Tatter: Chapter Nine

Previous chapter Tyser Lanning woke with a start and spat blood. Pain pulsated irregularly throughout his body. His face, swelling and slick with red. Hands, bound with synthetic ties. A man leaned back on a chair, feet up on a wide wooden table set before the prisoner, carving a pomegranate with a glistening combat knife.… Continue reading Tatter: Chapter Nine

Circular 3/27/20

From Caliath, (Droplet) Jupiter, The Loneliest Planet by Joao-Maria. "I see now a Europe leeched dry of its fortitude." From Forward Base B, Trolly Problems on the Island of Sodor by Giovanni Dannato. "Well, I tried to revive Percy and Henry and the rest, but no one in Sodor makes the parts for them anymore.… Continue reading Circular 3/27/20

Tatter: Chapter Eight

Previous chapter Three seconds after the doors of the medical bay closed a pistol slammed into the side of Lanning's head. He dropped like a ragdoll. Ryard stood rooted to his shadow. Fear, paralytic. He gazed to the left and beheld a large man, around six foot two, broad-shouldered, muscular, sunburnt and garbed in antiquated… Continue reading Tatter: Chapter Eight

Tatter: Chapter Seven

Previous chapter The high moon illuminated the ragged men who tersely walked the parameter of the newly installed cistern, checking the moss-borne satellite jammers and scrying the far ambit of the forest through the nascent darkness. Shaded footsteps and the crack of a branch sounded in the short-distance. A tenebrous form took shape through the… Continue reading Tatter: Chapter Seven

In My New England Home

By John Grey Damn. I’d have to really hate myself to believe she’s never coming back to me. Look in the mirror and throw up. Smash in my skull with a hammer. But I’m merely waiting here, as stoic as Zeno of Citium.   So she left without a word. And I find nothing to console myself… Continue reading In My New England Home

Interesting

By John Grey I use that horrible   coward’s word “interesting”  to describe your painting.  Bad move.  Now I have to find a way  to fire myself as art critic,  be hired on as lover.    To be honest,   the canvas looks like   an unholy mess   of blotches and streaks,  scrawl and scribble.  But that’s an… Continue reading Interesting