Sworded Tales

“Not going to like it?” Gerard replied, “I’ve backtracked into forsaken terrain to track a mindless killer back to its lair in the hopes that it does not signify the dark tidings of invasion. In so doing, I must confront the fallen bodies of those I failed to guide safely as is my calling. I don’t think there’s much more you could add onto an already heaping pile of dislike.”

“You must leave me here,” the quiet words issued from her, “My remains, I mean.”

Gerard’s mouth opened to reply, and then closed. Then he said, “Oh. Well. Points to you then for being right.” Continue reading

The reptilian figure takes an involuntary step back as the horse rears out of control, then again as it begins to buck and whirl about.  The situation certainly does not present an immediate threat, but such a large beast moving about so erratically is hardly something to take lightly.

Then a realization dawns on him.  There is only one similar circumstance that he has seen such as this, and the connection is all too obvious to make.

“You have, I see, brought with you a performer of a circus?” he asks, though he keeps his wary attention on the spectacle. Continue reading

THOK!  THOK!  THOK!  Hammers fall.

The ropes thrum at the rapid vibration.  Footsteps scurry by hurriedly.  The shadows of morning stretch far across the ground as a cock crows in the distance.

THOK!  THOK!  THOK!  The building continues.

The creak of grinding timber.  A dog, startled awake, barks in the distance.  The raw smacking of thrown wood bores into eardrums.  The steamy breath of the horses scents the air.

THOK!  THOK!  THOK!

The grunting of men.  “Heave!”  Doors begin to open.  The murmur of voices spreads.  The church tower sounds in the lower section of town. Continue reading

“Titicaca?”

“Titicaca.”

“That’s your password?”

“That’s the one.”

Silence ebbed between them for a few moments.

“Titicaca.”

“Yep.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Shannon said with an exasperated sigh. Continue reading

Last night I dreamt that I was running down the halls, late for work, carrying a stuffed toy armadillo named Mr. Bullet.

There were other elements to the dream.  Mismatched shoes, one of which was a white Chuck.  Police escort of some prisoners.  The purchase of tonic water, two bottles, very important.  Chopping up both a credit card and my employee I.D.  Let’s be honest though, all the other elements dim considerably in the cosmic radiance of Mr. Bullet.

I can still feel the fur.  I could draw him for you if my artistic skills weren’t along Order of the Stick caliber.  I can smell the slightly moist dog slobbered scent, and the indelible imprint is there…

…and I want to know why.

The awesome dreams I have had over the decades have been legion.  I fly a lot.  I sit up in bed and click my fingers, saying, “Doom.”  And I’ve been told I can deliver a pretty mean karate chop.  Some of those dreams imprinted, but most slithered away all too soon, as is the custom with such a transient grasp on reality.

I don’t like it.  Plain and simple.  I want control over which dreams walk with me until my grave.  Tall order, I know…but somebody make it happen.  Instead, I’m stuck with Mr. Bullet.  Ahh, who knows, maybe he’ll be flying and wearing white Chucks tonight.

Later that evening Elizabeth limped home cursing the boy for what he had done.  The chill wind blew her wet hair into her eyes as streams of anger ran down her face.  The night was deep and dark, and the girl did not notice the inky apparition traveling beside her.

Elizabeth started, noticing the slate colored companion that lurked at hand.  It spoke to her in a soft murmur, “Fear not, Elizabeth. I am here to help,” and with slick certainty the girl acquiesced, accepting its arm to help her walk. Continue reading

“Anibel,” Gerard echoed, rolling around events in his mind when a thought crystallized, “But that is still not your name.  Just what I may call you.”

Anibel flashed the ghostly wisp of a smile his way, “I knew I liked you for a reason.  Sharp as the wyvern’s claw you are.” Continue reading