Another Short Piece, This One's About Saru!

Original Image: outbackencounter.com

The Cleansing:

      The world opened up, the ground falling in on itself like a giant black hole. The air carried vibrations on its currents, like a tuning fork had been struck by an angry god.

      Light was consumed by the ever-growing shadows that appeared to seep from the very fabric of reality itself. The only sound that could be heard was that of the rushing gusts of dust-filled wind and the slow, angry, growl of the planet as it tore itself apart. Apocalypse?

      His eyes held shock and sadness as he witnessed the destruction. An ancient being in his own right, he'd never witnessed such horror.

      When all was said and done, the planet looked like it had been devastated by a nuclear attack. Life had been almost annihilated.

     What caused this? What could cause the planet to destroy itself? Saru knew. Yes, he knew all too well.

      The Ancients. Their hatred for humanity was all the fuel and reason they needed to cause this type of devastation. The oldest members of Nebu Khet society. Ancient beings focused on preventing human DNA from intermixing with their precious blood. Fools! Saru knew what they did not, that his line carried human or sape DNA as well as Khet – and he was stronger because of it. In the 20^th century the increased strength, power, and resilience that Saru's clan carried within them would come to be known as hybrid vigor. Now, however, it might as well be called a death sentence.

      Saru kept his familial lineage a secret from the other khet. He was old enough and powerful enough to not worry about most of his kind trying to test him. He walked the planet, his feet covered in ash and grit. His silver eyes took in the devastation. Charred remains of humans and animals littered the landscape. The air carried the putrid smell of burnt flesh and destruction on its currents. He narrowed his eyes in anger as he approached his village. The first beginnings of sorrow knotted itself in his gut as he passed the bodies of several members of his clan. These were khet, like him. Their only sin against The Ancients was that they were either too young or too weak to defend themselves against the onslaught of chaos and destruction. His power flared to life. The muscles of his body tightened and pressed against his flesh like angry serpents sliding beneath his skin. White energy began to pour from his body in dazzling, angry, rolling wisps. His white hair, which hung in a long straight sheet down his back, fanned out as the eddies of his power caught it in their updrafts. Long crystalline talons slid from the tips of his fingers as the rage and grief held him in its grip. Blue flames began to dance along his arms and hands as he slowly began to hover above the dead, lifeless, ground that had once been fertile and fruitful. With a thought, he sent the flames to envelope the twisted, charred, corpses of his once beloved clan. The otherworldly flames burnt every carcass till they were nothing more than sooty outlines on the scorched ground that dissipated as the wind brushed over them. 

 

      Saru hovered twenty feet above the earth. His eyes had become pools of pure white light. He looked like the god that many of the humans thought him to be. “Saru...” Her voice brought him back to his senses. He looked down to his right at the woman staring up at him. 

 

     “Don't let them win. Don't let them make you vengeful.” Her voice was soft and pleading, yet it held within it a power that matched Saru's.

      “Ché.” His voice was hoarse and raw with power, “You're alive.” 

 

      “As are you, and most of the older members of our clan.” Her eyes, never left his as she continued. “Come cousin, there are those that need us. Those that need you and your insight.”

     He knew that the oldest members of his race were thinking about a cleansing, an ancient practice of decimating the human or sape population. They wanted this planet for themselves and didn't like it when the humans grew their numbers too fast or too large. They feared that humans would eventually find a way to destroy them and they didn't want to be usurped by what they considered to be an inferior race. He knew that they had been talking about it, but he never imagined that they would go through with it. He had pleaded with them to not go through with it, and they had told him that they would consider his words. Obviously, they'd considered them and then chucked them to the side like garbage.

      As Saru allowed his energy to carry him towards the ground he thought to himself about the ways that he could make sure that these acts of evil and violence could be stopped. In his mind he heard his cousin say, “They'll be stopped Saru, one day. We'll make sure of it.”

      A deadly promise was hidden in the depths of her eyes as he returned her mind-talk with his own. “Yes, Ché. Yes, they will be stopped.” A malicious grin spread out across his face as he continued, “And I'll be there, making them scream for mercy.”

      His cousin matched his grin with one of her own. “As will I.” She said out loud.

      The two supernaturals walked through the destruction that was once their home and helped those that still clung to life. Their promise for revenge stored away in the backs of their minds for a future date. Their enemies had no idea what they had helped to create by destroying what both Saru and Ché held dear. Yes, thousands of years would go by, and more destruction would happen, but The Ancients had just signed their own death warrants.

Flash Fiction: Vampires!

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Original Image: http://tearsofstarrydream.deviantart.com/art/Vampire-Guy-163024454

So, here's a bit of flash fiction to get you all in the mood to party this Halloween Evening... or for my Pagan/Wiccan readers, on this eve of Samhain.  Enjoy!

*****

I had just one thing to say as I wiped the blood from my mouth, “Fuck you.”

I turned my head slightly to the side and spat a foamy wad of spittle and blood on the ground. My eyes stung from the bits of grit that had landed in them during the fight.

“I'll rip your tongue out and fry it you sonofabitch!” Melvin was not happy. Blood poured from several deep lacerations that covered his face and arms.

Melvin was a vampire, just like myself. We met back in 1792. At the time he was already approaching one hundred years of age. I was barely eighteen. My father had decided to befriend the strange vampire who'd moved into our small Virginia town named Occoquan. Of course, no one else knew he was a vampire... just like they didn't know my family was also a bunch of blood suckers.

Through the years my father and Melvin remained close friends, until one night when Melvin went too far with his feeding and killed the man he was preying upon. The missing man ignited fear and speculation within our town, and soon our neighbors started pointing fingers at each other... especially when the man's body was found by some of the mutts that scampered about the streets and woods of where we lived. The bite marks in the man's neck sparked panic amongst the humans. They started digging up they're freshly buried and drove wooden stakes through the corpses hearts and decapitated their bodies.

Father was furious and my family was terrified. It's not easy to point a finger at someone and declare them a vampire. We don't burn in the sun, we aren't allergic to garlic and holy water. There are no dead giveaways except for if someone finds us in the act of “eating” or sees us do something other than humanly possible – like lifting a boulder up off of the ground and hurling it fifty yards away. The problem was that now that there was a type of hysteria running through the town, people were armed and looking for vampires. It was harder to find food. It also meant that it was easier to get caught.

