I want to acknowledge that the topics mentioned may be triggering. This is a content warning as the following information relates to a convicted pedophile and CSA.
I'm currently in search of a beta reader or two to help give feedback on my WIP, maybe even hash out ideas.
I created a soundtrack for the most brutal scene yet in the ongoing Identify novel collaboration.
I realized this sounds apt for the holidays, so now its purpose is tailored for... that
Darcy knew better than to play with time—it wasn’t cheap after all.
I lost myself in the music—I often did, just like when my guitar strap fell off while in the middle of a song we were playing once. I didn’t stop a beat as I got down on my knees to keep playing.
How fucked is that? She mused in her dreamscape.
She could barely remember the former king, but she knew enough modern history that the colonies dispersed before killing each other in a series of small wars. It was knowledge that felt natural to her. She was in enough battles, recalling in distant psychological experience, to warrant the existential solipsistic dread that when she held the sword, she was the only one that mattered in anyone's eyes. Including her father's.
At her feet, she found something joyful. The horizon cleared and she too sat on the ground. Her gaze locked with Mischa. "I didn't think we'd see each other again." "Given what you do? It was likely," Mischa was hoarse, hesitating to move from the ground. The glow suppressed Oktavia's features, in which the illusion was consolable that she was safe. Her head rolled to the side, almost touching the robot's knee.
“Did you think I’d forget you, my Mischa?” Somehow, her voice didn’t falter into emotion, yet her chest sunk as she looked into the human’s eyes. She swallowed. Focus. Oktavia, in her dark moment, squeezed tightly before dropping Mischa to the ground. At her feet, she found something joyful. The horizon cleared and she too sat on the ground. Her gaze locked with Mischa. “I didn’t think we’d see each other again.”
Anastasia was stirred to the sound of heavy breathing. “You are surely to die.” “Then perhaps you will too.”
Stealthily pacing away from the grassland and forestry was only to no avail. She would be yet another cause of death and havoc, as she marched on. Sideway flames were engulfing her vision, blood started to drip out from her wrists as she trembled—gripping vices like onto a tree limb; she struggled to catch her breath.
Lauren let out a grunt into the dark cave, legs locking onto Artemis’s; her strength collapsed into the mutant who inhabited her space closely, soon fallen to the death of tenebrous nightfall.
if I ever had a dream it was not like this / bone split open and blooms /
Well we live in the Hitchcockian world, and I wanted you to know and fall in love with it—the bomb, I mean, not the alien; he is as ugly as they come.
am i a tree between the earthfled embraced a dying throne fathered in my blood
"Almost there!" said the facetiousness of the grinning face. "Let's start over again..." almost as if spoken from the true puppet master, Merlin. "And Tom? You are owned. Don't forget."