Here is a product video I just put together for From the Passages of Revenants (The Dark Verse, Volume I). The video quality is not quite grand, but I did the best I could!

Unfortunately, I must make an embarrassing announcement regarding the contest: I only received two entries and so there is no way to move forward with the contest as planned.

I am still going to reward the two people that did participate and name them both honorary Dreadful Inspirators for 2009. I will construct a story around each of their entries and also send them a signed copy of From the Passages of Revenants (The Dark Verse, Volume I).

The following are this year’s Dreadful Inspirators along with the elements (who, where, what) they submitted that will be included in an upcoming story of THE DARK VERSE.

Corey Parson
(A) A woman with: long stringy black hair that is dripping wet; eyeless sockets and blood flowing like tears; and a mouth twisted into a gruesome smile as though someone has forced her lips back permanently
(B) A windowless solitary confinement cell in a high security prison
(C) A prisoner with mysterious scratches on his wrists and neck is sent to solitary confinement after claiming he has heard voices

I stood behind a black, baby grand piano. The instrument was unfamiliar to me and its keys, both black and white, held reflections that heightened their alluring appearance. As I looked upon it, I longed to hear a sweet melody.

Surrounding the piano, two rows of seats filled with women arced in crescent form. The women’s ages ranged from young to old, and they wore black attire and grave semblances. Quietly, they conversed amongst themselves while I stood gazing out upon them.

This arena was set within the living room of my great grandfather’s plantation house—a home passed down from one generation to the next. The soft light of candles was the only source of illumination, and with it, the shadows danced more confidently.

“Please, can I have everyone’s attention,” I addressed the women. Their conversations ceased; their eyes probed me. “I would like us to begin our session.

“This piano was delivered yesterday—beautiful, isn’t it? Well, I have never played such a grand instrument before; I have not even tried. I want you to make me play it. Please begin whenever you are ready.”

(Listen to the rest)

If the stars were maps of history, then my heart would have been their maker. If there were a way to look within the earliest light still traveling upon the edges of the universe, then my face would have been the subject there discovered. Bittersweet were the eons of my life.

***

In my first memory, I was but an idea—a germ of thought traveling the endless roads of realms intangible and unspeakable where both colossal and minuscule entities roamed without substantial shape or purpose; the only purpose, if even at all, was to everlastingly be. The sizes of things varied, but not by any visible measurements; the hierarchy of existence was a computation of reason within the boundaries and scope of will—what made more decisions, if any, and what acted effectively on those decisions?

I was more of a virus, but unlike a virus that would destroy its host, I sought out to change it with the incredible power of suggestion. I sought to inhabit an entity worthy of the resources I required so that I might release what I held: innovation. I was the First Innovation—a robust malfunction floating in a chaotic system of purposelessness with a purpose that before me did not exist.

When I latched upon the entity capable of my inspiring toxins—an indiscernible mountain of being—the innovation ingrained within me came to life and set in motion an awful and instantaneous effect: the creation of physicality.