Their Dance

They were twenty years old again.  Holding each other in their arms, they dance like they were the last two people on Earth.  Slowly they turned in the autumn night and smiled at each other and exchanged a couple of laughs.  The Eagles – “Love Will Keep Us Alive” plays in the background.  A kiss from Him reminds Her of His eternal love.  She sheds a quick tear as she recalls the days they spent together on The Lake.  Forty years seems to pass so quickly when are in love.  Now a prime 50 something, but still as spry as ever as He spins Her around and catcher Her with his other arm.  The music comes to a slow stop as the instruments die out.

“I love you,” She says.

“And I love you,” He pauses and puts his forehead to Hers. “Now and forever.”

Swallowed Day – Part Three: The Far East

Tokyo, Japan

The roads lay to waste. Cars lined the roads as if shaken and thrown across a scraps table. Sirens filled the narrow roads and echoed up through the skyscrapers. The last ray of light dips over the horizon.

A street light flashes green to the dead traffic that it once directed. Still the streets remain empty and lifeless. Suddenly a man emerges from the American Embassy. He rubs his eyes in disbelief. The once bustling streets of Tokyo, Japan have been reduced to a graveyard, but yet not one body remains to be seen.

The man pulls his blakc jacket shut and flips up the hood. Inspecting the area the main see’s holes in many of the windows and vehicles as if the bodies had been forced from them.

“Hello!!” There is no response.

He gasps for airs in a panic. He turns, looking for anything or anyone, stubbling through the rubble. A look of mystery and fear crosses his face. The look that can only be given when every last person in Tokyo has vanished. A slight brezze fills the air and the man calls out again.

“HELLO!” Nothing, “What the hell is going on here?”

The wind picks up and stis the debris. He ducks and covers for a nearby record shop, the door is locked. He scans the area quickly and spots an enclosed bus stop. The wind whips past his face, road signs and sheet metal soar through the air. He kneels down and takes shelter in the corner . The wind picks up more dragging cars through the streets. The tires screech across the pavement. Street lamps and poles tear themselves away from the road creatinga shower of sparks and leaving darkness in it’s wake. A car drags across teh road violently. The man looks up to see the car screeching towards him.

“No, no, no.” He gets up and moves towards the opposite end of the bus-stop anticipating the car stopping at the curb. Once more the wind picks up forcing the car up and over the curbside. The high wind pulls the car up into the air and heaving it through the air ripping off the top of the small bus stop. The man throws himself face down onto the ground with his hands over his head.

“Jesus Christ!”

Without warning the wind stops. The man slowly emerges onto the street and lifts himself to his feet. He can hear whispers in the distance.

“Is anyone out there?” He puts his ear to the air.

“Now…” a voice says softly. A loud rumble sounds in the distance and a shockwave throws teh man to the ground followed by a plumb of smoke.

The man coughs while struggling to his feet, pulls his hook back up and looks through the settling smoke.

“…we are everywhere.”

A large crowd of people surround the man as the smoke settles. They all stand lifeless-like with eyes as dark as the the night.

DESERT: Somewhere outside of Bahgdad

The desert stretched for miles across the Earth. The sun reflected back up through the atmosphere literally cooking the surface. The sun raced towards the ground. Off in the east two Arab men run for their lives, knowning not even what they run from.

A loud rumble sounds in teh distance. The sun continues to approach the horizon and dip behind the distant mountains. The two men turn and look to the east towards a village. The lights from the homes begin to go out and then buildings shake apart. They exchange a panicing phrase in farcey and begin to run into the west. One of the men trips and falls to the ground. The other looks back in fear. A cloud of smoke rushes towards them. He keeps running leaving his friend screaming in terror as he is swallowed by the smoke. A shockwave hits the man from behind forcing him to the ground. A dark figure rises from the desert sand. The man looks up at the mid-sized man shrouded in black.

“Who are you?” the man says to the dark figure. There is no response, only a nod. The man turns to find his friend henind him. His body lifeless and eyes black.

“Ahmed, NO!” Snap out of it!”

