I'm a reclusive novelist, playwright, and songwriter who writes under various pseudonyms
1 Bliss Birdsong rode the sleek bullet west. She got a lot of looks from the other passengers in first class because of her topcoat and pink hightops. She felt cold, because of what she wasn’t wearing beneath her coat. A girl named Quince, identically dressed, sat beside her.
By Mark Gee2 years ago in Fiction
1 The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years; but one night, a candle burned in the window. It was officially on the property of the Rook’s Lodge, a hotel on the highway. Cabin 22 remained perpetually vacant, though, awaiting a special occasion, or a specific guest. And when she arrived, the candle was lit.
By Mark Gee2 years ago in Horror
I There weren't always dragons in the Valley. When Pyta, grand master of the Iridescent Order, ruled, the few beasts who dared venture so far south were met by his merciless wrath; and for many years, no others followed. Yet when Pyta fell ill, the inhabitants of the Valley were convinced the dragons would return.
On the battlefield, an hour of sleep yields a lifetime of dark dreams. But we remain free. We sit and consider days gone by, when this was a peaceful place. We study every detail of creased snapshots of parents, children, and lovers, to convince ourselves we shall see them again. We remind each other why we stand and fight.
Love Crime. . . .the sound, so loud. No soul heard the shot echo, except me. The pleasure, or the pain. It grins
By Mark Gee2 years ago in Poets
1 The Owl Club hadn’t changed. It was (literally) an underground club, three blocks from the main gate of UM. Nothing about the joint was illegal, based on any law passed by the corrupt Board of Supervisors, though some of the acts performed and/or committed on site might’ve been. It was intended to be a private establishment, only for those who knew of its existence.
1 Little Bit was a little girl at the moment, or at least she looked like one. She loved walking barefoot along the edges of lawns, when the grass was dewy wet, each blade mown to a precise height. She loved when her neighborhood was dark, when low fog clouds floated like a band of lost souls. She loved venturing out past her bedtime, wearing sleeveless pajamas the shade of pink lemonade just like a pair she had when she was twelve.
By Mark Gee2 years ago in Futurism