This story is a preface to a (to be) novel, by someone else other than me. I was asked to introduce the story…

it’s a cute story of a raccoon… trust me.

Quint’s journey:fate looms

Mr. Vale scurried across the cold dusty floor. Beads of rain pattered against the window, giving the illusion that the room was weeping. The morning was breaking, and Mr. Vale was on his way to meet Herman. This time of year, he seems to arrive earlier and earlier.

Herman and Mr. Vale had formed a bond over the many seasons. A far greater friendship than the other inhabitants of the house. Herman seemed to be the peace keeper of the house. If he were actually mortal then perhaps he would have enemies to fear. Enemies like Mr. Vale had.

“Well hello Mr. Vale, how are you this fine morning?” a quiet voice snaked from the darkened corner.

“Herman?”

“Yeah, just gimme a sec. I’m almost here.”

Outside the clouds gave way to the day. Light poured into the room like water bleeding towards a drain. In the center of the study stood a large grandfather clock. It was no longer active and well past it’s years, but from death comes life.

A thick shadow crawled across the floor as the rain ebbed. The darkness seemed to move in a morning stretch as it reached for the corner of the room.

“Ah, there you are,” said Mr. Vale.

The shadow spoke, this time with a much stronger voice, “I didn’t think that rain was ever going to stop.”

“Happy Birthday, Herman,” the cockroach seemingly bowed toward the darkened corner.

…. to be continued….

.

“Relationships are forfeited far too early in this age.” This came from a wise girl child not long ago.

She was keen in words and heart, but naive to the world; the foundations of her kinship was a ruse. This was even certain to the virgin eye.

A free spirit; she bared her body and soul to the world, although it would be her heart that would be soiled. Perhaps it was the love of others that tarnished the child; there is a faint line between trust and gullibility.

She danced and smiled and brightened the lives of many. What they never saw was her self worth falling like grains in an hour glass. Ever so slowly did it happen. Slowly… slower.

The fates saw fit to curse the girl’s tongue so that she could not cry out, “Help ME!”

She pondered this sickness and let hate boil in the pit of her stomach. It was at that point she vowed to never seek help, even if the witches saw fit to return her voice. It was too late. The sisters mocked her and spat in her face. She only had one solace left… her crop.

Once again her dreams were dashed when the harvest season came. The pumpkin patch yielded no fruit, not a single plump squash could be found. The field was bare.

No pumpkin pies, no grinning jack-o-lanterns, The children will be distraught, most likely never to return. How many straws could be placed on the back?

The Dark One was moulding her mind like a potter behind the the wheel. He always spoke with grinning faces, but only a select few. No matter the face, he always spoke with a forked tongue. A pure heart with the light of a thousand suns would soon be as black as coal.

Pain and suffering followed the relationships of the child. It seemed to suit her just fine. The twisted tongue folded and kneaded his lies to assure the girl that others should suffer what was cast upon her ten times greater.

She stood at the precipice of life…laughing…unsure why.

I lay here with the closet door open and my foot hanging from the bed, hoping that once I drift to sleep the monsters will take me.
They will drag me to the abyss so that I may see the wondrous weapons they have created to lay siege to our world.
They have been here for ages…building…planning. Once the human race stops fighting itself, they will blanket our land in darkness.
Once we have a victor, we will lay weakened. We will be tired and unaware.
The longer we fight, the longer they have to build their massive army, ready to crawl from the shadows at a moments notice. They have already gained forces that would destroy us eight times over.

For the sake of the human race…may we continue to wage war.

…

I made a snowman today. I lay here in bed and can see him from the window. The moonlight reflects off the ice like a cat’s eye.

I have read ‘the eyes are the windows to the soul’. The cold construct that sits on the front yard has eyes dark as pitch. He knows how limited his stay is here. Those eyes ask, ‘why was I created? I’ll only melt and die in a weeks time.’

He stares at me…beging for an answer. I smile in contempt. I know the truth. A dark soul awaits in that snow creature. It waits for me to sleep.

I close the curtins.

So I just downloaded a wordpress app for the iPhone. I am going to start a series of short writings. Direct from my phone. I usually write with pen and pad, but there will be no middleman for these shorts.

This is a lil’ project I started last year, I have finished chapter two, and will have it online soon.

Chapter One - The Weeks

A deadly game continues on the plains of New Mexico, late nineteenth century.

Look at television commercials, the internet, radio ads, your work place. What controls our actions everyday? Find out in ‘The Storyteller Project’.

I tried my luck at poetry, I hope you like… A Little bit of the Creature.

Download the short short story… World Hunger now!