William L. Truax III
Disabled Veteran, Father of 2.
I am a teller of tales and dreams, visions, haunting melodies, subtidal invocations of the mind and song.
I am a Teller of Tales.
Autom Star Gazing
The day began like any other had done for so long that it became its own common place, the days went on in their standard monotony and the blending of one day to the next was more than obvious for any of us who worked here. Though, to say that every day was new and adventurous was an under sight to all who dwelled here. It was a simple same thing everyday type of life, there was nothing to change, and all would be as it had been. That was until the night of the Autom Star Gazing, that night was a night that changed all of us in every single imaginable way.
The feeling of being alone and lost, searching for the one that would light the way in the darkness… it is a small feeling of terror… but I digress, I am getting ahead of myself. Please, allow me once more to start again. My name is Quintis Allure, I am a “Wizard” of sorts, served under the great masters of my time and learned from the works of Socrates, Aristotle, Virgal. They say that I am a learned man, whatever that means now is nothing compared to the horror that I faced that night and with all the knowledge of the heavens and of hell, it was nothing. I still stood there lost and alone in front of that great beast.
The Nightmare Woods
My name is Paul Crag, and I find myself wandering through the desolate woods on this chilling night, an unwelcome guest in the realm of shadows and secrets. The moon's pale visage casts eerie specters that mock my presence in these cursed woods, and my every footfall resonates with a mournful echo, as if the very earth beneath me craves to devour my trembling soul. The heavy forest presses upon my psyche, its bony fingers clutching at my sanity, while an air of unspeakable dread suffuses the nocturnal stillness, tormenting me with a foreboding that gnaws at the very core of my being.
Atop a platform in a field of marsh and green a dwelling stands against the test of time and as I found it long ago, lost in another time and place. It seemed to me as if it had been forgotten and abandoned long ago by the original inhabitants of the dwelling, but too it seemed as if it were holding that small secret that needed to be opened. I had thought to myself of that cold and damp location, it sent shills up my spine but still gave hope to me as if I were the only one to be able to break the curse that it held on itself and nay once be occupied again by that of the living and breathing.
The Doctor Who Helped
Doctor Felix C. May was a respectable doctor at his prime when a man walked into the hospital on Jones Street and asked for him specifically. The man himself was a short, robust man with every ounce of his being neatly tucked into his trousers and his oversized shirt hiding the remnants of the leftovers. He looked every part the man whom the radio broadcasts were saying to avoid at all costs. His hair balding in the front giving him that advantageous look of a smarter, more grown individual, define in absolute intelligence, his widows peak being the best quality he had. The man was a mere babbling, nonsensical person whose only whelms were in eating of the most fattening foods and a more slothful nature. His claim that the good doctor was the only hope he had with his more ambitious and sensational therapy inside of a heated tank where his weight would have been removed in one sitting. The overly obese man thought the good doctor upon seeing him would help right away as he believed himself the proper candidate for the experimental treatment. The man had heard that at one point in the days of high of Roman Conquest and Imperialism that the Vomitorium was a natural born cure, that, and the sensational organization of the Huffington that he desired to be able to acquire. Sadly as the man sought it, the proprietor of the Huffington was more into slimmer perspective clients for this newly formed drug of everyday delivery. Herein the doctor was called upon by the man walking into the hospital setting.
In the harshness of the cold abyss I saw above me a house that was what I had dreamt of in my youth. It was taller than a mountain, but smaller than an average village dwelling from those more somber years of ages past, strong as a mighty oxen named Babe, and as light as a feather. You could pack it in a bag and tote it alongside you anywhere you had traveled to and never had to worry about leaving home behind for it followed you everywhere as it does to me now.
Call me Wind
It was then the at the last moments of my life that I have lived so long avoiding where I finally took a look around and seen what it was that I was once beholding. I took a long look around that was all around me, above, below, wipe out into the fields that the people were there planting and sowing, I watched the fires burn brightly in the night and seen all the stars in the sky erupt with all the light and shine. I sat there and watched the rise and fall of all the ones who came before and after, I watched the cities burn and turn to ashes, I watched the sky fall and grow back, seen the mountains give way and crack, fall to nothingness, and rise up once again tall and mightier than before, I seen the great halls of the days of yore where all those would meet, gather to and flock thereafter no more. I had seen the sights of those whom dwell in the hills and upon the valleys, I seen the old men cry out in anger and sob in their misery. I watched for eons with no thought or care to even set foot on their ground. I have been there above you and below you and all around. My name gives me purpose and cause and scene, I am called the Wind, my friend, welcome, what brings you to me?
Star-Dog Ch. 2
I received this letter of confession from an inmate here at the Ark Asylum for the Criminally Insane and Desolate, here, I, Warden Cotton, shall recite into this phonograph the grave details that had transpired on the night in question where the man charged with the heinous offense of the Chicago Fire was placed under arrest and condemned then hung by the neck.
The Star-Dog and I
It was in the middle of the spring of my youth when I were but a frail young man whom knew nothing of what the world had to offer, nor was I so young and thoughtless in my mind and eyes to know that all that was told unto me as a youthful boy was all that there was or ever will be. Here I protest to the thought that I knew and had never known anything. My youthfulness should not be apart of these thoughts that I write here, but since the quill can only take down what it is that the ink and hand place, well, it is as I said it was and that must be how I want to begin this.
Message in a Bottle
The Letter from Tike; Exposure by Kultwrite. A letter arrived at the doorstep of my humble beginnings in this manner, and in that letter that had no date or time of placement I had felt that it was an urgent matter that needed my retainment henceforth. Being the man that I am or was, I had told those seeking solitude and yet in need of the services that I offer to expel me a written note with no time or date upon it and ship it to me within a fortnight of my requiring. Here the note then landed upon the subtle mailroom floor whereas I found it and opened it instantly.
The Reappearance of Sir Edwin Cole Sr.
The Reappearance of Sir Edwin Cole Sr. Here, I found the late evening hours longing and raging on as the heat from the furnace was poetically cultivating heat from the fires it bore, a man gaining entry into the dorm that I was occupying. He seemingly had a vague expression cast upon his face as if nothing seemed to be the matter, and yet, here he was. I wondered up to the man, as I was in charge of admissions for the night and asked him if he was in need of assistance of any kind, then as if struck by some form of spell that he had been visible to, the man before me began to speak in a manner that was both provocative and highly unusual for the clientele that cater here.