“He is mine now. As are you.” The dark figure claps his hands. All is dark and gray.

The Arab man stands in the middle of a gray-like desert that is filled with emptiness. He falls to his knees, puts his hands in his head and begins to cry.

* * *

My name is Turner Sturgess. Only one week ago I was thrusted into one of the most terrifying, godless situations I had ever faced. Today I live with the consequences of my actions. I have learned that sometimes the best way around Hell is to blaze a path straight through it.

[to be continued]

Swallowed Day – Part Two: Nightfall

My name is Turner Sturgess.  I am just your average guy living an average life.  My story isn’t much different than others.  I grew up in the rolling hills of the Northwest Corner of Connecticut.  Both parents remarried, had more kids and I was the oldest.  Yeah sure, My life was just as normal as everyone else’s…until I learned the true meaning of fear.  Only one week ago I was thrusted into one of the most terrifying, godless situations I had ever faced.  Today I live with the consequences of my actions.  I have learned that sometimes the best way around Hell is to blaze a path straight through it.

The true meaning of fear is recognized only by those who have fought their demons face-to-face.  Those who fear the night only truly fear what they cannot see.  I have been to the darkness.  I often felt as a child that my life on this planet was meant for something more, what I didn’t realize was, that Something, would be be the key to the salvation of all mankind.

Late September is the most beautiful time of year around here.  The leaves on the trees resemble a Monet across the horizon and the cool, Fall air creeps in.  And while everything is dying it seems that this is when the world seems so much more alive.  I spent most of the past year at my grandmother’s house.  My brother, Peter, lives there and we would spend time hanging, having a few beers and smoking cigarettes.  The back porch, where we spent most of our time, overlooked hundreds of evergreens on the acre’s surrounding her property.  Off to the right side of the porch an old hay field lay untouched for the better part of a decade.

“So, what are you doing with your life, man? My brother asks while he exhales his cigarette smoke.

“Fucked if I know bro.  Every time I find something to do I realize how much I hate it.” I take another pull from my cigarette.

“Get a girlfriend, she straighten you out.  Look at Julie and Me.”

“Yea, look at you too,” I laugh, “I just don’t have the time for them.”

This was a complete fabrication.  I guess I just preferred the bachelor lifestyle.  Hopping from bar to bar womanizing my way through life.

“Plus, I’m twenty-three years old.  No need to settle down now.” I guess that was as good an excuse as any.

“Touche,” my brother laughs.

“But, something may come my way.”

“You mean a girl?”

“No, No. I mean life.  I need to be patient and make sure that what I do satisfies my needs, not everyone else’s,” I explain.

“Damn Straight, my brotha-from…the-same-motha.” We laugh like a couple of school girls for a moment. Peter flicks down his cigarette.

“Alright T, I’m outta here. Julie and I are going up to The Village for a nice dinnah!”

“Enjoy big guy…Hey! I heard the New York Strip is fantastic.”  He didn’t hear me.

It was strangely quiet out that day.  The wind wasn’t blowing and not even the rustling of little critters in the small brush could be heard.  I was milking my cigarette.  Normally I would have sucked it down in a four or five breaths, but I wanted to savor the flavor.  Taking the last drag I tossed the butt into the backyard.  I leaned on the railing and hung my head for a moment.  Still it remained silent.  Suddenly, the tranquil air was startled by the sound of a bottle hitting a tree below.  The air felt dead now like all life had been sucked away.  With the sun at the horizon the day had turned to an amber glow.  There was no on to be seen and no bottle in the lawn.

“Wait…Where did that tree come from..”

The tall oak tree stuck high out of the ground.  It was ancient.  The trunk looked as though a giant had tied it into a knot with his bare hands.  A gentle breeze touched the top of the tall grass in the field.  Something wasn’t right.  I turned to enter the house.  The door was locked.

“Just Great.”

