Adam W. Graham
Bio
Bizzare dreams put onto paper.
Stories (4/0)
Red Dawn
Pluck the stem and uproot the growth. Burgeoned fruit, selfless life. Kiss the stem and cast it to the wind. Progeny blooms in years to come. Hopeful blossoms, flowered with care. Now raze the ground and scorch the earth. Fulminate your homeland. Pollute the air with wagging tongues and borrowed time. From earth comes nothing. But to it comes flesh. Burning world, blackened country. Water dry and sour to taste. Children awaken to revelations. We reap what we sow but what to reap when the Earth is shorn. Breathe deep now and exhale tomorrow. Continue until your lungs collapse. Savor the sweetness and cough up your sweat. Cough up your blood. Cough up your tears until nothing remains. Death will come and bury you in ashes. No flowers will adorn your grave.
By Adam W. Graham3 years ago in Futurism
Midnight Valley
This is what it is to die. Not from wounds nor plague nor parasitic infection. Not from torture nor accident nor exsanguination. This is death at a crawl. A burning, aching grip that loosens as the host succumbs. A plunge into madness. A shattered reality. A man is undone. Unwound and fragmented. Broken, his mind in pieces he wanders the frozen wasteland to heed a beckoning. What was it? A screaming whisper, a murmured shout. An undulating tear of tormenting tendrils. The call was shrill and bloodcurdling but angelic in its chorus. A cry of despondence and suffering that stunk of desperation. A call for action and of undying loyalty. Without warning it demanded. Unwavering, a man trudges through the snow-laden terrain. Expectancy is apparent as the brink is before him. It is around him and under him and throbbing in his mind's eye. An unknowable force which promises a unity of his scattered brain. A debt to pay for the small price of liberation. A man leaves deep footfalls in the snow. He drags a burden of 48 years and 250 pounds in his wake leaving two winding gaps in the unbroken white. Two sacks of dead weight. Dragged without thought or cognizance. Liberation for unity. The brink was closer. He felt it deeply within the two sacks. Their deed was complete and their subservience would not go without notice. Mercy was not lost in this place but rewarded in full. A man is undone, unwound and fragmented. But not lost. He understands the coming dawn and it’s promise. Bearing this mighty yoke would bring relief and with it another burden. A meaningful and worthwhile burden to bear. For himself and for eternity. No...not for himself. For the call. For the beckoning eyes and the distant scream that cracked his cochlea. Laying prostrate was not a choice but mandatory. The screaming persisted. A maddening mantra that whined and groaned with a deafening roar. Hums and shrieks which wracked the brain of any semblance of thought. It wanted him here. That is all to know. It wanted him here. But the dialect is lost. Twisted and confused with the ages of birth and death. Deformed into a confluence of shrieking chants. But it’s cadence understood, the alien inflections bent into a series of symbols and digits. A common tongue where the lexicon is dead but its meaning taken. It told him he was meant for this place. Before him was a lake. Solid was its surface but from it came a pulse. Dragging still his burden he deposited the sacks in the center of the lake. Mountains dwarfed the lake and wood, casting titanic shadows upon the gathering. Liberation. A unified will. From his pocket came a knife. He etched a thin circle into the ice 6 feet in diameter to surround himself and the sacks before carving an inhuman symbol upon it. Its meaning is beyond humanity. Its purpose is unclear and the design cryptic. Nonetheless, it was transcribed. Beneath the bags the symbol calls to the heavens in an inaudible tongue. It welcomes freedom. A man raises the knife once more and takes the blade to his finger, pricking to produce a small drop of blood. It pools and falls in steady drops onto the frozen ice. It seeps deep and spreads to fill every indention made by the symbol. A man is joyous. He is successful and sure to be noticed. Mercy is not lacking in this place. Distantly a slow whine builds in the rear of his brain. A faint scream that comes ever closer to the frozen lake. It is accompanied by a chorus of the same kind. Mounting, it cuts through this momentous achievement until it is upon the lake. A man is interrupted amidst his glorious ascension as an automobile of blue and white looks over the lake, its siren wailing.
By Adam W. Graham3 years ago in Horror
The Nook Over Lake Kalandan
The light waned as shadows pulled taut pushing snowflakes around bended air as wind whistled and whined. Atoms formed molecules to cells to tissues to organs and finally a system. A figure that clicked and coalesced; twitching matter and refracting light. A transmitted man. Solid and intent he braved the snow laden forest wasting nary a second for collecting himself. His footfall was regular and fast as he indented snow before crossing Lake Kalandan. It’s surface was frozen and solid but fissure was impending. The figure sent minute ripples and breaches through the ice. Unseen promises of rupture. The walk was careful but brisk as the lake crunched and cracked beneath steps. A break of stability and change of face that came with the approaching stranger. A stranger who tread in the vast shadow of the looming estate. Never ceasing in his ascent.
By Adam W. Graham3 years ago in Fiction
The Light Descending
It left as fast as it arrived. Ray heard barking before it ceased with a whimper. A shuttering frame, the click of a pen. A disorienting wave like the blast of a camera. Poof. Gone. The fading light just milliseconds in the past. It retreated through the slits between blinds in his bedroom window. Little Ray looked skeptically around his room. Toys lay strewn across the floor in an ungainly pile of playdates past. Cosmogirl stood at attention. Her back leg was stable and firm while the front was poised for action. Her long hair was stiff in a permanent curl that hung past her waistband. At her side stood Mark Mayhem. Ray grabbed both of the toys. Orbs of green danced between Cosmogirl’s face mask and Mark Mayhem’s mullet. “What was that?” Ray inquired of his prized duo. He pulled on the string at Cosmogirl’s back.
By Adam W. Graham3 years ago in Horror