Rache - Part 1
You've had that dream right? You’re running from something. You can’t see it. You can’t hear it. Hell, you can’t even smell it. But you can feel it somehow. You know it’s there, and you know it's getting closer. And that feeling, that certainty that it’s right behind you, hounding your every step, it’s breath shocking the hairs on the back of your neck to attention, is a feeling of dread. That’s where I am.
Our pond was frozen over, its surface like an antique silvered mirror, clear with a bit of warp, as I looked down into it from the dock. It had been years since I had been here, back home, back on this farm. But here I was. And you weren’t.
Marcus’ already pale skin was washed out and necrotic in the nacreous green light of the flashing cursor blinking at him maddeningly on the old style CRT monitor. A bead of sweat escaped from his hairline and gained speed as it rolled down his forehead, veering right around his hawkish nose and getting caught up in the stubble sprouting from his upper lip. Marcus barely notices the moisture collecting there.
Rise of the Meek
The bull was unhappy. The grass was drying up and all of his mates were taken away from him. The pools and puddles that had once sustained him were empty, the air was hot and heavy and the sky shone with glaring discomfort and not a single shade bearing cloud to shield him. The trees were denuded, and their skeletal branches provided no relief. He circled his range, his hooves kicking up dust along a track well worn. He was alone. And yet he abided.
A Sea of Marigold
A sea of yellows and oranges sway in the breeze as I follow the only path cutting through it, the rhythmic crunching of gravel under my measured steps a staccato counterpoint to the soft whisper of the marigold bulbs rustling together. I can clearly hear the sound of children playing in the distance, their shouts and laughter washing over me bittersweet as I approach a woman in a paisley sundress seated upon a wooden bench along the path.
I create worlds. Bold statement I know, but very true. I paint mountains and rivers onto the landscape. I grow forests and savannas in the spaces between. I raise towns and cities, and I populate them with folk of all kinds. And I dig dungeons, placing traps and hazards for any self proclaimed hero that might happen along. I am a Dungeon Master, a Games Master, a Storyteller, and many other names describing the same thing. I play tabletop roleplaying games. I collect them. I even design them, though I’ll admit that I haven’t publicly published any as of yet. I am a gamer, and that is my passion.
The End of the Beginning
The rations were almost gone. The water and the dried bars. All of it. Tom dug the heels of his palms into his reddened eyes and looked out across the open water, looking for any sign of land. All he could see were waves with white crests, blue sky and yellow orb reflected upon the undulating surface, and those dreaded triangular fins circling. It had been nearly a week since he escaped the cruise ship, a week since his girlfriend passed in her sleep as the virus overtook the liner.
The Perilous Package
I got another package in the mail today. I wasn’t expecting anything, but I do order a lot of things online so it wasn’t really that surprising. Sometimes I even got packages meant for neighbors, living in a large apartment complex with often obscured building and unit numbers. I checked my email, and seeing no alerts, picked up the package.