The sound of another bottle striking the tree filled my ears one more.  My jaw shuttered for a second as I play with the handle trying to force the door open.  My stomach rattles with the same faorse as my darkest nightmares. I turned back towards the edge of the porch.  Still, there was no one to be seen.  My heart raced faster than a triple-crown contender and I was finding it hard to breath.  Off in the distance a small black figure rose from the grass.  I gasped for air and turned to make haste.  Before I could take a step an invisible force had hit me in the chest like a sledge hammer knocking me onto the porch bench.  I was unconscious.

There is a whisper.

“Here, you will wait.”  In the window the sun crept below the trees and the tall dark figure rose from behind me.

Night had swallowed day.  Two lights filled the night on the exterior of the colonial white house.  This was my house, or at least it once was.

[to be continued]

What is Swallowed Day?

Swallowed Day.  What is it?  It is a collection of short stories to make up one epic adventure of two people originally seperated by thousands of miles and years of culture and their battle with unkown evil forces that are terrorizing the entire planet.  I have written parts 1-3 and will be posting part two shortly.

Please leave feedback on the stories and let me know what you guys think.  Hope you like it!!

Swallowed Day: Part One – Run

Night had swallowed day.  Two lights filled the night on the exterior of the colonial white house.  This was my house, or at least it once was.  A flood light covered in a thick green moss gave the night a greenish glow.  A lamppost lit the end of the driveway.  Most of the shutters were worn off the house.  The only sign of life was a small candle burning on the table inside the window of the house.

I sit on the front porch staring at the cobblestone walkway.  that too has been untouched for some time, years probably.  Though the feeling inside me is that I was here only yesterday.  Where has the time gone?  I can hear giggling from inside the house.  My curiosity gets the best of me so I slowly approach the window to have a look inside.  My old living room, I cannot see anything past the burning candle on the table inside.  I approach the front door.  The sound of footsteps fill the hallway on the other side of the door.  Suddenly, both doors fly open simultaneously throwing me to the ground.  My brother runs out laughing in a loud sadistic tone.

“Wait, Peter.  Come back!” He disappears down the driveway in a full sprint.

I stumble to my feet and get my barrings.  I start to jog over to the driveway, but I am suddenly stopped by a foreboding of evil in the air.  The green night reflects throughout the mist that has settled across the night.  A light breeze flows up my spine.  There is something else at work here.

“Peter!” I call out again.  There is no answer.  I shiver.  I run to the end of the driveway.  As I approach the end my feet slip out from underneath me.  It’s hard to breath.  The wind has been knocked out of me and I grasp for air.  The stone on the driveway is cold.  I grab a handful to try and pick myself up.  My body is tense.

The fog is thick now and I can’t see anything around me.  Butterflies rattle my stomach as I turn to my right.  Peter is lying there next to me.  The look on his face can only be described as pure terror.  His body trembles and flinches even to open his mouth.

“Something is wrong with Dwayne.”  He points up and out of the darkness a tall dark figure emerges, standing like a statue above us.  The fog begins to clear.  He is starring out away from us towards the glowing city lights in the distance.  An overwhelming feeling of pain shoots through my body as I attempt to move.

“Dwayne, what is the matter with you?”  He refuses to answer.

Still laying on the ground my body feels shackled.  Slowly, he begins to turn around.  I can see only the whites of his eyes.  It looks as though all life has left his face, as if, being possessed by someone or something.  He reaches for me.

“Dwayne Stop! What is the Matter with you?”

I can hear Peter screaming next to me.  Like he was being tortured by the night.  I can feel him thrashing back and forth.  I try to reach for him, but I still can not move.  It’s going to be okay, Peter.  That is all I can think.  I close my eyes and think hard.

“Open.”

Everything is dark.  All is black.  Dwane and Peter…gone.  What has happened? Is this some temporary stasis of reality?  If so, then when can I expect to return? For now I will run through the darkness…Alone.

[to be continued]

Phone Post

This is my own little test post. I am writing this from my bed via my iPod touch. It is a nifty little tool. I keep saying that I wanna write more on here and I really should. I will leave you with this for now. Talk to you all soon.