Melvin had placed us all in danger and the worst part about it... he didn't care. He was a vagabond, completely at home living wherever his feet could take him. And that's what he did once things got difficult in Occoquan – he left. We were a family, easier for people to remember and harder to move.

We had lives that revolved around our little town, patterns that we'd developed. We had no need to run and hide from others of our kind or from the townsfolk. Now Melvin had placed us all in jeopardy. My siblings were young and inexperienced, which meant my parents and I had to hunt for them.

One night while we were out hunting, my youngest sister who hadn't taken to well to rationing, gave in to her cravings and tried to drain a calf that was in our neighbor's barn. The crying calf caused our neighbor to come out to investigate, and when he saw Laura with her tiny arms wrapped around the calf and her mouth clamped onto the writhing animal's neck, he took aim with his rifle and shot her. While she was still stunned from the damage caused from being shot, our neighbor approached her and then took a sickle and with a quick swipe, he beheaded my darling sister. Laura was no more.

The moment we arrived back at the edge of forest that surrounded our town, my mother, father, and I instantly knew something was wrong. We could see a bright orange glow flickering in the darkness and hear many people yelling and shouting. We crept out of the forest's shadows, hugging tight to the ground, moving with our inhuman speed to keep from being detected. What we saw, I'll never forget.

My sister, Laura's body, was in a heap on our front deck engulfed in the flames that our once kind and loving neighbors had set. Our home was a blaze, the wooden planks popping and cracking in the night air. We could hear screams coming from inside our home, my other two siblings, barely older than Laura had been, were trapped inside, unable to break out because they hadn't reached the age at which their supernatural strength or speed could develop.

Mother was a blur. Before father or I could react, she shot across the distance that separated her from her crying babies. She reached the blazing structure, causing the townsfolk to shriek and scream at her sudden appearance. She slammed her hands into the burning side of our home smashing the already flimsy planks to create a way for my poor siblings to escape. The gunshot was so sudden, I had a hard time processing what the sound was. Mother was spun through the air from the impact of the shot. Blood sprayed out across the ground in gruesome arcs. Immediately father and I were by her side, fangs bared glaring at the people that we once called friends. Mother jumped to her feet, the bullet wounds healing almost instantly. Her eyes were large and dark as she growled at the crowd and ran back to the burning home to try and rescue her two remaining babies.

Father snapped, he broke eye contact with the now blackened, charcoal, corpse of his precious Laura and lunged at the crowd. His fangs and teeth finding the throats and spines of the mob who killed his baby girl. I rushed in, letting my own rage flow through me. I moved like the wind, barely giving my victims time to blink as I ripped out their hearts and tore out their throats. I soon forgot why I was killing, I let the metallic scent of my victims' life-force drive me forward. I killed man, woman, and child alike. They took from me, so I took everything from them.

We made it out of Occoquan, Virginia and headed towards Maryland. From there, my two surviving siblings went west to California and Washington, while Mother and Father headed north to Maine. I eventually headed back to Occoquan. The past had been calling to me for the last few decades so I figured I'd finally give in and answer its call. This brings me back to the present day. Occoquan is still a small town. The people are kind, the terrors from 220 years ago have faded and been consumed by the earth, but there is still a feeling of home when I walk at night through the small, tight-knit, community. I was expecting sorrow, anger, even joy, but I didn't expect to feel rage. That's what happened when I saw Melvin, sitting on a bar stool in the local pub.

He didn't even notice me. He held his beer bottle at an angle while he stared at the label. He was deep in thought, not paying any attention to his surroundings. I didn't even think. Before I knew it I was standing next to him and had his hair balled up in my tightly closed fist. I yanked his head back and stared down into his shocked eyes, “Hello, Melvin... Goodbye, Melvin.” And with that, I slammed his face down into the bar as hard as I could. Blood shot up everywhere along with splinters from the massive crater that came from the impact. Thus began our reunion.

Tainted Fae

The rain was as always...cold and stinging.  The drops pelted against his skin, reminding him that in this realm, he could feel.

A streak of lightning zipped across the purple-black of the stormy night sky, illuminating his feral yellow eyes. The air hummed with energy and carried the battery acid scent of ozone. No one took notice of his form crouched on the ledge of the tall building where he was hunched down next to two stone gargoyles. No one knew that his kind used to be worshiped as gods in this land of humanity. No, no one knew of his kind, except of course for those that were similar to his kin. Yes, there were several breeds of supernatural beings that walked this plane of existence, but none were capable of jumping between the planes of reality -- except for The Tainted Fae.

These were his people, shunned by the fae of this realm.  His people became known as the Unseelie, whereas those that were restricted to the Human Plane were known as the Seelie. Seldom did the two groups get along, his people craved war like a druggy craved heroine. The Seelie fae were more tied to the ways of the ancient bloodlines that sprung forth both races, the bloodlines of the Nebu Khet.

These differences in ideologies was what had brought him to this realm tonight. He was hunting a branch of fae from the Seelie side.  He was looking for a family who had acquired the ability to jump realms -- just like his people.  He had to eradicate them.  No one from the Seelie could have this highly coveted trait...no one!  The idea that there were members of the Seelie that had developed this trait thousands of years ago was sickening.  He was here to correct this insult.

Movement below caught his eye, a flicker of rain-drenched hair the color of flames stood out against the dreary gray surroundings.  It was her, the tiny woman darted between the stone buildings, moving faster than any human could. She'd sensed the power he'd purposefully filtered through the surrounding area. She'd taken his bait.  

He watched this being, this cousin of his, moving far below him and waited for her to move into his attack zone.  Keslie, that was this little fae's name. Apparently she was as ancient as he was...that would make for a more interesting battle. He smirked as he stood up and locked his eyes on her small form as she crossed into his attack zone.

He made not a sound as he stepped off of the ledge and plummeted towards the ground.  Directly below him Keslie's tiny form was rushing up to meet him, and right before he could land his attack, her small face turned up and her glowing eyes locked onto his. He saw the devilish smile that played across her face. He felt the weight of her power in the air. He knew that she hadn't fallen into his trap, but that he'd actually fallen into hers -- quite literally. This was the only time in his life that he could honestly say he felt fear.

I Asked Anne Rice A Question....AND SHE RESPONDED!

Yes....I am a groupie.  So, I figured, "why not ask Anne Rice, Queen of all that is amazing in the literary world, for her opinion on marketing an idea to the industry that isn't one of the industry norms?" Guess what, SHE RESPONDED!

