Stories (8/0)
A Pikeman's Tale
The game is called Partisan, in reference both to the supporters of royal claimants in times of civil war and to the late medieval halberd of the same name, known for its distinctive broad spearhead. It’s a first person medieval brawler, where the player creates a warrior out of an array of weapons and tools and armor and takes it into battle, allies and enemies both composed of similar players and similar player characters. It caused a great deal of commotion at its launch, gaining 9/10s and 10/10s from prominent video game reviewers that praised the depth of its combat and the addictiveness of its gameplay loop. For the better part of the year, the game on the top of the streaming charts and the front of gamer’s minds was Partisan.
By George Murrayabout a year ago in Horror
St. Peter's Cross
It is blue all around when Robert Buxton awakes. Dark blue, almost black, but with softer spots here and there that gives the darkness accent and informs him of its true color. The next thing that he realizes, a few moments later, is that there is something clamped around his neck, just under his chin, and that he is upside down.
By George Murray2 years ago in Fiction
The Birdwatchers
Three months into Ava’s new job, and she has never once gone home on time. It bothered her at first. She felt that she was losing valuable free time, that her boss was disappointed at her sluggish pace, that her life had simply become a cycle of sleep, eat, work, sleep, eat, work with no time for her to socialize or to engage with her hobbies. She used to knit and play the ukulele, but now she has moved to the city and taken a high paying job and all she can do is work.
By George Murray2 years ago in Fiction
Wayfarer's End
Tom Oak is kneeling in his garden, examining the melons that he planted in march. By all reasonable estimates, they should be producing fruit by now. They are not. The plants seem frail and discolored, and the only hint of a harvest grew to about the size of a grape before being devoured by the local fauna weeks ago. Tom Oak wonders if perhaps he is in the wrong climate for melons.
By George Murray2 years ago in Fiction
Eight Men Contemplate the Heat Death of the Universe
“How do you explain the black slavers, then? If the history of race is so cut and dry, if white people are evil oppressors and black people are innocent victims, how do you account for the fact that certain African tribes gave over other tribes to the Europeans? That certain black people made just as much money on the slave trade as their white counterparts? Hell, you could argue that the only reason the Europeans even turned to Africa for their labor was that the black slavers made it so easy!”
By George Murray2 years ago in Fiction
The Tin Can
Tonight you come home from a long day at work or school or whatever it is that you do, maybe you’re a well off retiree with no nearby relatives and you spend your days walking circuits around the neighborhood, or maybe you’re 5 years out of college working 2 jobs and also driving Uber just to make ends meet, or maybe you do any number of things in between, but the point is that you come home after a long day and you are tired. You don’t have the energy to cook, but you still have to eat something to satiate the grumbling in your stomach and to keep your parents/children/sibling/partner from worrying.
By George Murray2 years ago in Feast
- V+ Fiction Award Winner
The KneelerV+ Fiction Award Winner
10:30 PM and James Morse is at the bar of the Mohegan Sun Resort and Casino sipping a glass of scotch that would have been far too expensive for him even if he wasn’t 200,000 in debt. That’s no problem, though. The debt was from out west, built up on the Strip of Vegas and then, when Vegas got too expensive, Reno. Now he is back east, casting bets at Reservation casinos under the name ‘Morton Quailey.’ His bookies gave up chasing him months ago. Last time they got close was at the Kansas Star Casino in Mulvane, where James had paid off the valet to send them after the wrong car. The time before that was in a speakeasy in Billings, Montana, where James had paid an unsuspecting rube half a grand to swap clothes with him. Before that, Salt Lake City, where James had mussed up his hair and convinced a cop that the guys after him were muggers. That one wasn’t even a lie.
By George Murray2 years ago in Fiction