Strange Reflections a new serial on Patreon

 

Strange Reflections Cover

I just launched a new serial story on my Patreon page.  For those of you who don’t know already, some of my stories are either exclusive to Patreon or early access for Patreon Subscribers.

My new serial, titled Strange Reflections, departs a bit from science fiction and delves into a world of horror and mystery.

A short blurb:

A reoccurring nightmare, a library full of occult books, and a strange underground passage, for Amanda it’s only the beginning.

Check out my Patreon Page where you can find this story and one other from the world of the Chronicles of the Great Migration! 

Cover Art for Upon Stilted Cities: Winds of Change

Special thanks for the remarkable work of Gabriel Perez an amazing Sci-Fi artist! The cover art of Upon Stilted Cities: The Winds of Change is here! Some sample Chapters are below, but remember they contain spoilers for Mimi of the Nowhere (which you can get here) so be warned.

Blurb: 

Forty Years after the events of Mimi of the Nowhere the city of Manhasten is in danger. It just doesn’t know it yet. An organization known as the Children of Gaia has returned from the ancient past and destroyed the city of Langeles. Resurrected and more powerful than ever, their leader is hell-bent on destroying every single remaining city that roams the earth. At the center of it all, is one man, a man as ancient as the city of Manhasten itself, a man designated, Runner 17.

Final Cover!!!!

Sample Chapters 

Prologue and Chapter 1 Here (No Spoilers there to worry about)

Chapter 2: A Return to Nowhere (Spoilers Here) 

 

Solitary Spring

Poem and Artwork are titled Solitary Spring

Solitary Spring

Solitary Spring

Let me tell you my secrets
Shall we unearth them?
Unbury the bones?
Expose the truth?

All winter I lay dormant
Scratching madly at the lid of my coffin
Until my fingers bleed
Until I am ready to peel back the skin
And let the bones leave their marks

Sometimes I need that pain,
Skin raw, muscles exposed
Salt in the open wound,
Cold on warm skin
A taste of madness
An itch I must scratch

At least until,
A single ray of sun
Pierces my resting place
A hint of air
Grants me a breath

I push my way up,
Through wood and earth
I paint with blood
A unique language
An epic tale

Bracing my bones,
There is no one else to help me,
Not really
I am a wanderer
A Self-Made Sorcerer
Apprentice of Death laying dormant

I widen the hole,
fingers clawing for greater purchase
My fist bursts forth into the crisp spring air
And I taste hints of winter’s recent passage

I gulp
Stealing the scent of flowers
I am thief
But a professional

I push my wounded hands upward
Splinters become my bones
They take root and begin to grow
Small sprouts
Budding

I emerge
Only bones without flesh
I drag out my remains out and lay flat
Warming in the sun
I could go back
But I stay
Despite great danger

That air,
Those flowers,
New growth in my bones
The glimpse of a clear blue sky,
All tempt me

And who am I to resist the temptress?

A Few Thoughts Before Dreaming

Thoughts Before DreamingA Few Thoughts Before Dreaming

Pigeons shitting on the car.
Streaks of white,
Cleaned off,
To happen again,
So much for the car wash.

The gum I stepped in,
A faithful passenger,
Creating sticky situations,
And semi-sucking noises.
No ninja here.

The beautiful stranger who smiled at me,
Sending transmissions like shockwaves.
Envisioning the possibility of love and marriage and happiness,
A tale of forever…
Followed by inevitable divorce.

Socks getting lost in blankets.
Tossing.
Turning.
Mind wandering to extravagant places with unfortunate problems.
A sigh,
An unpaid bill.
A sigh,
Things left undone.
A sigh,
Things left unsaid.

Then,
A deep breath.
I listen,
For the stillness,
For the wind,
For the hint of raindrops,
For the naked air wrapped in a cloak of day and night
In it, I find the beating of my own heart,
Matched with the music of the leaves outside,
Gently rustling.
Just a little song.
I remember beauty.
I remember love.
I remember life.
As my eyes slip shut.

 

A Reliable Cycle

A Reliable CycleA Reliable Cycle

Car stalls.
Stillness in the early morning.
No sun yet.
Fog and cloud mingle with the full moon like tendrils grasping for possession.
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The moon devoured.
A sky bound feeding frenzy.
Deep darkness.
Car stalls.
5 miles to go
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The moon escapes the maw.
It makes a dash for freedom.
The tendrils lose their grip.
Moon slides behind a mountain.
I am jealous.
No reprieve for me.
Car stalls.
2 miles to go
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The sun paints the sky with its morning yawn.
Color at war with the vast armies of the night.
A reliable cycle.
A predictable outcome.
Car Stalls.
A half mile to go.
I wait.
Engine turns over.
On the road again.
The sun douses me with its first light.
I am radiant.
I am blinded.
I am almost there.
50 feet to go.
Car stalls.

 

 

 

Beneficial Flame

Beneficial

There are moments in our lives when we feel the fire of rage.

All is in a fog, all is unclear, all is distorted. Yet in the center of that rage, we believe that there is clarity, that we know what the right course of action is.

We confirm our truth.

We allow our preconceptions to build on perception and solidify. It becomes tangible. To us, there is a kind of beauty in that anger. We lust for it.

Like a flower, it seems to have bloomed from some place righteous, some place justified. And those who will be the victims of our rage will receive their just reward.

Yet after, what does it make? How was it of benefit? Did the flame burn truth into the brow of our enemy?

Most often, anger burns the one who wields it, like one who lit a match and held it too long. Scorched fingers.

Patience douses the fire with water.

Sit in the center of the flame and watch it. Let it burn but do not feed it.

Sit in the center and whisper the sacred syllable, Hung.

Watch it transform.

Watch you transform.

Give it space.

Rest in Mind.