I am so thankful for authors like Anne Rice, who are more than willing to reach out to others with advice.  It's not an easy industry to navigate through and it really helps when seasoned pros can give their two cents on an issue/question.

Once again, I'd like to thank Ms. Rice for her response and insight.

Keep writing people, keep writing!!!


Best Wishes,

Marcus

KHET CHRONICLES: BLOOD TIES Only 1 More FREE Giveaway Day!

One more day to get the ebook for FREE!!!

Click Here For Your Copy

Thanks For Reading!

Marcus

Whew! Talk About A Hiatus!

Hey everyone, yes...I know I've been M.I.A. Between work, moving, and starting a new unisex bracelet brand, I've been somewhat exhausted :)

Well, here I am, starting to get back into the grind so that I can try to have the second Khet Chronicles installment done by Spring 2013.  Obviously this date is tentative, but I have my fingers crossed and will try to do everything in my power to keep this deadline!

The first book is doing very well and getting awesome reviews through Amazon, thanks to all of you and the power of social media!  I want to thank you for your help in spreading the word about my book and invite you to see the new website that's been set-up for my writing! 

Once again, thank you and I hope to bring you more adventure soon from the Khet Chronicles!

Best Wishes!

Marcus

Author: Shannon Shaw

Hello Everyone. Today I'd like to introduce you to an author who has a nice thriller out titled Returns.

Your Name

Shannon Shaw


Tell us about yourself.

I am a lifelong resident of Alabama. I currently live in the Rocket City which is better known as Huntsville. I have been a high school teacher and a coach for the past sixteen years. I just retired from being a high school head football coach to spend more time with my family and to invest more in my writing. I am married to a wonderful woman who has been the inspiration for several of my strong female characters. She has been my rock and has supported my writing through every step. She likes to say she is my biggest fan plus her technical writing expertise comes in handy in a pinch. We have one amazing daughter. She is 4 going on 21 at the moment, but she is fantastic. She asks me every night if she can help me write. Lately, she has been asking me to create her a children’s book. I have been secretly sketching out the details. It will be a private copy just for her.


Tell us about your book.

My current book is called Returns. It is a thriller set in the fictional town of Everett Valley, Georgia. The tale revolves around Samuel Carsten. He is a young part time journalist and professor. He is called to the reading of his estranged grandfather’s will to find things are not what they seem. Soon, he is burdened with the knowledge of the horrors of his family. Samuel can choose to bury the unspeakable acts and become extremely wealthy or have the secret exposed and destroy his life.


What motivated you to write this particular story?

I have always been fascinated by people that create chaos in the world through their unspeakable acts. I think often times we tend to forget the impact killers have on their own families and the lasting legacy. I was watching a documentary about serial killers when the idea popped into my head. I ran from the room to jot down some notes and the book was born.


How did you choose the genre you write in?

I actually write across several genres. I allow the story to speak to me so if the story is horror, action, or romance it pours out. I try not to limit myself.


What makes your book(s) unique?

Characters with real emotions, real pain, but ultimately the works are fun and exciting. I also try to create worlds unlike the worlds readers have encountered before.


Do you ever experience writer’s block?

Honestly, I never have. If I appear to be getting stuck at a particular part in the story I think about other issues or scenes. Occasionally, I will write the parts out of order. I have found a great way to keep the story flowing is to outline the highlights. The story flows onto the screen much faster if you know where every piece joins together. I will free write if an idea pops into my head, but not often.


Where do you get your ideas?

I will see a topic and think that I can change it into something bent or twisted. Sometimes I will hear a song or hear a word that will trigger and emotional response then build the story outward.


Is there any particular author or book that influenced you in any way either growing up or as an adult?

Jack London, Call of the Wild was my first book I ever read as a kid. I was enthralled. As an adult I am a huge Clive Cussler fan. I would love to be Dirk Pitt. I pick up his books and cannot put them down.


Who are your favorite authors?

Clive Cussler (Oh, I wish I was Dirk Pitt), Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Richard Matheson, Philip K. Dick, and Max Brooks.


Are you currently working on a project?

I am writing the first book in my Created series. The series follows the main character as he deals with a government cover up while struggling to learn how to become a vampire. As his past and future collide, he must make hard decisions about which world he wants to belong. The underlying story seems simple, but there are several twists that are very original including zombie nurses, nanotechnology and patchwork monsters to name a few. This first book has been a pleasure to write. I have so much fun when I get to write. The development of the characters and building the world has been an amazing experience. I have written parts of the first three books. I hope to have the first book available by the end of April 2012.


What do you feel is your greatest accomplishment as a writer?

I know many writers who never take the hardest step which is putting his or her work before the masses. I am very proud to say that I have published my first book.


What advice do you have for others who are trying to get published or going self published?

I want people to understand that writing should not be about the money. I know many aspiring authors read the great stories about people writing books becoming rich seemingly overnight, but for many of those writers it has been hard work and multiple works that have pushed out which have created the success. The easy way to explain what every writer should do is simple; work. Write a book you are proud of and want to share. Once the book is published, market and write then write and write some more.


Can you explain your writing process?

I started writing without notes or outlines because I knew where my story was going, but the process seemed slow. Eventually, I started writing rough outlines. The outlines generally do not include dialogue unless I have a line that works out during the process. I have found that the outline format I use is much faster and it keeps me focused with the direction of my works.


Any fun facts you are willing to share?

I tend to write thrillers, but I have a passion for horror and paranormal. I love my characters from Returns, which is a thriller, so I decided before publication to expand the book into a series of which I have parts of the next three written. The series is entitled All The Dead Bodies. Created is planned out for a five book series. I am alternating between the Dead Bodies and Created series as a way to minimize the time between novels.

Where can readers learn more about you and your work (social media)?

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/ShannonShaw 
Blog/Website: http://www.shannonshawbooks.com 
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/shannonfshaw 
Twitter: ShannonFShaw 
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/shannonfshaw 
Shelfari: http://www.shelfari.com/shannonfshaw


What format does your book(s) come in?

Currently, my book is enrolled in the Kindle Select Program. I am exclusively through Amazon until April. The addition of new titles to my catalogue is making me strongly consider branching out, but so far the Amazon experience has been amazing for me.


Links to your books?

