Veil Of Lies

New story day! Back to fantasy with this one. And it’s a lot shorter than the last (about 11000 words). Wasn’t sure about this one when I wrote it, but after going through it I’ve decided I do like it. I needed some changes and additions but what doesn’t. Anyway, that’s enough rabbiting from me. Hope you enjoy, Veil Of Lies.

Veli stands with his hands clasped behind his back while the strong winds of the salty sea air cause his silver braided hair to ripple wildly behind him. The galleon he is on, named Good Grace, is rolling in all directions as it bounces across the increasingly angry waves. Veli hopes that they don’t hit the storm that seems to be looming large dead ahead of them. Veli hates storms at sea, but decides to distract himself as he stands on the deck next to the vessels captain, as well as the other passenger on this voyage.

Veli is heading home. It will be the first time in a good few years since he will have set foot in the port of Baron and then his families hundred acre estate of Qos. How he has missed the place and his family in the years since his uncle, Wessel, got him a placement within the grain guild as a prospective merchant. The placement had required Veli to travel to the other side of the continent but the, at the time, fresh young elf had leapt at the chance not only to gain a position within such a prestigious and vital sector, but also to have the ability to see some of the world. And it had not disappointed, though Veli had made sure to work hard and make his family proud. But now he will be returning home and not just as part of some visit. This time he will be staying. He has made other prior visits but they had been fleeting, whereas this one will not as he intends to setup a store in Baron from which he will trade and grow his arm of the grain guild. It had not been an easy feat to persuade the elder guildsmen that a store in Baron would be beneficial but after showing his aptitude they had agreed.

“So how likely are we to meet this storm?” The other passenger named Polita asks from her position on the far side of Captain Ceres.

Polita is about ten centimetres shorter than Veli who stands at one hundred and eighty three centimetres. She has long silky black hair that sits in loose curls that hang most of the way down her back, or it would if the sea air was not whipping it backward making it appear similar to a cape that begins at her head instead of flowing off her exposed shoulders as a cape should. She bats her emerald green eyes as she speaks but has to fight with her long dress to stop the wind from whipping it up and exposing anything that would not be befitting a lady of her position. Veli has no idea what that position might be but from the quality of the dress it must be substantial. That strikes him as strange seeing as he is not aware of any nobles within the counties that surround Baron. Still, he has to admit that he has been away for a long time and that in that period it would be reasonable to assume that a great many things may, and likely have, changed.

“Undoubtedly.” Captain Ceres says without taking her ice blue eyes off the horizon ahead of her while she steers and fights with the wheel of her ship. Her jaw flexes as she concentrates and as it does so the scar down her right cheek dances, while her short blonde hair ruffles.

Veli gulps. He doesn’t think it is loud enough for the pair of women to hear but he can’t be sure as his own long silver braid of hair billows angrily behind him somewhere. He can feel it swaying and bouncing on the wind but as yet cannot catch it in the periphery of his vision. That pleases him as if he did he would fear that the braid might come round and slap Captain Ceres in the back of the head. That would leave him feeling incredibly embarrassed. But as yet it has not happened, so he utters thanks to no one mentally, not wanting to be questioned by the women to his left.

“Is there cause for concern?” Veli asks finally. He can no longer resist the urge to ask even if he fears what the answer might be. His voice manages to just about stay even as he asks the question though and that he hopes won’t raise any suspicions relating to his hatred of being at sea and in a storm. He doesn’t know where the fear came from or whether he was born with it. If it is indeed an affliction he was born with then he wonders why as it seems rather irrational to be afraid of something that you had never experienced before. In fact, his fear is so severe that he has previously cancelled voyages out of a belief that he may be caught in a storm. Those instances while seldom had resulted in unwanted questions being directed his way, but he had simply provided some rational excuses that seemingly were bought by those they were provided too. Whether they were truly believed though, he cannot say.

“Only if it turns out to be a hurricane.” Captain Ceres replies honestly and with a shrug of her shoulders that does nothing to ease Veli’s worries.

He glances past the Captain to Polita who herself looks a little on edge because of the response. Veli can’t be sure but that is what he thinks the bleak expression on her face is a response to. That gives him a modicum of comfort, but nothing more as he then asks, “Should I ask the odds of that?”

