Archive for the ‘The Dark Verse’ Category

TDV 93: Little Angels

August 18th, 2016 by Sharkchild

The pig brain swelled. Fluids popped and hissed from its folds and grooves. Dr. Mayoris slightly increased the temperature inside the incubator containing it.

“So are you still set on the placement of your angel?” he asked me. His black and white hound’s-tooth coat offset his ungainly face.

“Yes, behind my left eye,” I said, pointing to it.

“I tried to convince him to get a nose angel and join the circus as a clown, but he has his plans,” my mom said jokingly as she raised her eyebrows and smirked.

“Many of the world’s finest artists have behind-the-eye angels. Is that what your plans are?” the doctor asked me, pushing up the large-lensed, horn-rimmed glasses on his nose with his right hand. A gnarly growth rippled and squirmed in the center of the back of the hand.

“No,” I said, curtly.


TDV 92: Infernobot

July 21st, 2016 by Sharkchild

Technology had connected the universe, making space suitable for recreational and residential dwellings, travel between livable planets acceptable in duration, and old age such a slow onset that populations overran worlds. Death was still the unknown, and I wanted to find it–not by dying, but by seeking its destination.

The purple sky—mingling with aqua light from the moon and a mercurial haze—crackled as if it were a pixelated gif. On the horizon, parallel, horizontal lines of neon green stacked—radiant skeletons of Twelpinc City’s downtown skyscrapers.

High on a hillside on the outskirts of the city, I extended my rocket bike’s rear, tripodal landing gear and tipped it backwards, propping its lightweight composition in the upwards position. The pearlescent finish on the burgundy metal husk sleekly reflected the slender, missile-shaped design and beauty of the chassis hidden beneath like a muscular body in skintight garments. I stepped up into the small, one-person cockpit, remaining in a standing position, and engaged the tinted canopy shield that slid behind me and enclosed me. After adjusting my jumpsuit, I activated the bike’s launch mode. Two sharp wings jutted outward and a resin compound enveloped my body, excluding my arms and face, and compressed, securing me in human shrink-wrap. A digital prompt with the options “launch” and “disengage” appeared on the visor display of my helmet. Below the “launch” option, a systems check icon flashed green, notifying me of systemwide approval.

I selected “launch” by focusing on its words with my eyes and double-blinking.


TDV 91: Costumes Of Reality

November 20th, 2015 by Sharkchild

Outside, frogs croaked by the hundreds. The recent rains had swelled the nearby creek allowing for a brief metropolis of amphibian prolificacy. They had never before caused me much delay when it came to falling asleep, but this evening their raucous sounds were so penetrating that it was too hard to exchange their dissonance with the frequencies of unconsciousness.

I lay there in bed next to my husband, wondering upon the dark blotches of shadow on the ceiling and their infinities and the day of errands awaiting me upon the approaching dawn. The fan creaked with its brisk rotations.

My three-week-old daughter began to fuss in her bassinet at the foot of the bed. She had been fed and changed not a half-hour ago. At first it was a grumble here and a grunt there, but soon enough, she belted out with full, reverberating, newborn despair. I hesitatingly slid to my feet and walked over to my beckoning child. Her left arm had broken free from her swaddle and was swinging with clenched fingers. I reached down, slid my hands beneath her—one beneath her neck and head and the other beneath her lower back and hips—but yanked my hands back—as if they had just embraced a scalding surface—in reaction to what I felt there. Something was below my daughter. I widened my retrieval, extending one hand to the top of her head and the other to her legs, and hoisted her up against my bosom.

TDV 90: The Essence Of All-Sight

August 13th, 2015 by Sharkchild

The steps leading up to the century-old stronghold were like rotting teeth, fragmented and disgustingly whittled. The passageway at the pinnacle of these steps—tucked between the swooping, gnarly trees of the Battlemance Forest—lay open for any foolish wayfarer such as myself who desired to connect the fate of one’s life with the Death Breadths of Kirthkald Dungeon.

Revenants entombed in the blackness of their past lives’ powers, infinitely stamped in shadowy existences with the inability to use their godlike spells and existence-altering items, were left with nothing but the faculty to accumulate wealth and seek entertainment through devilish deeds. Here, at Kirthkald Dungeon, they guarded their belongings and bolstered their empire of immortal greed and sadism.

TDV 89: Omnipotent Ingenuity

February 25th, 2015 by Sharkchild

Darilandria Alrindce Syabeltel.”

That was all the gargantuan visitor said after it arrived through a fissure in space and abruptly appeared in the middle of the world. A portal, not so different than a mirror in the sky, appeared without warning, reflecting back the lands before expanding outward to its city-wide ends as an enormous halo of reflective boundaries. Like an asteroid falling through a chute, the ultra-mega being crashed down, obliterating everything around it—all was displaced and decimated, with the tallest buildings being torn from their foundations and sent sprawling. Chunks of stone and metal were flung great distances, expanding the deadly carnage for many miles. Millions were instantly killed; the wake of destruction was vast and utterly harrowing. Once settled in its nest of ruin, it spoke:

“Darilandria Alrindce Syabeltel.”

The creature stood over ten-thousand feet tall and, with mortal eyes, could not be fathomed in all of its deplorable form. Its color was black—black like death and black like nothingness. It loomed as a void of color rather than a color itself. It had many mouths—too many to count—from which it boomed its words. These mouths were caverns of gross malady from which spewed vehement clusters of acidic filth—violet, putrid sludge that burned through flesh and earth, incinerating its way deep underground where it fell. Upon it, there were no arms or hands that appeared to reach; there were no legs or feet that appeared to shuffle or transport. This World-Scarrer stood solely as a massive pillar, dealing in demise and devastation.