Amazon: http://amzn.to/AwiA4U

Six Sentence Sunday: Excerpt From "Dark Snow"

Okay, this is from one of my work in progress titles called Dark Snow. I hope you all like it! The full Prologue can be read here! Dark Snow Prologue ************************************************

#SixSunday #SixSentence
The force of the bullet slamming into my body took my feet out from beneath me and threw me out the door. My face met the ground before any other part of me – the crushed quartz walkway cutting deep into its flesh. I heard my vertebrae pop loudly as they overextended. For a split second blackness coated my vision, and just for a moment I thought I was going to pass out...then the pain hit. It raced through every fiber of my being, burning me from the inside out. Silver.

Khet Chronicles: Blood Ties AVAILABLE NOW!

Hello Everyone! My Book is now available through Amazon!


Please check it out and let me know what you think. It's already sold quite a few copies and has received several 5 star reviews in the short amount of time that it has been out!

Khet Chronicles: Blood Ties!

I'm sure you'll all love it and I can't wait to see what you have to say.


Best Regards,

Marcus

The Book Comes Out FRIDAY!

THE FINAL BOOK COVER!

Hello Everyone! The long awaited (at least it is by me) book, Khet Chronicles: Blood Ties will be released on Friday!


Please check out my site, facebook, and twitter accounts so that you can stay up to date on what's happening.


I really want to thank you all for being so supportive over the last 2 years and for being so kind.


From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

A New Year, A New Career, No New Book???...

Hello World...or should I say the people who still check out this blog :)


Life has been interesting these last few months. My book was suppose to launch in December...it's now February and still no book.


I did start a new career that keeps me very busy with little time to actually focus on much else. I miss the days of sitting in the cafe typing for hours and taking in the warmth and general sense of well being from the environment surrounding me. But so far life is keeping me busy in a good way. I'll try to start writing some more fiction and I'll keep people posted as to when they can expect my book...right now it feels like this book is just never going to show up! *grrr*


Anyways, I hope you're all happy and healthy. Keep writing and keep pushing for your dreams.


Best Wishes!

Marcus

I'm Back!...Kind of

It's a beautiful day here in NYC. I'm siting here, in a local Starbucks, editing my book and thinking about all of the events that have happened within the last 4 months.

Unfortunately my great-grandfather's wife passed away as did my father's sister (one of my dearly loved aunts).

Add to the fact that I moved to NYC in February, found a job here in the city, and have been preparing for school to start...I've been completely exhausted.

So, I thought that I would come on here and apologize for being M.I.A. For so long on the many web outlets that I generally utilize, and make a promise to you as well as to myself. I will write like a maniac and keep in touch with my reader/viewer base on a more regular basis.

Thank you all for reading my fiction and for supporting my upcoming book – and thank you for understanding that sometimes life can royally screw up your plans :)


Take care and remember to live your life.


Best Wishes!

Marcus

Writing The Sequel

Okay, so I'm on the bus, headed back to NYC from visiting friends and family in MOCO, MD over the Easter weekend.


My book, Khet Chronicles: Blodd Ties will soon be available in book stores as well as online, so what should a writer do when trying to smother the anxiety taking root in their psyche due to the fear of their "baby", their first novel being rejected by the masses??? Write the sequel!


I look at it like this...one way or another, my books will be published. If no one decides to buy them, that's their prerogative, but I still have a story to tell, and at the end of the day I feel telling it is more important than worrying about who will like my story and who won't. Besides...it gives me more reason to drink numerous cups of coffee (every writer does...and if they don't, they should!)


So, here I sit on a bus, typing and listening to music, while trying not to bother anyone sitting around me. Writing is a necessity to someone like myself. Write a book...and then write another. If you worry about sales, marketability, and opinions, then you're no longer a writer...you're a business person. Getting paid for my work is an added bonus that I look at as a perk, but not a guarantee.




Anyways :)


I'm hoping that my proof is waiting at home for me to review. I've also taken the liberty of creating my own media kit for the book so that I can start trying to land some reviews and appearances on talk radio, local tv, and local newspapers. If there's anything I've learned from my author friends on Twitter and Facebook, it's that you are responsible for your success or failure, no one else. You've got to take the reigns and control your own destiny.


I'm also looking to do a web tour on blogger sites, so if you are willing, I would love to set something up. Shoot me an email at NebuKhetsCry@gmail.com to set a date. I'll also forward you an advance of the book in digital format....this is not ebook formatting, just me creating a PDF out of the novel for you to read before conducting an interview. I'll also forward you my media kit.


Thank you everyone who has assisted me and been kind enough to answer questions that I've had along the way.




Best Regards!

Marcus Twyman

Short Story: It Came From Above

A story about Mothman:

Mothman On A Bridge

It Came From Above

By Marcus Twyman




His life had taken a turn for the worst. Violence, pain, and depression. Only 17 years old, and he already felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. His parents didn't understand him – nobody did. Life kept throwing him under the bus and there was no one around to help him get back up. That's why he had to leave...had to runaway.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of hitchhiking his way across the country. Big dreams lived on in his mind, dreams that sparkled with the bright lights of New York City.

He could see it now – the lights showcasing his name in their sparkling glory, “Marty Thompson: The Voice Of A Generation”. He was already working on several songs that he planned on pitching to A&R reps as soon as he set foot in The Big Apple. He would dazzle them, make them beg to sign him on as a new artist – a singer.

His route had taken him from the humid, backwoods areas of Louisiana to the suburban, hip, Montgomery County area of Maryland. Rockville to be precise. Well manicured lawns greeted him and beautiful homes decorated the residential roads of the numerous middle class neighborhoods.

The last guy that had given him a lift said that from Montgomery County, there would be only 4 to 5 hours left before reaching New York. His heart sped up with excitement at knowing he was so close to making his dreams a reality. Marty decided that he'd take the subway into DC and then catch one of the China Town buses to his final destination in the morning. Yeah, he only had eighty bucks left in the pockets of his wrinkled jeans, but he couldn't wait to try and hitch it up north. The thirty five dollars it would cost him to hop on a bus would be well worth it...besides, he could always get a job in the city, waiting tables or something else simple like that.

Making his way down MD-355, Marty followed the sounds of music and chatter to the Rockville Town Center. People laughed and gossiped on every corner of the bustling center. He felt his stomach growl with hunger as the scents of delicious food reached his nose. There was a half eaten burger crammed into his dingy backpack from earlier in the day. Though the thought of eating something fresh and warm made him salivate, he'd just make due with eating his leftovers. Money wasn't something he could spend freely...not yet anyways.