“You should not.” Ceres advises before looking away from the horizon ahead of the Good Grace for the first time to take a quick glance at Veli. Ceres eyes the male elf dressed in black knee high boots, a burgundy tunic and grey trousers. He looks to her much like most guild members do and that neither interests nor offends her. Though, the addition of the brown cloak, which is slung over his shoulders and seems to have a loose fitting hood which is currently waving back and forth, a strange choice. She isn’t about to pass judgment however as many would consider her own attire of brown boots, a white blouse and brown trousers a strange ensemble for a Captain. But Ceres prefers to go unseen, which is why she refuses to wear a captain’s hat over her short blonde hair. However, her distinctive scar draws all the attention that her lack of Captain-esque attire removes. She can’t do anything about the scar, though she has tried a number of things in years gone by. None had worked so she had stopped attempting to conceal it.

“Pity because it was such a fine day.” Polita announces after a period of silence.

“It was. But weather changes quickly at sea, does it not captain?” Veli answers before pulling Ceres into the conversation.

“That it does.” Ceres replies. She isn’t a woman of many words, especially when at sea, fulfilling paid requests and when they are heading into what she is sure will be a substantial storm. She isn’t about to tell her passengers that the storm will be substantial, they’ll learn that soon, though she doubts either would welcome the news if she provided it.

“Familiar with the seas are we?” Polita asks looking to Veli with her emerald green eyes, the long eyelashes of which flutter rapidly.

“Mildly. But the expert is Captain Ceres.” Veli says trying to be gracious and avoid sounding arrogant.

“You’re being modest, I feel. You’re clearly a merchant. There’s no need to play down your travels. I can tell from the way you’re standing right now that you’ve sailed a fair few ships in your time.” Polita retorts strongly, much to the surprise of Veli who had not been expecting the forcefulness with which she delivered the words.

“You flatter me miss?” Veli asks. He doesn’t know the young elven woman’s name as she stands to the left of Captain Ceres wearing a dress that seems at any moment, because of the mounting strength of the winds, might see her take off.

“Polita.” The woman says with a beaming smile and a slight bow of her shoulders and head.

“Veli.” The male elf responds touching his left hand to his chest lightly as part of a subconscious gesture that isn’t necessary at all.

“Where are you headed Veli?” Polita asks with another flutter of her eyelids.

“Baron.” Veli replies succinctly while Ceres tries to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the obvious answer the male elf on her right has given. It’s difficult but she manages it as she suddenly spins the wheel in her tough hands left, much to the surprise of Polita who blinks in surprise twice but then quickly focuses on Veli again.

“Business I take?” Polita then questions. She had been expecting more out of the male elf with a silver braid but apparently that is all she is going to get.

“In part yes. What about you Polita?” Veli replies with genuine interest.

“Oh I’m always on business.” Polita answers before letting out a short chuckle.

At this point Captain Ceres decides to tune out the conversation between the pair. It’s of no interest to her, especially as she is required to steer her ship. Even if she wasn’t being paid by the elves that flank her on either side it is what she would be doing. The ship needs a captain and she is that captain.

Suddenly Ceres throws the wheel in the opposite direction in response to the increasing severity of the wind. Storms close now, she thinks as she grabs hold of the wheel tightly in her hands and fights against its desire to spin free. She can’t allow that to happen. There is a set destination and if she releases her grip there is no telling where they will end up, especially as they are headed into the storm.

The sky is no longer a patchwork of fluffy white with cracks of light blue. Instead the heavens are an unbroken mass of dark greys and black. Then a grumble of thunder booms out from somewhere ahead of them. It’s quiet so isn’t close, yet it results in Polita pausing mid-conversation to look toward the darkened sky. Ceres doesn’t know why but she takes note of the pause, likely for no other reason than it was a silence in the otherwise continuous din of her and Veli’s exchange. Ceres has no opinion on the dress wearing woman but she has on Veli and that opinion is that he seems a decent sort. Though, it is clear that he is idly chatting and would prefer not to be, but she isn’t about to intervene. Ceres herself doesn’t want to be left with the mantle of providing idle chatter as she again spins the wheel in her hands while the sails billow and ripple loudly above her head. Her on deck crew go about adjusting and fixing the sails to make maximum use of the winds that are now howling and cutting through each and every one of them.

