Sundance, an ancient art. A ritualistic fusion of primal dance and doped adrenaline escapades into the mind. A scent more foul than ancient sewers assaulted my nose, along with a mixture of acrid flesh and boiling water.

I had been bound, held without regard on charges only these tribesmen know. What was left of the rest of my expedition crew lain in course piles on the ground. The thunderous, rolling beats of their drums scared off all other creatures, nary a single flap of a wing could be seen through the clear, bright sky.

I wondered, maddened by my surroundings, at what fate I had in store. I had gave up my god days ago, months of capture proving how prayer never worked. I begged forgiveness, now, as the sharp, shrill cry of a blade to stone called out through the rest of the cacophony.

May you all burn in hell, I thought, as the spear tip raised from stone and pointed towards me.

May you all burn in hell.

Image source: Roberto Pazzi/Daily Mail UK



(Image Source)
Writing stories has been a tough thing for me to do as of late. I know I’ve been rather quiet over the last few months, but I’m working my way back into the writing  scene.

But I haven’t worked on my novel. None, at all. Mostly, I have been stuck. The story is there, but to make progress I’m having trouble with the chapter I’m on. So what I’m hoping is that writing other stories will help me get my groove back in that book.

Today’s work in progress is interesting. It’s a mix of escapism and suspense. So far, I’m liking the direction and can’t wait to see how it all unfolds. But I have been thinking that it might be a story that I’ll edit through and submit to magazines instead of posting on my blog. I wanted to be a published writer before the end of last year, and I completely blew it. So my goal is to publish this year and start working towards regular posting habits.

Anyways, I’ll post a little snippet from this story below. It’s far from finished but I’d like to see what people think of it so far.

Deep darkness, deeper water surrounds a single diver. His fins flip back and forth, keeping him steady in one spot as he orientates himself. Little luminance guides him, a single beam that cuts through only five feet of the murky deep. Below him, another ten yards, lain the wreckage of a once grand ship.

Bubbles spewed upwards from his mouthpiece, his golden green eyes fixated on the beautiful carnage. From aft to stern, the full metal boat to fantasy had. grown over in seaweed and long stems. The port side was most visible to him, large wings having crumbled to the sea floor in strange, clunky patterns. He forced himself downwards and forwards, finally feeling ready to view what majesty had been lost to a time lost long ago.

There was a bulkhead opening about midship, but the moss and weeds had nearly engulfed it. He reached behind, plucking a long thin blade from its holster on his belt, and began sawing through. Each cut, each pull, brought the portal to the ship’s compartments ever closer to his reach. With one last slice, he opened is path inside, barely squeezing through the tangled mess of greenery.

Barstool Conversations Collection

​March 20th, 2016

“The drunks are gone.” She said.

“Well, not gone as in dead or missing, just out of the bar.” Don’t remember why she had to clear the air on that one. But when I look into her eyes and smell her breath, I could tell.

“Wait, what was I saying?” She looked around unsteadily, slightly swerving. She had to hold herself up with a hand on the bar top.

“I think you had a bit too much to drink there, lass.” It’s true, she wasn’t filling my cups right anymore.

“Bartender gratuity should remain in cash, not alcohol. Remember that.”

“Who said what now?” She stammered. Guess this is how the night would end.
March 21st, 2016

“Why is the rum always gone?” He stares at an empty glass he has lifted. The same glass he had for some time. Another full glass sat next to it.

“Cause you have been staring at an empty glass for an hour?” Crass as always, my favorite lass.

“Riiiight, and is that why my fingers are twitching?” His eyes are fully glazed over, no way he was driving home tonight.

“Okay, Sparrow, I think you’ve had enough for tonight.” Smart call. Now just to wait for her to fill my glass, again.

“Bah, always with the jests, wench. Le’ see you try and stop me!” He slips a large bill, probably too drunk to realize it, into her tip jar before storming off to another bartender, empty glass in hand. I slide the full one in front of me, not a single nip out of it. Rum might not be my favorite, but it’s a good second.

March 22nd, 2016

“Sit down lass, you going too fast.”

“Never is too fast when we’re this busy, my friend.” A quick smirk, slight feisty one, cross her red lips.

“Then lemme tell ya somethin.”

“Not another of your fanciful tells, I hope!”

“I’ll listen.” I chime in.

“Lass should be more like ya, stranger.”

“I’m in no hurry to get anywhere.” Was true, had all night to drown my sorrows this time.

“Aye, if only more people were to think that way these days, m’ friend. But aye, be a decade ago today that I first arrived in this gods forsaken bar. The lass was probably a wee thing back then, but the one behind the counter then was this beauty that no man could ever dream of.”

“Oh, you mean Shiela?” I had been coming here longer than he had.

“Nah, I mean her twin! Of course I mean Shiela! Gods got no manners in men these days… Where was I…”

“Talking about Shiela the first day you ever stopped here?”