The night came on quick, covering the town center in a blanket of darkness. Marty walked over to a bench and pulled his threadbare blanket out of his bag. He spread it along the bench's length and then placed his backpack at one end to use as a makeshift pillow. Before he knew it, he'd fallen into a deep sleep. Dreams of stardom floated through his young mind.

He couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours when something woke him from his slumber. Something was wrong...not quite right. Glancing around the vicinity, he noticed that all of the town center's lights had gone out and shadows lay in every corner. Reaching up to scratch his head, Marty just couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong...it felt like he wasn't alone...like someone was watching him. The tiny hairs on his arms and neck stood up on end as he gave one more quick glance around the abandoned town center.

“You're going crazy Marty...no one's out here, just go to sleep.” He tried to convince himself to believe his own words but something was wrong. Some primal part of him knew that he wasn't alone.

“Hello? Anyone there?” His voice echoed off of the walls of the surrounding buildings. The only other sound he could hear was the distant barking of a dog.

“Stop spooking yourself...just go to sleep and think about the life you're gonna create. Think about all of the happiness you're going to have once you get to the city.” He took some comfort in his self-directed pep talk, and lay back down to try and grab some shuteye.

He lay on his back, and stared up into the sky, intending on counting the stars...instead he stared into the bright red eyes of a man standing on one of the roof tops directly above him. Fear gripped him as the figure moved closer to the edge and looked down at him from forty feet up. It cocked its head to the side like some kind of bird examining a worm right before it eats it. Sweat broke out on Marty, trailing down his face and plastering his hair to his forehead.

“You're hallucinating man, come on Marty...snap out of it.” His voice was a harsh whisper as he stared at the form that was still observing him from above.

In a movement too fast for him to follow the man spread his arms wide, revealing what looked like bat wings. Marty bolted. He didn't grab his bag, he just ran. Terror had seized him and instinct had taken over. His legs pumped quickly beneath him, carrying him across the center's courtyard in a blur.

Red, glowing, eyes? Wings? What was that thing? It couldn't be a man. His thoughts came quick and jumbled as he turned a corner and headed back towards MD-355. The road would be lit. Cars would still be driving on it since it was the main street. He wanted protection...light. Anything to keep him out of the darkness – away from that thing. His breath came out in hot gasps as he ran towards the row of streetlights that decorated the main road.

A noise broke through the hysterical thoughts that were running rampant in the young man's mind. The sound of wing beats...leathery wing beats. He pushed himself harder and dared not to look up. He had to make it to the light, that's all he could think about. “The light will protect you.”

The sound of flapping wings grew louder – like it was coming from directly above him. Against his better judgment he glanced up...the scream didn't have time to leave his throat.

The face that looked back at him was all hard lines and angles, the eyes glowed so brightly that the red color seared his retinas. The last memory he had was of two powerful arms gripping him by the shoulders and a raspy voice saying, “Marty, Marty, Marty Thompson. Sing me a song, a song of fear. I understand you Marty, I'll release you from the pain.”

As the being flew away carrying the poor, lost, runaway – all of the town center's lights burst back on. More dogs started barking and the sun began to peek up over the horizon.

In the early morning hours, a street cleaner found Marty's backpack. When he opened it, he found the boy's learner's permit. He recognized the kid's face from the news. This was the kid missing from Louisiana! He reached in his uniform pocket and pulled out his cell phone to dial 911.

The police scanned the area, looking for any sign of the 17 year old. They found nothing...except a shoe. It was located on south side of the town center by a couple of streetlights. Security video was pulled from the surrounding stores and on one tape, the police found proof of Marty being abducted. It showed a fleeing, Marty Thompson, and a winged man lifting him off into the night sky.

Before the police could comprehend what they'd seen, government officials showed up and confiscated the footage. The case was closed and Marty was never found.

Back home everyone thought of Marty as just another runaway. Another lost soul. Another young person who's dreams will never be realized. None of them suspected the truth.

Unedited Prologue of New WIP: Dark Snow

OK, this is one of the spinoffs that I'm working on from the Khet Chronicles. It's current title is "Dark Snow" (the main character is half Black and half White and happens to be a wereleopard).

Here's the prologue of the manuscript...it's a very early on WIP so it is not beefed up or highly polished, but I wanted to give you a taste of this book.

I'll post more tidbits as I make progress on it. I'm actually bouncing around between "Faetropolis", "Khet Chronicles: Sunset Over Bloodied Waters", "Dark Snow", and "Mentality" (a psychic adventure), so as you can see....I'm going crazy. :)

Anyways, here's the prologue. I hope you enjoy it.


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Dark Snow

By Marcus Twyman


Prologue


The glass shattered, raining tiny, glittering, diamond-like shards down on me. They bit into my flesh like the tiny insects that swarm on dark, warm, summer nights.

I crawled along the weathered floor. The broken glass slicing into my palms, leaving a blood trail that was quickly absorbed by the dry, splintered, wooden planks. My breath came out in labored gasps as I made a mad dash for the still open, front door. Right as my booted foot landed on the threshold a loud bang sounded, echoing off of the cabin's bare walls. The force of the bullet slamming into my body took my feet out from beneath me and threw me out the door. My face met the ground before any other part of me – the crushed quartz walkway cutting deep into its flesh. I heard my vertebrae pop loudly as they overextended.

For a split second blackness coated my vision, and just for a moment I thought I was going to pass out...then the pain hit. It raced through every fiber of my being, burning me from the inside out. Silver. The damn bullets were silver. I felt like someone was dragging a dull knife across my organs. The silver was causing an allergic reaction that my body was powerless to stop.

That was the one down side to being a shifter. Silver could really fuck up your day. My muscles twitched and spasmed on their own as I gritted my teeth, praying for the soothing, blissful, peace that unconsciousness could bring. A deep voice spoke up from right next to me, “Sucks to be you doesn't it Cat?” Any other time I'd of loved to shove my fist through the heckler's left eye socket, but seeing as to how I couldn't breathe without concentrating, I made an exception and let this guy slide. Besides, he probably wouldn't hesitate to put another round into me if I tried anything.

I couldn't believe that a khet actually shot me...a khet. They have so much power, so much strength, and this sonofabitch shot me with a silver bullet? What a dick.

