John H. Knight
Bio
Yet another aspiring writer trying his luck on the endless prairie of the Internet.
Stories (47/0)
Ten terrible characters
You know the feeling when watching a movie or TV show, a point comes after which we cease to root for the hero and hate the villain and with all our existence we wish for that one annoying, entitled, spoiled, hateful, terrible horrible character to die finally? Or at least to move to somewhere very unpleasant, like Hell, or some kind of negative dimension full of monsters or perhaps Florida.
By John H. Knight2 months ago in Geeks
Tales on London #10
The room was perfectly dark and almost as silent. The men could hear their own heartbeats. It was also very cold and felt big, but of course, they couldn't be sure about that last one. It smelled very bad, like rotten flesh and urine and stool, among other things.
By John H. Knight2 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #9
Finding a pub in London, especially in the inner zones was easier than finding a parking spot. They only had to cross the road from the Museum and there were two already, but they looked way too busy. On a normal day, it would be full of tourists resting after a long day in the Museum, and Robert had no doubt that tomorrow will be the same. It was a very British, nay, Londoner thing to do: open your thing for the public a mere days after people were killed because life goes on, doesn't it? No time to mourn. Just don't forget to mop the blood first. And don’t get emotional, we’re British, after all.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #7
Amongst London's countless secrets, there was one that was kept so badly, that at some point it stopped being a secret and became a kind of general knowledge. And with the big secret popped like a bubble, all the other, smaller ones surrounding it came to light, too. But such as rumours and secrets are, people knew different truths about the same thing.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #6
The teak desk dominated the whole room. It was very old, maybe even a century or so old, with a lot of drawers and carvings. It was also so huge that the five big leather armchairs on one side looked like those tiny ones kids used in kindergarten next to it. That desk was saying power, influence, importance.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #5
Jenna had no choice. Jail, she wouldn’t even mind that much. She knew she was tough enough to last, and the thought of pissing off her father on a gigantic scale made her smile. But everyone sentenced for a crime committed by magic got also branded with a permanent Signum, cutting them off magic forever. It was a barbaric method, borderline fascist, but it did have results. Only, Jenna didn’t want to be a number in those statistics. She couldn’t imagine her life without magic: it was the only thing she was good at, the only thing she could always count on.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #4
Robert had two more lessons to give after the one in the morning, and nothing but caffeine and sheer will led him through them. His arm was pulsing with pain where the shadow hound bit him, and that wasn't even the worst part: his brain felt itchy with frustration because he couldn't figure out what that dog actually was. He hated when he didn’t understand something. Especially about magic: it was supposed to be his thing, after all.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #3
Jenna had no plans to leave her bed until the next day or so. When she finally got home, she dropped her leather jacket, stepped out of her pants and took off her bra, all in one long, liquid movement while she was shambling towards her big, warm, wonderful bed, and then fell on the pillows, already sleeping. Naturally, she was furious when her phone went off, waking her up just a couple of hours later. According to the clock on the wall, it wasn't even nine in the morning. Basically dusk.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Fiction
Tales of London #2
Jenna had decided that she won't try to free Teodore from the police, had he been captured. The little jerk only got what he was asking for. And she knew that Don Sebastiano would bail him out anyway. Despite the fact that Teodore was only the don's nephew, he somehow managed to become the favourite child in the Carvelli family.
By John H. Knight3 months ago in Filthy