Tom

The Child

“The Child”

By Tonya R. Moore

She closes her eyes and she listens.  It’s like listening to music, slipping into the mind of the Child.  His code has evolved far beyond the technological sophistication of her race; a grand and beautiful stream of consciousness and infinite potential. She speaks out loud as she works because that has become a habit over the years, talking to them – sharing her thoughts and dreams with them.
“What do you see, when you open your eyes?”
She works with a steady hand, praying that she won’t damage the delicate membranes of the brain.  It would be a such a shame if she has to replace what has taken root and helped the child Become.  His eyes are closed.  The mouth moves involuntarily but no sound comes out.  On the terminal screen, he answers her question in code.

Matter. Energy.  All of the minute elements and quantum quirks of the universe coalescing into a perfect, unifying whole.

Her eyes flick to the screen.  She clicks her tongue, mouth curving into a slightly amused smile.  It has taken decades to bring this dream to fruition.  Her lifetime’s work has outlived the heyday of cybernetic engineering and even the legality of robotics.
She completes the upgrades and leaves him before her absence from home is discovered.  Her hands shake as she closes the barn door behind her.  She considers the import of what she has done.  The component that she has installed had not been easy to acquire.  Some impossibly shady dealings and large sums of money had been required.
“What will you become, Adam?”  She wonders out loud.
“What will you fight for?  Who will you love?”

She knows that her actions will not go unnoticed for long.  The authorities will find her but she is an old woman now.  What can they possibly do to her?  As for the Child, he will be long gone by the time they think to come here.

The Child awakens.  His eyes open, quicksilver irises widening.  He stands, like a man – strangely surprised to find himself alone, though he is fully aware that he should be. He walks like a man.  Instinct pulls him, unerringly, to the door.  He turns the knob and suddenly, light floods the darkness.

http://www.tonyamoore.com

The Rain Dancer

The Rain Dancer
By Chris Skoyles

It rained last night, you know.A vast, belligerent rain that trounced through the forest outside my window, destroying every last thing that dared show signs of life, raging with venom and bringing turmoil and apocalyptic anarchy to the otherwise calm forest.Suddenly, she seemed satisfied with her work.

This ferocious rain allowed herself to smile, and she came dancing on my window, inviting me to come play.

I was in a sort of hedonistic state of comatosis; a million and one desires all rushing through my mind with no real place to go, but an urgency to get there. Though I was in this heavy sleep, The Rain continued to dance on my window, seduce me with her sweet smell and entice me with her luscious form.

I couldn’t help but go and play.

I joined The Rain now, dancing hand in hand with a smile, every drop that smacked against the soft, damp floor guiding our rhythm. The Rain laughed, and I laughed along, embracing the cool atmosphere on this blackest of nights and praying that my dance with the majestical rain would never end.

But The Rain, she was schizophrenic, and she changed.

Suddenly, we no longer danced. Suddenly, we no longer embraced the beauty of this blackest of nights. Suddenly, we no longer smiled.

The Rain, however, she turned her lips into a crooked and engagingly sadistic sneer. Her eyes sparkled with a glint of dementia, and her face grew red with a vengeful passion. She flashed her teeth and lashed out.

The Rain smacked me this way and that, against the spiteful, rugged backs of the forest trees and onto the vicious tops of angry rocks.

Soon, The Wind joined in, and the elements came together like a cyclone of thugs, violently kicking and viciously punching, throwing me across the forest and high into the dark sky and dropping me back down to earth with effortless aggression.

The Sun began to rise.

The Wind and The Rain ran for cover, hiding behind some distant mountains. They were scared of The Sun, and fearful of his fantastic fires. They left me to die in the middle of the cold, desolate forest; battered, beaten, bruised and broken.

The Sun tried to help, wrapping me in warm, golden bandages, but I doubt if I’ll ever be restored.

I danced with The Rain; things will never be the same.