Using all of my strength to lift my head so that I could stare at the jerk, I spat out,“Pu-ssy.” That one word was worth the solid kick I took to the face...it finally knocked my ass out. Ah...cold, dark, bliss.

Six Sentence Sunday: 11-7-2010

Here's another Six Sentence Sunday piece. I hope you guys like it. Please check out other great writers who contribute to this Sunday event by searching the hash tags #sixsentence and #sixsunday on Twitter.

Thanks y'all!


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Image Source: roleplayerguild.com


In time, he'd know...come to understand the ways of carnal desire – fulfillment. He'd understand the pleasure of pushing his flesh up against that of another. The moist, slippery way that his skin could slide against that of a lover's when covered in perspiration. The salty taste of skin as his tongue run's over a throat's throbbing artery. The way his fangs could slide so effortlessly into the tender meat of the person he's penetrated with his manhood. Yes, in time he would know...come to understand what it means to be a vampire.

Short Story: "Scratch My Back I'll Poke Out Your Eye"

You may remember the short story "It's Just The Demon In Me" featuring Charles, a sarcastic, foul-mouthed demon who eats the slimy bastards of the world.

Well, after looking at how many hits his story receives I decided to write another short story featuring him and how he came to live on earth rather than in one of the hell dimensions.

I hope you enjoy and remember to leave comments to let me know what you think.

Thanks!




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Image Source: dark.pozadia.org

It's Just The Demon In Me
“Scratch my back and I'll poke out your eye”
By Marcus Twyman



“Shit!” The slice of tongue I had on my fork fell off of the prongs, landing on my newly drycleaned, shirt. I watched as the blood seeped into the cotton fibers of the fabric – it flowed across the strands like oil does on a candle wick.

Blah! I picked the tender piece of meat up between my fingertips and popped it into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed as I moved quickly to the kitchen, unbuttoning my shirt as I went. Reaching into the pantry, I pulled out a box of baking soda and some seltzer water. My mother had always said to use club soda but I didn't have any on hand. I slid the shirt off of my shoulders and poured a small amount of the seltzer onto the bloody spot and then added a thick layer of baking soda. After a minute of rubbing the fabric furiously, I poured some more seltzer on the stain and then threw the shirt into my washing machine. I'd just have to wait and see if I'd been able to save it from total destruction...if not I was doomed to endure another trip to the mall.

With a sigh, I moved back towards the dining room and sat down in my chair. Picking up my fork I said, “I bet you think this is funny, huh? Getting blood all over my clothes...do you have any idea how much it costs to dryclean blood out of a shirt? And that's assuming that it comes out – I might have to go buy another one!”

I glared at Dylan's face, hating the way his eyes looked so calm and collected. In a fit of anger I slammed my fork into his right eye, smirking at the liquid pop that followed. I watched as the gelatinous fluid flowed down his cheek, stopping in a thick puddle under his chin.

“How's that for funny, Asshole? You know what? I'm glad I killed you. All you ever did was act like a prick anyway.” I reached over and lifted the severed head from the tray it rested on and stared into its one good eye.

I sighed loudly as I said, “You're right, you're right...I need to chillax. I don't know what it is, I'm just so uptight lately. Could be work. I've got this fucking case that my boss Marley assigned me to and I feel like I'm running in circles trying to get all of the documents signed and, to top it all off, the client is such a bitch! Try talking to a 68 year old heiress who thinks that all men should lick her shriveled, sagging, cun – never mind.

“See? I told you, it has to be work. I think I'm gonna take some vacation time so that I can go vent or something. Maybe I'll commit a mass murder or kidnap a nun. Yeah, that would be hilarious!”

Glancing back down at the cold expressionless face in between my hands I said, “Gee, thanks for talking with me Dylan...I actually feel much better!” I stuck my finger in the bloody, ruined, remains of the ruptured eye and then licked the sticky contents from it.

“Mmm...you don't taste that gamey at all! I love bankers, they're just so – so – flavorful. Must be all of those expensive restaurants.”

I ate the rest of my meal, carving off half of Dylan's handsome face...the face that he used to use to swindle people out of their hard earned money, and dipping it in a broth made of his coagulated blood and boiled down fat...I even threw in some bay leaves for a little extra umpf. Can I just say...A-MA-ZING. I put the rest away in the refrigerator so that I could finish the other side of Dylan's no longer smug mug in the morning.

Sometimes it's hard being a demon. Especially a demon like me – one condemned to walk the earth forever. This place is sooooo boring, although not having to fight for food or smell like sulfur, aka shit, is a huge bonus. I mean, demon law says that we can only feed on those with little to no morality – bad people. Up here, on the top-side as we like to call it, there is no shortage of ill-willed, scandalous, murderous, people. It's like a freakin' buffet.

All my friends back home were like, “Charles, what are you doin' man, they gave you an option to stay in the dimensions didn't they?”

I had to explain the positives to them. They still didn't really get it, how could they. Demons, by nature, are creatures of habit – we kill, maim, harass, and slaughter our victims in territory that is won from rivals in the hell dimensions. It took me almost the complete 2500 years of my teenage years to get my own hunting grounds. Nobody could understand why I'd give them up. Let's just say that I chose the less painful route.

I was stalking my terrain, tracking the scent of a witch who must of fucked up royally on a spell that wound up throwing her into my realm. My scent glands told me she was on the edge of my domain. After tracking her across the scorched rocky surface of my homeland, I found her standing in the middle of a big, dusty, patch of land. The red glow of my dimension's triple suns bathed her in a bloody veil of light. Her ebony hair hung low to her waist and her tanned skin was smooth and perfect. I had images of my teeth shredding it while another part of me penetrated her in a different place...if you catch my drift.

I made my move, using all of my demonic speed, I ran towards her with my talons at the ready. My scaly hide reflected the red sunlight, saliva streamed through the serrated shark-like teeth that lined my mouth in double rows. I thought I had her, and then she turned around, a smirk planted firmly on her gorgeous face. There was only a second for me to wonder at why the witch would be so cocky when she was about to become a meal and a sex toy before her spell hit me. Razor blades of agony sliced into my body, dropping me like a twenty pound bag of potatoes. I tried to lift my head but the world swam with my dizziness. What the fuck did this bitch do to me?

