‘Spider Bites’ Fan Art

November 19, 2017

A reader and someone I chat with produced some artwork a while back for the short story Spider Bites and wanted me to share it with all of you, so here it is:

If you have not read the short story Spider Bites yet, please click here and don’t forget to tell me what you think.

 

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Beyond Superficial

October 8, 2017

Really quick and rough fiction from today’s daily word prompt ‘Superficial.’

 

Jonathan Barnes was only twenty-three years old but he knew better, no matter what everyone told him when he brought up the subject of Catherine Belle. Catherine was a beautiful woman, the kind of person everyone knew had the upper hand due to what others might term as ‘genetic luck’ but Jonathan knew better than that.

His friends would poke fun at him when his feelings and thoughts about Catherine leaked out into the open, because of affection, the one emotion no one really should repress if it is of the healthy and objective variety, has a way of escaping it’s confinement to be blurted out across nervous speeches and bold gestures. They would make fun of him for loving what to the more lustful than loving was nothing more than a trophy, a conquest; a place they could plant a flag and claim superiority of their peers based on instincts belonging to a less gentle and knowledgeable age.

Jonathan, however, could notice the little things other seemed to just let pass them by. A beauty that is appreciated by many is either the result of a gorgeous lie or a plainly visible truth and in the case of Catherine Belle, the case could definitely be made for truth over lie being the cause of her popularity. No one hated Catherine the way they might others with her appearance and poise, but it was because there was no trickery going on.

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Charlie Irrelevant

September 24, 2017

Bit of hastily imagined short fiction for today’s WordPress Daily Prompt: Irrelevant.

Charlie stalked through the crowd, and it slightly parted as he made his way through the busy marketplace.  Maybe not as much of a part as the old prophet Moses made on Earth when he spread the Red Sea (was it actually red? Like the natural waste ponds on Aldranuich Seven? Who knew much about Earth now?), but the crowd parted enough that Charlie could feel that same feeling he always felt, like he was repelling people away from him, like an instinct.

Maybe it was a bad idea to leave the public hive building to go to the cinema.

Thing was, his neighbor and he had been talking the last weekend prior, a real treat for Charlie (alcohol was of course involved. It took ten Talbatian ales to make Charlie open up and half a dozen blue worm wine bottles to make Mr. Granfeild from frame 6-A to be able to stand to be within five feet of Charlie for an extended period) but he told him there was this great film from Earth that was playing at the Plateau Sixteen, called Catcher in the Rye, made in the late 21st century from an infamous novel from the twentieth century that Mr. Granfeild felt he might enjoy, maybe even identify with.

Problem was Charlie really liked the film, despite how true it stayed to the dialogue of the book, which he found quite dull and tacky, but he had to admit, as he passed all the people going to and fro in the twilight of this great city, the word ‘phony,’ however tacky, did seem to ring true.

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Spider Bites

August 29, 2017

Basic story idea from this Writing Prompt, opinions, advice, and comments gratefully taken and desired. 

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Henry balled up both his fists again, the tight olive green t-shirt straining at the mass of his upper arm as he started his swinging motion, the same kind of T-shirt he told Cynthia he used to wear during basic training.

Thwack, thwack, boom!

Cynthia felt the pain explode in her head as she fell onto the kitchen floor, her hands shielding her head as she went into a fetal position. Cynthia’s right hand felt around her temple and her fingers slid into something wet and slightly warm, like some soup left in a pot that had to be reheated before it could be served.

Her eyes were closed but Cynthia could hear Henry take a step closer in his steel toe work boots. There was a minute moment of perfect silence, a muttering of what might have been the word: ‘Bitch,’ and then the pain and the blood from her now throbbing head was quickly forgotten as a worse pain exploded in her stomach and all the air was forced out of her lungs.

It was as if one pain outranked the other and told it who was in charge when it came to the pain game.

All this over a spider.

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Just Beneath The Skin

January 5, 2017

From out of the storm walked the souls, clinging to the masks sewn on at birth and learning their roles.406522_322086917812430_414015272_n

Drenched in tears from the Earth Mother, in their arms treasures wrapped in rags like no other.

Grouping not together but alone or in mismatched pairs, waiting for the roadside snake oil men to sell their wares.

Feet shuffled along on the road of mud that was once dust, heads down low from the rain lest their hearts rust.

The salesman waited with black smiles of glee, ‘We will trap them here, they will never be free.’

When the many souls asked the price of the poisoned vision in the salesmen’s bags, they lifted dirty crooked fingers and pointed at the treasures wrapped in the rags.

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Fiction: Of Light And Shadow | The Doctor Who Companion

December 31, 2016

A little bit of holiday Doctor Who fiction to start off the new year from TomSpy and the Doctor Who Companion.

All shares, comments, and likes welcome. 

http://thedoctorwhocompanion.com/2016/12/30/fiction-of-light-and-shadow/


Of Roots & Fractals

August 6, 2016

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Throwing this out there and it was inspired by this writing prompt on Reddit.

Bob admittedly felt strange as he awoke on that Sunday morning, staring at the blue sky from his bed in his tiny one bedroom apartment, the bright sunlight forcing his eyes and his mind under the covers to try and regroup.

It felt like he got no rest at all, even though he had gotten into the habit of sleeping as much as possible, because it was better to be blissfully asleep rather than think about how lonely and isolated he was every single day of his life.

His eyes burned and his body ached as if he had been on a bender and then proceeded to start a fight in which the odds must have plainly been against him. Bob had vague recollections of a strange dream, of hands reaching out and a voice that kept telling him he had one last chance.

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