“Right, right. Aye, she was a fine Lass, something this ‘ere wench could never be in her prime. She was a sweet one on me, too, if ya know what I mean.”

October 2nd, 2016

“I wonder why the room keeps spinning.” He shuffled uneasily, spilling a bit of his vodka.

“Maybe it’s because you’re drunk?” I had to open my mouth, maybe I was drunk this time.

“Thought it was that little two-step spin play, there.” The bartender spun around once or twice, a bit of delight lighting her usually grim face.

“Maybe it was, lass. But I can’t tell. How bout another drink?” 

“How bout tomorrow, last call is over.” Shut down. I always smiled at her unusual coolness.

October 9th, 2016

“You know, just gotta love the atmosphere here. It’s definitely friendly, albeit busy.” The man swayed slightly, nearly slipping on the drink he was spilling on the floor. I have been here plenty of times, and this time was definitely different.

“Have you ever been here before?” I had to ask, sipping gingerly from my glass. Had been a bitter day.

“Nope, I usually stay at my hole in the wall on the other side of town.” The lass behind the counter turned and grunted at him. “Maybe ya need to return to your hole, bud.”

“Aye, gotta love them hole in the walls. Their bartenders get drunker than the customers!” I snorted, he was wreaking with brew by this point.

“Is that true?”

“Bet your sweet ass they do, but are faster at slapping a grabber than any bouncer is to nab them.”

“I wouldn’t suggest to do so here, neither, my friend.” The lass behind the counter would knock him into next week.

Black Widow


Infectious, intoxicating viral affliction. As my dagger sank deeper into his spine, between two ribs and into a lung, I can hear his bloody attempt at a scream behind my hand.

Limping, tormented soul. A fluid seeps from his eyes as his nose trickles with blood. The stream gains momentum and covers my hand as I pull the blood and envenomed blade from his form.

Sadness, maddening grief. My heart aches at this man. He was kind and loving, a hero among friends and gentle in bed. But the black widow must strike, and strike I did.

Longing, a feeling soon repressed. I focus and steel my will as I turn to make my escape. The bounty was high, and with hope, i can find another like him after I have retired this sinful profession.

She Never Smiled.

I knew this young woman who worked at the coffee place I frequented a lot before I moved here. Her name was Jennifer, and she was sweet. She was a young college student who worked to pay her way through, but I always wondered why she never smiled.

I always started my mornings by going to this expensive shop and buying coffee there. I’d sit in a booth in the corner and would sit there, sipping away the hours as I worked on my next great novel. She would always pass by me and offer cream or sugar, or just a short conversation. Her face was golden and she had the look of someone who was always happy. I always enjoyed meeting her there every weekday morning before my trudge to hell, or what I called work at the time.

One time, I almost got her to smile. When I managed to get her to laugh, it was in short bursts that lasted a few seconds before they faded. I had always pictured her as being a family person, considering the diamond ring on her left hand, that maybe she only smiled around the love of her life. Maybe when she was away from her friends or loved ones she never smiled. I could never tell.

Then I got the call to transfer to a new city. I was elated, a new promotion and my latest book was selling well. That next morning I showed up at the coffee shop and she wasn’t there. When I asked around, I was saddened to find out that she had been killed in an auto accident, along with her then three year old son and her husband. It did answer my question as to why she never smiled, but the knowledge of that didn’t not give me closure.

I hope, in the great beyond, that she is smiling.

This is a work of Fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is purely coincidental.



I unsheathe my sword, holding it tight in my hand. I’m surrounded at all sides by tall, broad leaf trees that block out most of the skies. I stare through a small space between two barks down toward a road. There is someone just standing there, looking around as if oblivious to their surroundings.

I leap forwards, through the gap between trees. Sword held close, held tight. I tumble through weed brush and bushes, landing squarely on the stone paved road next to the stranger. My sword arcs forward, holding my arm straight to point the tip of the blade to the stranger, whose eyes betrayed the surprise and horror he had felt.

“Avast, lad! You have entered the wrong part of these here woods!” I call bravely, keeping my arm and blade pointed and awaiting any sign of a possible attack. “These be Robin’s woods. All who pass must pay their toll to me!”

The man stammered, slightly, his right hand diving for the small blade at his side. I arc my sword downwards, expertly slicing the skin to a dull red scratch. The trick worked, as the man’s hand jumped back, and my blade swept his from it’s belt. “Naughty naughty, sir!”

“You’re just a kid!” Yelled the man. And he was right, for I was a kid near on his eleventh year of life. “I pay no toll to no brat!”

I had to sigh before my blade found home in the man’s neck. Robin wasn’t going to like my taking his life, but his coin-purse is heavy, and maybe nobody would have to know.

Okay then… Not exactly what I was going for but I do like the slight twist. A short writing practice based on a purely fictional/fantasy style.