I was only slightly aware of her approach, her shadow sliding along the blood red rock and soil of the ground. “Hello demon.” She said in a voice that rolled with power – authority.

“Oh, you have no...fucking...idea who you're...messing with, Lady.” I tried to sound like the big badass demon that I was, but the skull splitting headache and the pressure of the spell that still held me to the ground only allowed me so much leeway.

“On the contrary, you my scaly friend, are the one who is oblivious to your present circumstances. I am Linda...you know me as The Enforcer.

My already naturally bulging eyes, stood out another two inches when she said that she was The Enforcer. Oh fuckity-fuck-fuck, how did I get mixed up with this crap? My balls probably shriveled up like raisins from fear.

For those of you less than familiar with demon law and society, let me clue you in. As I stated earlier, demons only hunt the bad members of humanity. Of course, there's a lot of gray zones in which bad can be classified, but generally speaking, if you're an asshole...you're fair game. If you have to stop and wonder if you're an asshole – you are. So watch your back bi-atch!

Anyways, back to what I was saying. The only humans who can end up in the hell dimensions are those that have either been practicing black magic – thus screwing up a spell that lands them here (hence the reason I thought the lovely lady-witch was fair game), those that were hunted by The Collectors (demons who forage the earth realm for the rotten-hearted members of the human race), or servants (morons who are obsessed with demons but haven't necessarily done anything that makes them bad people).

The servants are good for letting go of one's sexual frustrations but other than that...they're useless. So, these three categories are where humans fall into when they enter our dimensions. The problem is that sometimes a demon goes rogue and starts to kill humans top-side who don't fit the bill for being on the menu, and when that happens...The Enforcer, aka bitch who zapped me with painful mojo, steps in to clean up the mess.

I never knew The Enforcer wasn't a demon. Who would? The only thing down here besides people for food are demons. She's walking around without a collar on to say that she's someone's servant, and she's human...well almost human, but why split hairs? Talk about sneaky!

That's pretty much it in a nutshell, so you can see why I wasn't too thrilled to be in the situation I was in. You know, with the powerful witchy-bitch standing over me.

“Charles...I want to give you a proposition extended from the Demon Council themselves. You have no need to fear being eradicated, although I must say, that would be a much more entertaining scenario.” She winked at me and then smiled before continuing, “You've been requested, and by requested I mean ordered, to serve the council.

“Umm...why?” What I really wanted to say was 'Fuck you hooker' but I had a feeling that that would end badly...for me that is, so I neutered my ego and listened.

“You have a clean kill record...no innocents have been taken. They need someone who can reign in the hunger and use common sense when making decisions. Putting the fact that you're quite dumb enough to charge a witch standing out in the open aside...that makes you the lucky demon.”

'Hooker', I yelled at her mentally.

“No, actually I'm not a hooker. However, if you don't stop calling me names, whether audibly or mentally, then I will castrate you...got it?”

Fucking telepath! I breathed in deep and then said, “Sure thing.” I made a mental checklist to say what I wanted to when she was gone.

She looked at me knowingly and smiled, “Good boy.”

“So...basically, you are being asked to make a decision. Either you can go top-side and live amongst the humans, eating whomever you want – as long as they qualify that is, or you can go to the hell dimension, SiðëçjloÞ. If you go top-side, you'll help track down rogues that come into your assigned area. If you choose SiðëçjloÞ you would help the council cull the young, weak, members from society before they start high school. Nobody likes the idea of their teenagers having to hang out with friendly demons, you know.”

My mouth fell open, “ SiðëçjloÞ! Do you know how long I waited to get out of there? Heaven no! I am not going back to the SiðëçjloÞ dimension. Uh-uh, no way, no how, sorry lady.”

“Send me top-side.” I didn't mind having prime pickings of the earth's shittiest people, but a high school hell dimension? No...abso-fuking-lutely not.

“Good choice.” There was amusement in her voice as she extended her hand out in front of her. No sooner than she'd done it did I feel the grip that held me to the ground release its hold on me. For a split second I actually contemplated trying to gouge her eyes out and then the memory of the painful spell she'd cast on me earlier resurfaced. Nope, didn't want to experience that again.

Anyways, long story short, I chose to come to the human realm to keep the stupid demons who didn't want to follow the rules from causing too much damage. Linda, The Enforcer, gave me her phone number so that I could let her know when I needed her to stop by and take out rogues who happened into my territory. She created a human disguise for me which acts as a second skin. Technically it is skin, spelled skin that I wear to hide my demonly good looks. I hate wearing it but I'd hate to be locked up in a government lab somewhere and dissected even more. Soooooo....I wear the disguise.

It's been five years since I've left my home dimension and I can honestly say that overall, the experience has been fun. It gets pretty boring between kills and meals, but when a good, evil, sonofabitch comes along...whoot-whoot! In fact, I have my eye on this boob-head that regularly beats his wife. I'm waiting on him to make another trip out of state to his whore of a mistress so that I can get a two-for-one deal. I'm thinking of a slow rotisserie recipe that would make their meat fall from their bones. I can't wait!

Well, I gotta go...big day at work tomorrow. I hope that old heiress' case is finally closed. I can't take another day of that crap. If I do I swear I'm gonna find a way that follows demon law to validate the execution of my boss Marley.

Talk to ya' later...oh, and remember that if your a douche, you could likely become a demon's next meal. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Peace out.

OK, Blast From The Xtina Past!

OK, found my old youtube channel and my old videos (they're quite random )

Here's a video from Christina Aguilera's "Back To Basics" tour. I layered the song from the album over her actual live singing because my camera just picked up feedback and noise when I was taking the footage. Either way I hope you enjoy.

PS: I swear I'll post something more appropriate tomorrow :)

By appropriate I mean writing.

Zombie Story Excerpt -- Unedited

Image Source: unrealitymag.com




Here's a rough excerpt from the zombie story I'm working on. This is soooooo not easy. I'm not a zombie fan myself, so it is kind of hard to create a story based on them. I hope I'm hitting close to home with this one, but only time will tell...and the publisher that I'm submitting this to :)

Anyways...let me know what you think.




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Reanimateds

By Marcus Twyman


Joy has no place in this world. This ugly world full of death and decay. The sky is still diseased, its once blue expanse now full of gray soot and toxic fumes. We did this...humanity did this. We destroyed the only place that we could call home.

