Never The End

Never The End


The darkness surrounds us a thick, unctuous soup of warm nothingness. I nuzzle into the night, deeper and deeper, until it coats my every sinew, every atom, every thought. The girl’s hand is clammy, even slippery to one with a lesser grip; I am not one with a lesser grip. We push on between the dreams, the pitch-black imaginings, the harsh reality of monotonous life.
Dawn is reluctant to rise in this place. It’s as if we tromp through gigantic caverns of moist night air with such a crust of earth between us and it that the sunlight will come to us only in our nightmares. I apologise, to the girl it would come as a dream. I forget these things. It has been so long.
A fury of fluttering wings sends sparks of sensory awareness echoing around this place I call home; the bats have returned and with them my children. I hear their chittering as though eager to be told another tale of eternity and the cosmos. I would, but my heart lies elsewhere this eve, stone-cold though it is.
We ascend, or descend, I forget which? The unmistakable clip-clop of feet on stone stairs echoes around the tight confines of the tower. It is a good job I do not suffer from claustrophobia, not that this is the tightest realm of my daily routine.
A sharp slap to the face as of cold air, a gust from the outside world, brings a smile from me and a gasp from my companion. I am almost home, I smile, as a sliver of pinprick stars filters through the absolute obsidian. The girl sees it too; I feel her fingers contract.
It is light here, almost too much so for one with eyes as sensitive as mine. My companion releases my hand and rushes to the window to gaze out across eternity. I did so too the first time I saw it.
“It’s so high!” she gasps. “Is this heaven?”
“Not quite,” I say, as I hold her close and look out at the moon. I love La Luna, as some call her, her austere perfection, milk-white skin; her reliable interactions with my evenings.
The girl’s neck glows with a luminescence only my kind can see, if any others still exist, that is? I allow dagger talons to caress her jugular; the girl purrs in response.
“So beautiful,” she coos.
“Yes, you are,” I reply.
I hear her smile, the upturning of her lips creaking in the still air. I enjoy these small details in a way I would never have before… before it happened. A brief flash of what might have been sunlight flickers across a centuries old memory as something trickles down my cheek.
“Can we stay like this forever just you and I?”
“Yes,” I say, drawing back, then striking forward to the shlep of punctured skin. I drink and weep, drink and weep, then drink some more. I finish with a sigh allowing her body to tumble from my mirador home to the valley floor so far, far below. It must be two miles or more but the sounds of her dead bones cracking on the granite rocks still gives me a migraine.
“Time to sleep,” I say to myself for no apparent reason, and turn to my bed.
The ruby velour squeezes me like a second skin. It provokes a slight diminishing of the guilt, but not much. And, as I close eyes that have closed an infinite amount of times already, I breathe out for what seems the first time in hours. I do not need to, but somehow it feels apt.
I hear the flittering of my children as they enter the room to hang from the window frames, curtains and more. I smile. Perhaps, I am not as alone as I think? Perhaps, more so? One day the truth will come to me. One day. But not yet. I still have so much to do.

Never The End.

Black Satin

The night drips around me in liquid satin, a perfect black. I can taste its velvety texture, hear its thrumming silence, sense the still. The pause before the final breath, the hush before the breaking storm, darkness slips its fingers around my throat and squeezes with the subtle kindness of a misplaced love. I am choking. I want more.

Waking to dust mites caught in a single beam of gold, I wave the day away. Take me back, I whisper. Let me go. But the sun will not relinquish me; it never does. I pull up the covers and wait.

When you arrive all bloodshot eyes and scimitar smile, the darkness comes with you. This is your world, your eternity, and as I reveal the outline of my eager neck, I dream of it being mine too. I wait. You nod. It is.

50 Word Stories: Into Eternity

Whilst the sun drips away, sorrow purges dead veins like sea ice flowing to the heart. Yet, hope remains of a place beyond places where lovers might live in peace and the gentle thuds of a chest in motion beguiles what melancholy has disenfranchised. Two wait to step into eternity.

Into Eternity (Coming very soon!)

Also by Richard M. Ankers

The Eternals

Hunter Hunted

50 Word Stories: Insatiable

The night peels from my skin like a layer of starless darkness; I am one with the evening.

The hunt is short, easy, does nothing to cure my insatiable needs. I discard him, then his friend, then others.

Dawn arrests my rampage. Sleep comes. Tomorrow, I’ll do it all again.

The Tribe (Micro-Fiction)

They called themselves the tribe. A disparate band of hoodlums made tough by numbers, reinforced by concealed blades and young girls in too much lipstick. Kings of the neighbourhood, they flounced, preened and one night chanced their arms.

Midnight, alone and moody, I meandered. They struck.

The cops found all ten of them in a trashcan. Good job I was bored or they wouldn’t have found them at all. You see, and I tell you this because we’ll probably never meet, there’s only one real tribe, and they weren’t in it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the sun rises. Time to sleep. Time to rest. Time to put the smile away.

#VignetteSeries – Like Milk

Author’s Note: Just in case you ever wondered.


To flow unadulterated, undiluted from a neck of porcelain perfection, white as bleached bones, soft as melting candle wax, one would have presumed it tasted like milk. One would have presumed many things of my profession, my life. Almost all of course would be wrong. Such is the way with imaginations, they falsify facts. The truth, the salient detail I seek to deliver with aplomb: her blood was metallic. Please, allow me to demonstrate.

#VignetteSeries – The Baltic Graveyard

This is a dummy scene from Into Eternity — book three of The Eternals Series — where Jean walks into a landscape he cannot comprehend. Someone does, though.

They sprung from between the misting carcasses of all that was humanity, those rusting hulks and sunken detritus. Great fields of them appeared out of the gloom some splintered, some protruding at lopsided angles from the mud and pooled water, some standing proud in the shape of the cross. Rags hung from them flapping in the slight breeze, a never ending vista of death. Although hot-blooded life was not mine, I chilled at that view. Something terrible had happened all those centuries ago, but what remained a mystery.

I glanced across to Aurora who shrugged, then to Grella, who would not meet my eye.

Golden Book Award Contest, 2017 (Last Two Days)

One Last Push for my Second Award – Any Help is Much Appreciated

I’ve been nominated in the Golden Book Award Contest, 2017 in the Fantasy category. And it’s coming to a close!

Voting ends on the 15th. Not long left.

If you would like to help and vote for The Eternals here is the link Golden Book Award Contest, 2017. There is absolutely no pressure to do so as it is really a bit of fun and free advertising, but an honour nonetheless. A bonus is that it’s really easy to do. LOL (for folk like me)

Thanks for reading


Richard M. Ankers author of The Eternals

Also now available Book 2 Hunter Hunted


Always Tomorrow 

I collated the data, crunched the numbers, extrapolated every last minutiae, distilled it all down to one cold hard truth: I loved her. So why didn’t I feel it in my heart? Why didn’t I get that chill one should? Question after endless question. I licked the blood from my lips and shrugged as her soul tickled my tongue. I’d try again tomorrow. There was always tomorrow. Perhaps I’d feel differently with the next.