*Chris Skoyles is a writer and photographer from Preston Lancashire. His poems and prose have appeared in such magazines as The Ugly Tree, The New Cauldron, Awen and Carrillion. For more info, please visit: www.chrisskoyles.com

A Moment of Self-Realization

It’s cold.  Darkness fills a room only lit by a computer screen.  A man sits alone behind in his grand leather chair gripping his head with his long, worn out fingers.  He takes a deep breath and drags his hands through his hair.

I didn’t used to do this.  It seems that ever since, the incident, I can’t seem to get away from it.  I can only sit here now and think of something to write to her.  She needs to understand what has happened to me.  Okay well, how do I describe an incident such as this?  Word’s cannot describe what I have done.  Would she understand if she knew I was set up?  There is only one way to begin this letter.

He slams his pinky down onto the shift key and with his pointer finger depresses the “F” key.  The man leans back in the chair, as if forgetting how to spell the word, runs his hands through his hair.  The computer screen is bright in his face and has given the man a headache.

I can’t help, but think of her face.  I can only close my eyes and see her long blond hair covering one eye, and her smile as bright as the mid-day sun.  I look into the darkness sometimes and see her trying to lure me back into the shadows.  What’s worse is I’ll find myself smiling back at her or reaching for her hand. Where are you when I need you most?  Oh yes, I remember…

Slowly his finger pushes down on the “u” key.

Images of two cars colliding, like metal mating metal in a frenzy of emotion, has poisoned me for days.  Sirens and brakes in the night can only be compared to a Vietnam War veterans worst nightmares.  Why do you continue to smile at me?  I hear doors close and lights flicker on and I feel your presence.  Are you haunting me or taunting me?

His finger struggles to reach down to the “c” key.

The forbidden fruits of our love kept our hearts strong.  I did not realize the truth behind it all until I could no longer have you.  I had to return to a life that I could no longer handle.  My children are the only real pleasure in my life.   My finger is tired from the metal that has imprisoned it for so long.  I can hear your foot steps.  They are quiet, like you want to surprise me.  I don’t even bother turning around anymore.  I like for you to think you have surprised me.  When you play with my hair and try and spook me.  It always tickles me and you like to see me try and swat the flies away. Your finger is cold.

“Click”

I sit here trying to convince myself that what I have done can be rationalized.  I ask for forgiveness from all that would give it.  Forgiveness that I ever deceived my wife, I never loved her.

His fingers goes for the last letter.  He moves he hand towards the keyboard and catches movement in the mirror again.  A familiar female face stares back, a tear runs from her eye, not of sadness, but of vengeance.  She fires her gun through the back of his head.  Dying, the man’s head lays on the keyboard.

Looking into the window I can see my reflection and you are standing behind me.  You long hair seems to floor off the window and onto the desk.  My computer screen is now as beautifully red as your lips. I’m gonna close my eyes, see you in the morning.

The “k” key is stuck down.

The Comment War

Just don’t come back to my blog please, i’m not interested in trading insults with you or whatever it is you internet nerds like to do. Don’t pick apart this comment and judge every word in it or correct the spelling, or try to think up some witty come back just go away, don’t answer me, don’t read my blog, don’t comment, don’t ever have anything else to do with me. Let’s just leave it at that. Go away and try to do something constructive please. Thanks

There is nothing witty that I would like to say to this person.  Unfortunately, the author of a blog that I have frequented and commented on in the past couple days has taken something I’ve said a little too seriously.  I have chosen to expose this comment not to insult him or embarress him or for any childish reason like that.  In fact, I seek an answer.  Why is it that when compliments are dished out to other bloggers/authors, along with a little humor, a verbal war must ensue?

I wanted nothing more than to honor him with more positive feedback, because he wasn’t sure if anyone was reading or cared about what he is doing.  Then after he finally gets a subscriber, who quickly told him to pick his head up, in the first place, tells the other person to “f” off.  There are so many blogs out their today, that don’t get the attention they deserve, this guy was no different.  In a world of so much competition there needs to be room for some sarcastic banter to break the silence.  Am I wrong?

Original Post w/ Comments below it

Well, hopefully they see this and understand where I am coming from.  I shall continue to read and support what you do.  And if anyone has any thoughts on the subject, please share them!