In our struggles to stay young forever, and drive the coolest cars, own the biggest homes, we've sealed our fate. The protesters tried to tell us – they said that we were killing our world, ruining the balance of life, playing God. Well...they were right. We got what was coming to us.

Humanity has been forced to hide, afraid of what we've released into the world. It wasn't a virus, or a parasite, it was just our full potential...we released the full power of our genome. We gained immortality...to a degree.

I was one of the big CEO's that funded the Infinity Project. My company dumped hundreds of millions of dollars into formulating an enzyme that could act like a catalyst and kick our genes into what our scientists called, resurrection mode. See, our cells age, split to reproduce, then die, then those new cells go through the same process and die. Every time our cells split, we age due to errors in our genetic code that get copied and then copied again. These errors and other cellular garbage, called free radicals, place us on the track for death. Aging is a type of disease that starts at the cellular level, and I wanted to nip it in the bud...not to mention make a fortune selling the cure to the masses.

Five years into the program my scientists found the enzyme, the catalyst for cellular rejuvenation. When taken in small doses over a period of one year, people began to age backwards! Hair would regrow, bones became denser, muscle mass increased...people were getting younger right before your eyes. Then the side-effects started. People complained of migraines, their eyes became sensitive to bright light. Motor skills became impeded and heart failure started to kill everyone who'd taken our enzyme. The backlash from both the media and society was immense. Unfortunately, we hadn't seen the worst of our creation...we'd only just touched the tip of the iceberg.

The deceased totaled more than a million all across the globe. The world was thrown into a state of mourning...that is until the deceased started to rise from their graves. These things were thought to be dead...corpses. They would shamble along and attack healthy individuals, tearing the flesh from their bodies and consuming them. Governments sent armed guards to destroy these beings and discovered that when a victim escaped an attack and had been bitten by one of the reanimated, they soon fell ill. Within thirty hours a person bitten by one of the undead creatures became just like them.

Scientists were puzzled, unable to understand what was happening to the victims of these attacks until they took a look inside some of them. It was the enzyme – the catalyst. The reanimated carried it in their saliva, but it wasn't the same enzyme that had been created and manufactured in the laboratories, it was one perfected by our bodies...




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Well, let me know what you think. Thanks everyone!

Best Regards,

Marcus

Author Interview/Guest Blog: A. F. Stewart

Here's a great read for your Tuesday! Author, A. F. Stewart, has kindly written a guest blog for this site's readers. She has a book out called Chronicles Of The Undead.


Please make sure to check out her site and give her book a read. And remember, author's love reader feedback. If you do go and grab a copy of her book, please go and give her some feedback...we rely on you to nourish our fragile egos :)


Without further delay, I give you A. F. Stewart!



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A. F. Stewart

Some thoughts on writing and publishing




I have always loved books and have been scribbling stories and poems since I could pick up a crayon to write. I gained an interest in fantasy and sci-fi young, when I found short stories by Ray Bradbury and Harlan Ellison in Scholastic (a Canadian publishing company for children) magazines. My love of all things fantastic was firmly established when I saw Star Wars at age ten and then discovered comic book writers like Frank Miller and Neil Gaiman; there was no turning back after that. What intrigues me most about writing fantasy is the whole “what if” factor. I like to ask and answer the questions of a supernatural world existing just beyond our own. Who, or what, would live there and what would their lives be like? And since I’ve always thought tragedy makes a more memorable story, I gravitate to the darker aspects of fantasy in my writing.


The idea of writing as a career came slowly. I dabbled with the notion, writing my first book (as yet unpublished) and sending a few stories in to contests and magazines, but life got in the way of writing as a serious pursuit. Then I found the concept of self-publishing. I thought “why not?” I could see if readers would be interested in my work and test the waters of the writing world. I self-published a book or two of poetry and story collections and began marketing the books. That’s when I discovered the whole “traditional vs. self published" controversy.


Now, I think the whole debate is silly. The fact is there are advantages to being traditionally published, but it is an exclusive club, hard to break into to, even if you are talented. And some well-written books just have little or no chance of being accepted by a publisher because they are not that commercially viable. Self-publishing is not a rival for the traditionally published; it is just another option for some authors.


The worst argument against self-publishing is the “all self-published books are bad” nonsense. Of course bad books get self-published, but so do good books. And you can say the same thing about traditionally published books. One advantage with self-published books is that it is easier to find online excerpts to weed out the bad from the good. I’ve reviewed several excellent independently published books on my blog (http://afstewartblog.blogspot.com/).


I’ve also found the independent writing community very supportive and they’ve received my writing efforts positively. Their encouraging feedback was one of the reasons I decided to publish my vampire horror novella, Chronicles of the Undead.

The book came about one day when the thought occurred to me, “what would happen if someone found out their neighbors weren’t what they seemed?” My mind went straight to the paranormal and I thought, “what if they were vampires, what would happen?”


I played with those ideas, setting the whole story in Georgian England (between the years 1795 and 1825) in the city of London. Then I got my brilliant (or ill-advised, depending on how you look at it) idea of writing the book as diary entries, from the point of view of three different members of the same family. It sounded good at the time, but I had no idea how complex it would be to write a novella length book of journal entries without a word of dialogue.


I started with the research, studying the historical facts, lifestyle, and calendar dates of both eighteenth century Georgian England and Regency England, and examining the folklore of vampires. Then I had to find the voices and motivation of three characters (including one intractable character) and work out the intricacies of the linked plotline that spanned decades. And all that before I even started trying to write enough diary entries to create a 168 page book. It was a challenge, but I think it turned out well.




Here’s the book blurb:


Chronicles of the Undead


Family Secrets.

Three generations of one family share their intimacies with the world of the vampire. Inside the personal journals of the Harrington family, a dark and dangerous odyssey unfolds. Three members of this tormented family, Samuel, his son Edmund, and Edmund’s daughter Charlotte, struggle during the 18th and 19th century in London, England, as the lives of this family intersects with supernatural forces. Two intriguing vampires befriend, manipulate and play with all three souls, altering their lives forever.


Their fears, private confidences and weaknesses are revealed as one selfish act ends in horrific tragedy, with far-reaching consequences.
Who succumbs to the seduction and danger of the vampire? Who grapples to combat the evil influence that permeates their lives?


You can find all my books (and some free excerpts) on my website:
http://afallon.bravehost.com/

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Here's a link you can use to find A. F. Stewart's books for sale http://afallon.bravehost.com/