Samuel Andrew Milner
Bio
There's not much to tell about me. Maybe I should get out more.
Stories (9/0)
Reprise
Rachael wandered gaily on the wold transparent; arms widespread; tongue out catching cool, quenching rain. Her sable braids matted, grey cloak sodden, and leather boots drenched and filled with cloud blood, and even the hem of her mazarine dress wicked dew from the moor flowers as she gambolled upon the indigo heather, yet she remained unruffled. She even smiled upon hearing heavenly percussion, or seeing white light cleave a close sky in two. For she didn’t fear lightning strikes, she welcomed them. Her singed sleeves rolled down revealing blistered, scarred tissue, as she upraised a whorled wand, daring reprise.
By Samuel Andrew Milner11 months ago in Fiction
Ungodly Beasts
SURGING FORWARD WITH MUDDIED BOOTS, an air of imminence under his black coattails, a tall man approached the portico of a grand estate. Feeble though, in the gloaming. He paused a moment on the gravel path and beheld a frenzied light, and wicked howling emanating from a second storey window in the eastern corner of the house. His pallid face was stricken with apprehension as rain bellowed and gale force winds languished against the man, threatening to fell him like an axe to a tree. He considered leaving, but held fast and gripped the long parcel under his cloak more tightly. He had some difficult business to attend, but business nevertheless.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Black Velvet
Le gâteau. It looked delicious. Or rather he, for he was as masculine in the ways with which dark chocolate had been in him infused, and atop his skin with icing slathered. He was brought into this life however, unknowing of his delicacy, unaware of his handsomeness. He simply had been removed from the kiln where his components were warmed and roused.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Limb From Limb
LUCY STIRRED. She shot upright to the drum of her own heart beating, which coincided with a peal of thunder. After a few deep breaths, she sat wide awake, recovering from what could only have been, a terrifying dream. She reached for the torch, and swiched it on. A beam of cool white light shone all around her, and filled the chilly tent.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Horror
Fenghuang
EVERY NIGHT AT MIDNIGHT, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Thick cumulonimbuses, brimming with electricity, yet porous and aetherial. And in the clouds, undulating rhythmically, singing long, deep ballads of love, like a pulse trembling in the atmosphere, were the whales swimming in the wind. Through the roseate and chartreuse streaks, and the waves of damson and cerulean that lit up the night, one could tell there was a grand pod in the heavens. Judging from the assortment of blowholes and flukes seen in the aurora, splashing and skipping along the edges of the clouds like stones, from mature and younger couples and calves alike, this night would bring a spectacular symphony. Often the tune was wistful, but this chorus was a hearty, even sprightly one. And everywhere in the valley, the people would be sung to sleep by the lullabies.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
The Way It Must Be
ALL ALONG THE PROMENADE, the crowd, roused, ebullient and unsatisfied, like at any mass gathering, moved buoyantly like a school of fish, anxious about what had recently transpired that Sunday morning, barely moments ago. Smoke had yet to settle, but news disseminated quickly among the townspeople, either making their way home, or going about their daily business. Some folks were dumbstruck, and ambulated about carelessly, like lost lambs, herding and gawking. Others still, shrieked in fear after having seen such a grisly event fulminate before them, and resoundingly so; or cried out in distress, and limped, or were carried hurriedly away from the scene, bloodied and bent. While whistles echoed and sounded down the broadest boulevards and the slenderest streets, as police shepherded the host of onlookers away from the origin of chaos, and corralled a handful of those whom they felt had felonious faces. How such a joyous mood in the city could so swiftly turn dark-hearted was to the young man… illuminating.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Starlit Queen
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. For most, space is death. A cruel, unforgiving place. Once one is alone, full of fear, and languishing for breath, to shout or wail is warranted, albeit impossible; a great many have indeed died out in the void like this. Yet, space is a far cry from either malicious or malevolent. It is dangerous, but it lacks temperament, or mindset, or being. So my logical brain dictates. But I can’t help wondering, even now, as I did then, if that is entirely true. As I floated aimlessly. Pacific in an intangible realm of glorious light and colour, and of unending mystery and sublime terror. Of course the truth is much simpler than that. I do not have lungs or any similar organs in which air passes through, nor vocal cords with which to convey a scream. However, I can accurately replicate the screams, and like sounds of creatures which do possess such organs, at all frequencies. And similarly, I have the capacity to detect sounds with my advanced biomechanical auditory sensors. Thus if I so desired, I could… hear a scream in the vacuum of space.
By Samuel Andrew Milnerabout a year ago in Fiction
Divine Beings
2001 Sat between two stacks of oak bookcases— one devoted entirely to old tomes of Egypt and her pharaohs, the other to the histories of Asia Minor and the Levant— was a studious eight-year-old, nosedeep in a 19th century biography. The Exploits of J. H. B. Montserrat, Volume II. She flicked through the musty pages quickly, but with a keenness uncommon of a girl her age. Not for biographies at least. Even one as fantastical as that which she had chosen.
By Samuel Andrew Milner2 years ago in Fiction