The Dark Verse

Happy Halloween!

The Dark Verse’s Halloween Sweepstakes:

When: Now until midnight (Pacific Time) on Monday, November 3rd
How to Enter: Send an email to sharkchild@thedarkverse.com including the name of your favorite episode and why

Sharkchild will then randomly select a winner from those who sent an email with the required content.

Prize: Choice of DVD ($20.00 or under) on Amazon.com

The winner will be announced on the next episode of The Dark Verse.

 Halloween Greeting 2008 [3:08m]: Download

Where the wild things are.

Excerpt:

I awoke in a strange place—a land of repulsive architecture and grim colors. All I had with me were the clothes on my back and my cracked, fragmented mind.

When I first opened my eyes, they rested upon a structure similar to that of a monument. The building towered above me with enormous pillars and high ceilings. Very detailed intricacies laced the surfaces of each wall, including sculptures of desperate creatures reaching outward, deep carvings of symbols and characters, and varying textures of stone ranging from smooth patches to jagged arrangements. Leading away from this building’s large entrance was a great descension of stairs. The stairs fanned out as they progressed lower and ended at a small plaza. In the middle of this plaza, a dull, gray-colored flag fell straight and motionless upon a pole erected in a ring of ashes surrounded by burnt coals.

Spreading out towards the horizon, away from the monument-like building, were other smaller structures with the same artistic augmentations, but without pillars. In between these other buildings were several paved roads. The roads spanned until I could see them no more in the distances. Blanketing over the landscape was a bland sky that held a consistent murky green throughout its expanse. There was no wind or movement, or sounds for that matter.

These things were the trivial items of the scene, but not all that there was to see.

 28: Playgrounds Never Wondered About [20:31m]: Download

Time flies when you’re having fun.

Excerpt:

My hands were always true. I relied on their dexterity for manipulation, their sturdiness for strength, and their gentleness for care. With hands, I led myself forward through the galaxies of all things. Just as an insect’s wings are its salvation from danger and guide to survival, my hands were the guardians and practitioners of my life. They were simple tools, but they held the capacity for feats far greater than that what was seemingly possible.

I used to stare at my hands, as delicate and worn as they were, and wonder about the future’s brethren. Every line—every wrinkle—depicted a trail and experience that cut deeply into the meat on my bones. Ravines, ridges, hills, bruises, scratches—they formed the map of my past. For such a medieval being, I was burdened with a horrible novelty of self-reflection. Garnering understanding should never have been an attribute of my very trivial existence, let alone the curse of my accompanying emotional flaws. There was always a certain nostalgia that lingered with me, though I did nothing differently than I always had.

Mechanical clocks were my occupation and gears were my expertise, although I did not work on them so much as I lived within them. I was very small—small enough to slide through cracks—but I thought nothing of it; it was all I ever knew. When my energy was with me, I would clean and align. When I grew wearisome, I would rest and think. Of my kind, I found none other than the rare glimpses I caught of myself upon the freshly cleaned glass covering the elderly faces and bodies of ageless clocks. The sight of myself was not pleasing and it took several days for the wearing affect it had on me to fade. I was content with being the hidden repairman of time: the plain, tangible, ticking relic kind of time.

 27: The Clock's Many Hands [13:41m]: Download