Before long the rain begin to fall. It isn’t like the rain felt on land. No out here on the seas it is more unrelenting and persistent while coming in at an ever changing angle. Ceres spits some of the rain from her mouth in the moments after she shouted to her crew to pull the sails. Ceres doesn’t want them to rip and in the crosswinds that are changing with every blow that seems very likely. When she had shouted the order she wasn’t sure she would be heard above the noise of the storm but the response of her crew following her orders had proved that they had managed, somehow, to catch her words. Either that or they had simply concluded the same. Ceres wasn’t about to question it as she looks to the passengers still on either side of her. Veli has his loose fitting hood up now, but the rest of him is soaked through. Meanwhile Polita looks like she’s been for a swim. Veli had done the gentlemanly thing and offered his cloak but the young elven woman in the dress had refused. Ceres isn’t sure why. If it is part of some determination to look strong then the Captain of the Good Grace thinks her mad. Had anyone offered Ceres some relief from the rain she would have taken it. Instead, Ceres is fighting to keep her eyes clear and failing. So quickly resorts to wiping a still dry section of her blouse sleeve over her eyes. The action doesn’t solve the problem, though it does ease it and for that alone Ceres is thankful, even if the Good Grace pitches harshly left. Ceres curses and then spins the wheel the same direction trying to cut the bow of her vessel through the wave that is attempting to capsize them.

Veli, who is at this point terrified, nearly loses his footing as Captain Ceres continues to fight against the raging storm. This, he has to admit, is one of the worst storms he has ever had the displeasure of being in, and is relieved when Ceres conquers the wave and saves her ship from what otherwise would have been certain doom.

Veli regains his footing soon after and composes himself as best he can just. Then a huge flash of forked lightning tears its way across the sky almost spearing into the mast of the ship. Veli jumps physically as does Polita. Ceres meanwhile simply blinks in surprise and then deciding that the storm is becoming too much for her passengers orders, “Get below. It’s only going to get worse before it gets better.”

Polita and Veli exchange glances but fail to make a move so Ceres bellows, “NOW!” It’s an order not a request and whether they like being ordered by a sea captain or not Ceres doesn’t care. Her job is to get them to their destination of Baron alive. So out here on the waves her decision is final.

Both of them comply without argument however, and quickly file off the exposed deck of the ship. They both slip and slide as they fight to stay upright and on target until finally after a few hairy almost overboard minutes they descend below decks. As soon as they do they both breathe sighs of relief. Neither had wanted to stay at the Captain’s side any longer than they had. Had they attempted to they are both sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would have cost them their lives.

“I’m in need of a drink. Will you join me?” Polita says as she attempts to dry some of the copious amounts of water from her body.

“I think I will.” Veli admits surprised the young woman has asked, but seeing no reason not to indulge. He needs something to ease his panic and a good drink or two seem like the perfect idea. He just hopes the prattling small talk won’t continue like it did on the decks. He’s too weary to continue that level of converse. Instead he just simply needs to relax, unwind and try and forget about the howling winds and pounding rain that are not very far away at all.

The pair file into the section of the ship that had been reserved for them. What it normally serves as Polita cannot say but she had been impressed to learn that she and Veli had both been granted rooms separate from the rest of the crew.

The two rooms are linked by a small open area where a stack of barrels filled with ale, a small round table and a few chairs lay. Polita can’t say that the chairs are standing as when they walked in they were on their sides. It didn’t surprise her to find them this way but she wonders if she should query what Veli thinks their chances of making it out of this storm in one piece are. She decides not to and instead simply drink with her fellow traveller for a while.

Over the next few hours Veli and Polita drink and drink. The ship pitches, creaks and moans under the stresses exerted upon its timber hull, but it holds. Not that the pair of elves notice as they become more and more inebriated. If Ceres were aware and able she would have joined them but on deck she is still fighting for the life of her, her crew, the now very drunk and chanting passengers and of course, her ship.

This isn’t the worst storm the Good Grace has ever faced but that doesn’t stop Ceres from wishing that it were weaker than it is.

She continually fights to keep the vessel afloat until eventually the storm breaks and subsides.

She decides not to check on her passengers as she continues to head for Baron with a split mast and a dozen or more temporary repairs that should keep them water tight until they reach port. Ceres now knows Polita and Veli are drunk. Her crew told her as much after having made repairs to the hull. The Captain only hopes Veli doesn’t make the age old mistake of sex at sea with a woman he doesn’t know. That particular mistake had been the bane of many a man’s life, especially when the lover turns up on their doorstep with a child in tow a few years later.

