Nickolas Causey
Bio
Just a mid-twenties guy plinking away at his keyboard.
Stories (3/0)
The Syndrome
The grey matter fell like snow, soft and acidic. In the beginning the Global Government spent trillions trying to fight the new environmental phenomenon but now no one cared. Mark hurried through the alley, echoing footsteps muffled by the accumulating matter and turned right on Water Street with a cold blast of winter air blowing open his ragged coat. Mark pulled the edges tight across his chest and he bent his head pushing harder against the wind. He needed to get to the warehouse near the docks where Tiberius was waiting for him—
By Nickolas Causey3 years ago in Fiction
Of Stars and Turtles
It starts with the sea turtles. Born into a swirling ever demanding unfair chaos that overtakes them from the beginning of their existence. Born to die. That is the head of the writer. Thousands of ideas, tens of thousands perhaps, crawling through the gritty dooming existence of birth (hatching), with only one – ten if you are lucky – find their way to be something else, something greater. All the turtles only trying to make sense of their world before being swooped up by a gull or crushed by a stray dog. Of course it is all gibberish. Complete nonsense to anyone but the author who is trying to find their own path to water. Their own path to sanity or rational thought. Perhaps it is only an attempt to clear the mind from those ten thousand stories cracking themselves out of their hard shell only to find they were buried in the sand. Predator swamping. That is what it is called. The biological phenomenon where if thousands of prey swarm the scene, the comparing few predators cannot hope to eliminate them all. It should be called prey swamping. All in all, it sounds pretty terrible for the turtles. Great day for the gulls. No wonder Hemingway was an alcoholic suicidal. Does this make sense? Millions of words that never reach the paper flooding the mind, twisting and turning, a bowl of egg yellows and whites beaten and whipped until frothy yet never reaching the pan. The quill may touch the ink – does it not always? It rests there most of the time moving only with a breeze or draft. Rarely the touch of a hand compels it to move, much less the mind. And so the turtles crawl on. One painstaking grain of sand at a time toward a goal that beats them back, that at first refuses to take them. For the reader is quick to judge and even faster to hate. This is good – apologies – this is well.
By Nickolas Causey3 years ago in Humans
The Shrimp and the Star
The Beginning. There were those known as the Awoken. Great bodies of light which filled sky and shone through the darkness, whether or not they touched anything else. Although the Awoken almost always did. There is no sure way of knowing how many there are in existence, however three were counted at the beginning of time and three still remain. Guardians against the darkness in this universe, stars of the night, pullers of the moon.
By Nickolas Causey3 years ago in Fiction