Nick Tarleton
Stories (9/0)
Vestiges Of The Other
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. The neon glow of Las Vegas made the horizon that colour all year round, however, began to swirl as a lilac mist on that late summer’s night. Initially, for a few seconds on the crest of the valley, the phenomenon had increased in duration and in depth, as if to communicate with those who were watching. The first to notice were a few teenagers escaping the view of rule makers.
By Nick Tarletonabout a year ago in Fiction
Mythano Cycle
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, but they supposedly came when we needed them in the old days. We shall see if that still holds true. The legends about the protectors of the weak, the bold tribe of naturally armoured warriors are nowadays only talked about by the bards.
By Nick Tarleton2 years ago in Fiction
A Cult Introduced Me to a More Tolerant World
I was a teenager obsessed with the unusual and the strange, looking for connection beyond the mundane. I remember spending lunchtimes in the school library reading fantasy books, and it was here I picked up a copy of Hal Lindsey's book "Satan is Alive and Well on Planet Earth", thinking it was a science fiction book. That started the idea of religion and prophecy and exciting things beyond the boring here and now. Not long afterwards, my brother picked up a glossy, free magazine called the "Plain Truth" in Dublin City. With attention-grabbing titles in slick fonts like "What's ahead for 1986 and beyond!" (Note the exclamation mark, no doubt in their minds), it grabbed my doubt-filled mid-1980s mind. In other words, I was hooked. It wasn't drugs or alcohol, but it was just as addictive. You could do all these free courses and books like "The United States and Britain in prophecy" and learn all about "THE TRUTH". I ate it all up. What was known as 'Armstrongism" had got a hold of me.
By Nick Tarleton2 years ago in Confessions
A different country
I grew up in Ireland in the 1970s and 1980s — Southern Ireland that is. Now that probably brings to mind a lot of assumptions not only about me but also my upbringing. The thing is I was brought up in a Protestant family (actually adopted — but that’s a story for another time), so that meant I was in a minority subculture. Not only that but parts of the history of that subculture had, not that long ago, been part of an oppressive, and abusive empire. All that meant that there were some messages given to me, both verbal and implied, about who I was and was supposed to be. Some of it was relevant, but much of who I thought I was as an Irish person was in fact erroneous and fed into my insecurities well.
By Nick Tarleton2 years ago in Humans
What If Things Go Horribly Wrong?
We all start out our lives by making plans about where we would like to be in the future. Scratch that. Many of us think about where we WOULDN’T like to be when we are old — usually influenced by the people we see around us, our caregivers, teachers, etc. Some people are lucky to have clear goals or passions from when they are very young, and others are helpfully guided into lives that seem so full of good things — at least from the outside. However, there is one thing that can randomly strike at any point in life…
By Nick Tarleton2 years ago in Motivation
Raw
She perched alone in the corner of the shop in an enclosure barely big enough to stretch what passed for wings. Surrounded by dusty objects that would never be purchased, although occasionally people did come in and examine them. When a human would buy something – usually from the front of the store – it would animate the one who had been her captor for so long though it didn’t make her life any better. Every now and then, someone would come across her cage with curiosity, recoil with horror, and make haste to the other side of the room, shaking their head. She knew she was hideous. Naked skin covered with scabs and stubs where her vile feathers kept growing. All she knew was she had to keep getting rid of them when they started to grow too long. They whispered of worlds she knew were imaginary, dreams of flying intruding with rude intent echoing in the dark. Sometimes when the big door opened, she felt the breeze pinch her skin, and wild pain stirred primeval tremors in her depths.
By Nick Tarleton2 years ago in Fiction