hands in a public restroom, look up, and there I am. Startled you’d turn around, I’m gone again. Looking back you’d realize that, this time, it was just an empty mirror.

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sacrasinistram

The 24th Floor Angel

Challenge: Write a short story using the given phrase as the first line.

Rules: Must be at least one paragraph long.

Sentence: As he fell, he waited for

As he fell, he waited for it. That final moment before he hit the ground. Ross was positive that it would work this time. He knew the missing component now. It was instinct. The reason he could do it before was based solely upon instinct. They called him crazy, said he imagined it. But the way he had saved Jacqueline was not by sheer luck, or even acute stress response. He knew how he’d saved her. He flew. Ross Thompson was capable of flight! It all made sense. He faced the ground confidently now as he sailed downward. The onlookers gasped in horror, letting out shrieks of terror, and some blatantly refusing to watch. The ground was coming up quickly now. Ross’ heart began to race. Why wasn’t it working yet. He thought as a sliver of doubt began to infect his mind. “It’s not working at all!” Paralyzed with fear Ross now fell out of control toward the ground. He started to scream as he desperately attempted swim back up. The onlookers cries blurred with the sound of the passing air as the ground closed in.

As they zipped the black bag over his twisted face the paramedic sighed. “This guy got a name?” he asked half not expecting an answer. He was immediately greeted with a soft, sad voice. “Ross, Ross Thompson was his name.” the woman replied with tears in her large hazel eyes. “And who might you be?” The paramedic replied probing to see if this woman belonged on the same side of the yellow tape as him. “Jacqueline, I was, well wanted to be, close to him…” With that she started crying. “I shouldn’t have let him go today! I knew he- I knew he wasn’t okay after the fire!” Her tears started rolling off of her face and onto the pavement, mixing with the blood that had dripped from his bag. “He just kept saying that he could do it. That he could be with the birds! He wouldn’t listen to reason!” The paramedic placed his hand on her shoulder. “Oh honey, don’t worry.” he said. “A hundred and ten people saw a man fall today. But, counting you, two saw one fly.”

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sacrasinistram

Year 105

Challenge: Write a back-story / Character Description for the given name.

Rules: Must be alt least 1 paragraph.

Name: Lucas Rogers

Lucas Rogers was an ordinary man, in an ordinary, city, on an ordinary planet, in an ordinary universe in the ordinary year of two-thousand, one-hundred, and twenty. He worked an ordinary job, in an ordinary office, with ordinary people. Lucas was happy. You see, to Lucas, this was the only life he’d ever known. You’re born, your career is chosen, you’re trained for that career until age sixteen, and you perform the duties of said career until eventually, you die. It was true that Lucas didn’t particularly enjoy his work, however; he hadn’t the foggiest idea of the world before his time. The only history that Lucas had ever known was the story of Vera-globe the one and only company on the entire planet. He had never even considered that there was a time before Vera-globe. To Lucas, and to everyone else, it was only the year one-hundred and five.

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sacrasinistram

Dinner Date

Challenge: Write a short story using the provided words.

Rules: You MUST use the first word in the first sentence and you MUST use all the words provided.

Words: Glasses, Beg, Petite, Cheese, Berate, Bitter, Hamburger, Mobilize

Her glasses fogged as she took another sip of her hot coffee. “I beg of you, don’t do this Jack.” Her lips pursed as the bitter black sludge oozed down her throat. Rather beautiful Sally’s petite figure was very contrast to her personality. She had decided to berate me with her last few words and I had decided to tune her out. Taking the last bite of the hamburger I had ordered, really savoring the taste of the signature cheese. I politely wiped my mouth and placed the napkin face up on the table. It was only after I reached the door that I heard her begin to sob. The message I had left on the oil stained paper read “Tonight we mobilize.”

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sacrasinistram

Last Sight

It was in that one fleeting moment, He saw color. He saw the world for what it truly was, and it was beautiful. He looked and he saw greens, and reds, and blues. The moment hung for decades in his mind as he absorbed a new, otherwise unseen spectrum of color. It was the strangest thing, because as the moment began to pass he could have sworn that he saw himself, looking back down at him. The outcome was bleak, but he looked happy, he had made peace with himself. He knew that now was not a time for fear, or sorrow. It was time to rejoice, a time of hope. As quickly as the moment arrived it had passed. The bus screeched to a halt, a mortified crowd looking on as a twisted and mangled body left a trail of red water streaked across the asphalt…

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sacrasinistram

The Iron Man

I am the iron man, My skin is peeling paint, The stress is pulling at my seams, A writhing pool of hands, I descend to darkness, My heart a stillborn child. My ankles drag like weighted chains, My muscles overused bands, My shoulders rusted iron, My hand is crumbled stone, My face is sealed by pins and grout, The bones are copper strands, Though I appear frozen, From an outside view, The pain I feel is kept inside, My resolve forever stands, Your child is ugly, You built to stand the test, You look at me so woefully, I am the iron man.

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