Thankfully, that is not a position Captain Ceres will ever find herself in. She smiles with relief at that thought while continuing to stare at the horizon ahead of her, the clouds now a lighter grey in colour as the storm continues to rumble somewhere behind her.

Neural Fires

Cross off the prediction that you can still fly
Such a claim did go spiraling down to die
Fracture past the outer edge to what lays beyond
An area within which the world is still to come
Hosting jokes that were never funny from the start
Grasping at the shadow of the ever shifting heart
While calls of memory descend into the pit
Your vision has degraded more than just a bit
So as the waves come crashing down you’ll need to climb up high
If you don’t then you will be pulled out by the tide
An ample place to tread and ask what will come next
There will be no answer though cause you are cursed with hex
Such a seldom route to take that you never saw the trail
Batting back the enemy over which you’re hoping to prevail
But deep within the inner core there is just a space
Drenched in mud and flecked with blood is all that remains
So grasp a hold and sail upon the fever dream of you
The mold from which you broke never had a clue

No More

A knife in the back
Here you go again
Searching for a weakness
Betraying a friend
But too little too late
You won’t be fulfilling that hate
I’m too busy moving past it
Smiling into what’s coming
Invincible from your pain
Better luck on the next game

Kick to the teeth
You refuse to be beat
Aiming for my dreams
But I’m far from this
Oblivious to the attempt
Focusing on my future event
As you sit and weep
Unable to bring defeat
While I do as I please
I’m immune to your disease

Trapped in the night
No one to bite
You rage at the air
No one is there
Friends have all gone
They too decided to move on
Now you’re stuck there
A place we can’t hear
Maybe you should have changed
Instead you just wanted it to stay the same

Burrowing Stares

I feel all the eyes on me
And they just won’t go away
Always burrowing deeper in
Its like they’re judgement won’t end
Unblinking and without a care
They’re just filling me with fear
The searing I feel at all times
As my chest fills ’til I’m drowning
Shortness of breath I can’t fix
I’m sure my lungs will burst
As they continue to watch
Like they’re humoured by this
Just leave me be
I can’t carry on this way
As paranoia takes a hold
I feel my sanity fold
Collapsing into a grave
You’re laughing I’m lost
Just avert your eyes
Let me rest a while
I can’t take it being eternal
If it is i’ll lose the kernel
Shatter like glass
Drown in the emptiness
So just blink for once
And focus on someone else

Figurehead

You are the reason the world has gone dark
Instigating a war that you crave to start
Couldn’t care less about the lives that are lost
Death should come no matter the human cost
With a knife to the throat of the world
Happy to watch the hope continue to erode
Twisting lies that you call truths
You will never admit the blatant proof
Burn the evidence that might proclaim
How many victims have you left in pain?
Shattered hearts with empty minds
You pretend that you are kind
Lying to every single face
Claiming to be the best of the human race
Sick little mind on an open stage
Never willing to turn the page
As the rot continues to spread
You hide behind names long dead
Rewriting history to favour your cause
You’re the problem that needs to pause
So get out before the damage is done
You’re a fool playing on religion

Kismet

This didn’t go to plan. Not in a bad way. More in a, I planned for this to be about as long as the last story, Root Magic (which was about 11500 words), way.
Instead its more than twice that (about 28500 words) and is now the longest story I will have posted here. Oops! Nevertheless, here is my latest short story, Kismet.

Paris Isabell is sat on one of the low bench seats that line either side of the flatbed of a truck. It’s one of three trucks in the convoy. One of the other pair of vehicles is identical to the one she is in, while the last is twice the size and has a canopy over the bed obscuring what is filling the rear three quarters of the trucks overall length.

Paris is paying no attention to the brilliant sun that looms in the cloudless sky as the convoy snake across the fine dirt of the island of Itna. The convoy are well on their way to the archaeological dig site. Paris is a member of the security detail providing protection to the archaeologists and scientists that are studying the curious ancient structure that has recently been unearthed.

She is one of three people on the flatbed of her truck in addition to the driver and passenger that are crammed, quite literally, into the small cab of the truck. She is clad in light grey fatigues over which she wears hardshell body armour that should protect her from any trouble they might run into out here. And she fully expects trouble seeing as Itna has recently become the epicentre of a civil war between the Planetary Authority, or PA, and an extremist group called Sickle.  That’s why her head is on a swivel as the trucks engine burbles loudly and its thick deep treaded tyres spew several metre long crescents of fine dirt.

