The Hush

Forgive me if I write this note in blood, for I have no ink with which to stain these pages. Thus, I pour myself upon them for you. Everything is for you.

My arteries have an endless supply of the stuff, even if it is not always my own, rich and unctuous. I would prefer the midnight depths of black, but what choice do I have? This place is ill-lit and blood shines brighter.

People take notice when words stand out from the crumpled, milk-white pages of another ruined book. They eye them not with the same suspicion as leaking red, but as though written by a doctor, important and necessary etchings. I am not a doctor, though. Nor am I necessary. I have been told this my entire life.

It has taken so long to slice the required vein, to drain myself, that I have now lost the will to write. I could record my voice, shout even, but the written word is so much more preferable. Dickens’ and Shakespeare’s works would not carry the same kudos if unavailable to the masses. Damn this endless malaise!

Hours have slipped past. I have no words left to impart. Unless I have, and you read them already, here and now. But words must carry details, information, promises and rewards. These words carry only doom. I apologise for this. Doom is in my nature.

I close the book. Stitch up my wound. Mire in melancholy just a little longer. But time is something I have, and it avails an afterthought.

I reach up from the depths and twist a star; they never like this. The brilliant beam of molten silver this act avails makes it all worthwhile. I step out into this mercury spotlight and steal said luminance. Or displace it, I’m unsure which?

Only light reveals me, for I am the darkness it would otherwise banish. Light is always the key, not words, nor books, nor me. And I realise as I hum a tune to the other so high above that I don’t need to leave a note. I am not required to forewarn you. Eventually, we shall meet regardless, and you and I can share as many words as we want for as long as we want. Or not.

I bow to Eternity. I wave to Infinity. Neither wave back. I then depart stage down.

‘Death has left the building!’ I wish to scream.

Instead, I snigger at those pathetic fools I wished to please, to reassure, to inform. Death never leaves the building, you see. He, by which I mean me, just waits outside the door.

Now, I am home. I am bleeding freely, if inwards, not out. Perhaps I shall write about it. After all, I bleed only for you.

Thanks for reading

Richard

Richard M. Ankers

Carved

Written for Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge
Today’s prompt was Carve.

She used them like a builder might a mallet, smashing her way through one person to get to the next. There were never words. She never needed them. Her every action, thought, and deed stemmed from her eyes.

What were they like? Could you describe them: narrowed, nasty, blood-stained, or worse?

My answer was always the same, of course I could. They were carved. The Devil himself had chiselled them out of her porcelain facade. But it was only now as she used them with more venom than ever that the cracks showed.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

The Creature I Knew

Written for Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge
Today’s Prompt was Creature.

It wasn’t the teeth that bit,
Nor the eyes that glared,
Not even the claws that slashed;
It wasn’t the spikes that poked,
Nor the tail that swatted,
Not even the horns that gouged;
It was the creature’s name that hurt,
Stung like a thousand bee stings,
As it slipped from my lips: Sister.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

Ghost

Written for Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge

“We are all ghosts in the greater scheme of things. We are invisible to all but those who know us there. Is that not the very definition of a ghost?”

The creature nodded to not a rustle, nor even a disturbance of the air. All that marked its presence was a chill down the spine and a momentary blurring of my vision. But I knew what it was, which proved my point. And still, I couldn’t run.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

The Frog

Written for Tourmaline .’s Halloween Challenge.

There wasn’t a person in sight, just a gawping fool of a frog.

The frog had no teeth, no claws, and no idea, apparently. It sat on the path between me and my destination like a small rock waging war against the tidal sea. The question was how to pass it? I could’ve strode over, leapt, or booted it out of the way. I wasn’t one for going around. To my shame, the boot won.

I drew back my hobnail boots like a famous striker and launched into a world-beating goal. The frog just opened its mouth. It did not stop.

I lost my foot, then leg, then felt the rest of me sucked inside the frog’s now vacuous maw. The clouds were last to go, as my vision passed from day to enforced night. The frog belched.

There were others inside the frog, but they claimed it a toad. We fought in the darkness for a meaningless victory. The frog just belched again and moved on to mice, cats, and dogs.

The End.

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

The Innocence of Youth – (Drabble)

The darkness came as a swathe of night, flanked by fire and flood. All fled before it except for one small boy.
Chaos abounded. People wrestled over petty goods, tore with fingernails and teeth. Yet, only when the darkness touched them did reality bite, fleeing terrified into either the flames or the abyssal waters. Soon, only the boy remained.
The Devil came for him with genuine intrigue plastered across his jester features. “You survived. How?”
The boy looked him straight in his goat-like eyes. “I can’t swim, and I’m warm already.”
“Ah,” cooed the Devil. “The innocence of youth.”

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.
Also Available:
The Eternals Series: The Eternals / Hunter Hunted / Into Eternity

The Six Signs

The first sign came in the form of migrating crows. Not in the least bit odd, apart from the fact they don’t. They poured from the fields like a great Black Plague, out over the basalt cliffs and away.

The second sign was subtle: A grasshopper dead in the snow.

The third sign was less so. An earthquake hit the city, shaking every brick from its neighbour and every bottle from the fridge. I lost my milk in the event, which annoyed me greatly.

The fourth sign was as easy as breathing. The wind changed colour from nothing to lots. Crimson particles filled the air.

Sign five was my personal favourite. A dove flew over and sat upon my shoulder. There, the creature cooed for all it was worth, until I stroked its head. This seemed to settle my avian friend. Perhaps the crows sensed this.

Sign six, the final one, was given a name: The Return. The crows streamed back over the ocean like a black fog. They coagulated, poured down like an open vein, ignoring everybody except one, me. They pecked and cawed, scratched with sharpened talons, refused to stop. It woke me from my slumber, that which all else had not.

I awoke from my dream to the dove at my feet and a snowing of black feathers. I looked from one to the other and wept, for I was no longer bound by disdain. The wind, having returned to clarity, only emphasised my own crimson nature. The steadiness of the earth only served to highlight my volatile self. Mephistopheles had returned from his sojourn, and thanks to the six signs sent by my father, Death, would make sure the world knew. Well, everyone has to have something to do.

The End

Thank you for reading
Richard

Richard M. Ankers
Author of the brand new steampunk extravaganza Britannia Unleashed.