UK Based Author, Bristol 🌉
Night Of Nine Killers
“Who would you propose to trust? All you’ve given me is silence.” Pan spoke softly, though not without purpose, or emphasis. When all the members were together, each one would leave their annual meetings with the same shared, unspoken thought.
The Warrior & The Demon
Hazel was always awake before him. Maybe she did sleep after all. Braddius’ sixth sense grew around that routine. Bleary eyes that’d become comfortable at being closed with the absolute awareness that if opened there would only ever be a lush night sky to see them, opened to disappointment at grey clouds and stubborn rain. But that sensation went down the shitter to a warm pleasant sensation as he drew clean breath into scarred lungs. He lifted up. Shrunken muscles squirmed as he extended arms in a backward V shape. Hands grated and squirmed against fragments of chipped volcanic rock.
‘Don't ya love her madly? Don't ya need her badly? Don't ya love her ways?’ A touch cold to the fingertips. Hissing pipes and blinking lights. It was a common pattern to push sweaty hair out of your face when hanging out in the control room. Dense metal pressed into your sides and scalp from all angles.