Taking this job was not her idea. In fact, it had never even been offered to her, but instead to her close lifelong friend, Alice Jimenez. Alice had begged, practically, for Paris to join her on this job saying that while yes they will be traversing areas in conflict it should still be a pretty easy gig with a substantial payout. Paris had asked why the research team weren’t being provided with a PA team or two and the answer that came back was that apparently the PA did not have the personnel to spare in their fight against Sickle. Paris had been sceptical but seeing as no PA officials were present for the story to be corroborated, and as the researchers already had PA approved documents, Paris had seen little option but to put her fears aside and agree. She needs the money after all, as rent, utility bills and food are not cheap, even when doing security work. And her work pays a hell of a lot higher than most other jobs in the region. Not that that really says much. Plus Paris could do with a change of scene. She’s grown tired of the towering edifices of the city and there are certainly none of those on Itna, which is a small island with a single city of about three hundred thousand people. The city is situated at the southern end of the island which is otherwise composed only of mountains, desert and scrub land. It’s certainly about as far a cry as Paris could have hoped for.

Paris understands why Alice had wanted her to take the job so desperately, time to catch up. It had been years since they’d been able to get together, mainly due to the jobs that they had both taken. Paris regrets the lack of quality time together between her and her oldest friend but knows that Alice regrets it even more. That is why she had practically begged Paris, who not wanting to be the villain, had agreed. Still, Paris isn’t sure whether she agreed because of the money or the chance to be around her friend again. She hopes that it’s the latter, but it wouldn’t surprise her to learn it’s the former. She hopes that she never truly works that out, or at least admits it to herself because if it is the latter she will feel like the biggest bitch in the world. And it’s a pretty big world.

Suddenly her vehicle brakes hard. Paris turns her head to see why but makes no attempt to pull the bulky grey fifteen round semi-automatic battle rifle that is slung across her back to a ready position. There is no need as the truck is simply slowing now that they have reached their destination. The wheels of the truck lock and stop rotating but because of how fine the dust is the vehicle continues forward a metre and a half until it finally comes to rest. If Paris had been new she assumes she would have panicked to see the vehicle seemingly out of control as it glided across the surface, but she isn’t. In fact, not even the first day that she ventured out here had she been surprised. Though, she would have to admit that she paid far more attention to the movements of the truck she’d been on then than she does now.

Paris stands and then steps off the higher side of the flatbed. She lands on both her feet, bending her knees to soften the impact. Then she pulls her battle rifle and shoulders it. She scans her eyes across the horizon before her but sees nothing except the mostly flat expanse of dust. She pays no attention to the other members of the security detail or the researchers as they more hesitantly disembark from the back of the larger truck, shielding their eyes against the bright sun after having spent the last thirty plus minutes under the rust coloured tarpaulin.

Paris raises her battle rifle to peer down the larger of the two sights affixed to its top mounting rail. It’s a telescopic sight suitable for mid to long range encounters, while the simple iron sight atop it is for much shorter combat encounters. Paris hopes that she isn’t going to have to use either sight as she scans the horizon again. She is pretty sure other members of the security detail will be doing much the same, but she isn’t about to check. She isn’t in charge here. This is Alice’s show and she knows her people. In fact, Paris is the only member of the forty five total security personnel that isn’t one of Alice’s people. But her oldest friend had vouched for her, in addition to having provided a slew of glowing references from some of the most important clients that Paris has done security for. Paris had been completely unaware that Alice had acquired the references, but it had neither surprised nor bothered her that she had.

After a couple sweeps Paris feels fairly confident in saying that there is no impending attack incoming. Her shoulders drop as she lets the tension, that had built up, out of them. The barrel of her battle rifle drops too, though she keeps it at the ready as appearances can be deceiving. She hopes they won’t he here seeing as there is little to no cover for her or anyone else to take if they are attacked.

“Come on, the eggheads want to get right to it today.” Alice says touching Paris’ arms softly to alert her old friend to her presence.

Paris turns and gazes back at Alice’s round face and blue eyes, which are just discernible through the shadows cast by the tactical helmet on her head. The tac helmet doesn’t quite sit right as her just above shoulder length blonde hair is gathered back into a ponytail that sticks out from below the rear edge of the helmets rim. It looks uncomfortable Paris always thinks, and is why she had decided long ago to adopt an entirely different approach and have her black hair closely cropped. As a result of this she has gone through many years of men especially saying that it isn’t an attractive look, but Paris honestly doesn’t care. Function is what matters to her.

Paris smiles faintly having realised that Alice is still staring at her awaiting a reply that she is yet to give.

“What’s up?” Are the next words to leave the much shorter than Paris’ one metre eighty five centimetre height.

Paris shakes her head from side to side and offers in response, “Nothing. Forget it.”

“You sure?” Alice queries feeling a growing concern for her friend who she thought would have been in her element out here far away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. It was what Paris had said that she needed but now Alice wonders if her old friend with big green eyes had been wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time that someone had got homesick after following what they thought they needed most only to find it was the worst idea they’d ever had. Alice wouldn’t blame her if that was the case, or if Paris felt she needed to get back to civilization. Though, she would miss Paris if that is the decision she makes.

“Yeah.” Paris says shaking off whatever tone it was clear was drawing concern from Alice wand then adding a smile for good measure.

It seems to do the trick as Alice then herself smiles, clearly subconsciously, and then says, “Let’s go then, Ri. We’ve fallen behind.”

Paris joins Alice in a giggle as they both quickly break into light jogs so they can cover the expanding gap between them and the rest of the security detail who are flanking either side of the gaggle of scientists and archaeologists. The academics casually mutter amongst themselves paying to attention to the possible dangers which the security detail are alert to.

If the group noticed the absence of either Alice or Paris they didn’t show it, but as the group of twenty pass between the white mobile laboratory units the horizon changes. Instead of an unbroken line of dust and rock the ground instead drops away. The drop looks much sharper than it is and Paris can still remember when it hadn’t been there. That had been a few weeks back when the expedition had first begun and the land had been almost pancake flat. Since then the archaeologists have made use of massive rock breakers and particle vacuums to remove the rock and dust to create this massive hole some two hundred metres across and almost four times as deep. It had astounded Paris the first time she’d set eyes on what they had been digging around. Before she was sure that it was some kind of false reading, but since having been able to set her eyes on it she has been able to see the true beauty of the arrowhead shape. The ground mountings of the structure meanwhile are still buried under mounds of dark grey dust.

Paris had asked one of scientists why they hadn’t bothered to remove the piles are the grounds and the answer she’d got was simple. They feared that the links may have corroded and failed and in removing the matter they could cause the object of unknown age, alloy and origin to come crashing down. That made a lot of sense to Paris when she’d heard it and was glad that the researchers were as competent in their fields as she and the security detail were in their own.

That’s why since that day Paris has asked a myriad of probably obvious questions. If they had been however the researchers had certainly never acted as though the questions irritated or annoyed them. In fact, in response the researchers had themselves taken to questioning Paris about her own field. She’d found that far more difficult to explain seeing as detail often involved explaining intricately the ways of ending someone’s life before they have the chance of doing it to you. And the last thing she wanted was to scare the poor academics to the point that they would forego remaining a part of, what she knows is for them, the greatest discovery in generations. A discovery that would never have been possible a little over two generations ago as they would have needed pressure suits to be out here on the surface.

As Paris and the researchers descend the gentle slope toward the wide flat base that has been carved from the rock she nods at those she passes by. Paris can’t say that she knows each and every academic by name, as their numbers have ballooned in the last ten days, but she knows a decent number of them. They return her nods with similar acknowledgements of their own.

Alice meanwhile has moved to the front of the group. As lead in this security detail she has to be seen as being at the forefront when arriving and departing for the day. And right now is when the shifts are due to rotate. It isn’t easy to actually achieve the rotation as the researchers often get lost in their study and lose track of time. But Alice has made sure to accommodate them as best she can. Even if she does wish they had a little more PA involvement, or any at all really, seeing as the military police faction won’t even provide constant monitoring of the area. Even though they are fully aware that most of those in this location are civilians without any form of prior combat training. It’s a bit of a logistical nightmare but one that is made easier by the presence of Paris.

Alice finishes chatting with the chief of the last shift who had little to report before Alice had dismissed him for some much needed rest following the sixteen hour shift he has just completed. Still, Paris finds it refreshing that the chief, Alan, looks more energised than she would have expected him to after such a period. It’s a good sign, she thinks as the last of the prior research shift shuffle off, chatting enthusiastically about their latest theories. Paris has no idea if any of them are, or will, turn out to be true. Plus none of that stops her from taking in the view of the towering arrowhead shape that looks as smooth as glass. Its upper sections gleam almost white under the rays of the sun. The lower sections of the structure meanwhile are a pristine silver and Paris has no idea how that can be possible after what must have been millennia underground during which some form of erosion of corrosion should have taken place.

“No briefing today.” Alice declares much to the surprise and joy of the researchers. It’s the one thing they loathe about their days, even if it’s a procedure that has been put in place to alert them of things that could otherwise cost them their lives. Paris can guess why there’s no briefing, but as the academics prepare to file off to go about their study of the structure that no one has an answer for its purpose or origin, the sky erupts into cyan fire.

Paris’ eyes go wide in the seconds before she goes to pull the battle rifle from her back. She slung her weapon back there when they entered the camp proper. But before she can she and everyone else collapses to the floor. They aren’t rendered unconscious, though none of them are able to fight against the suddenly exerted pressure that is weighing down on them.

That doesn’t stop Paris from trying as she attempts to thrash in the hopes of breaking free. She has no idea why this is happening or what is causing it and that terrifies her. It fires through her mind that it could be an attack from Sickle, but using what form of weapon she can’t say. It is unlike anything she has ever experienced before. Then it strikes her that perhaps the atmosphere is failing. She quickly shoves that idea aside seeing as she can still breathe.

Then something catches the corner of her eye. Paris shifts her gaze and finds something is moving. She doesn’t know what to call this something but if she were asked for an explanation of what it looks like she would say that it has the consistency of fog except formed into a shape akin to an arm.

At first the fog thing moves slowly. Then suddenly and inexplicably it accelerates and begins to dart this way and that right toward her and the rest of the digs personnel. Paris tries to break free of whatever it is that is holding her in place but her attempts are futile.

Seconds later as the air around her seems to disappear and she becomes short of breathe the fog snakes down her throat. Paris begins to choke and her lower jaw chatters, while her mouth remains open. Whatever this fog thing is it’s filling her lungs and stopping her ability to breathe. She can feel her body begin to convulse and her eyes roll back into her head.

Then Paris hears Alice’s voice scream, “…is is…”

It happens only once and all Paris can think before she takes her last breath is that it sounded like Alice was trying to scream her name, but that it came out all wrong.

Blurb: Kismet

Here’s the preview of what’s coming tomorrow. Enjoy!

Isis has been reborn. After centuries of death she has returned to life. But the world is very different now. It is not the world she was born into and the name she has been given is not the one she once held. She doesn’t remember her past. At least not all of it. Just feelings and a few memories.

But her past life is not what concerns her most. Isis has returned to a species on the brink of death. And she must fight the bringers of doom if she is to avert extinction and have a hope of bringing peace.

Troll

You wanna tear someone down?
Well you can wear that cursed crown

I won’t be part of another witch hunt
And couldn’t care less about the words you shunt
As after all you’re just a toxic soul
And I won’t engage with such a troll
So find a new source of your manufactured drama
Before you are hit by a tonne of karma
Believe what you will it’ll never change
Just don’t be surprised if you’re cast away

You wanna tear someone down?
Well you can wear that cursed crown

All intent on yet more slander
A product born of your faceless handler
Trying to bully instead of build
I’m sure your parents would be thrilled
As you bitch about others real achievements
You just want to start disagreements
But before long you will be muted
Probably feels alot like being neutered

You wanna tear someone down?
Well you can wear that cursed crown

Standing Tall

I’m back and I’m not going down
Try your best but I won’t drown
Fight through the mud and the pain
Keep pushing until you run in shame
Still with pulse and plenty of might
Have you ever seen something burn so bright?
Well watch me now as I stay afloat
You’re not welcome in my boat
Cause you doubted me and now you see
You should never bet against me
Had two choices and you lost
Should’ve considered the true cost
As I stand among the trees
While you dwell down among fallen leaves
I know you harbour ill intent
But I don’t care what story you invent
I’m too busy with what matters
You can wallow in the shattered
Such a waste of precious time
Still you just want to whine
Too enamoured with my life
Its filling you full of strife
But I have done all I can
And that’s why here I stand
Against the storms that bludgeon through
Weathering all the damage they do
Its why I’m here and you are not
You’re the debris that time forgot