Tyranus Posted September 3, 2008 Share Posted September 3, 2008 I just wanted to share . . . A short piece of mine, Finé, has been published online. Here's the link it: http://www.iceflow.com/doorknobs/DOORBODY2.html Click on the image for ISSUE 51 and scroll down under the FLASH FICTION category. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
TD-1536 Posted September 3, 2008 Share Posted September 3, 2008 hey congratulations!!! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Scootch Posted September 3, 2008 Share Posted September 3, 2008 Awesome bro!!!!! When can I hope to get a paperback version of the Sandtrooper story to read before beddy bye time??? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
theGreatSot Posted September 3, 2008 Share Posted September 3, 2008 That's awesome Ward! Congratulations! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Daetrin Posted September 4, 2008 Share Posted September 4, 2008 Way to go Ward!! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dutchy Posted September 4, 2008 Share Posted September 4, 2008 Great achievement!! Maybe try to get a few of your stories published Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted September 4, 2008 Author Share Posted September 4, 2008 Thanks guys! I'd love to get my other stories published, but Lucasfilm is really strict about who writes for them apparently. Until then, you'll have to live with the PDF versions of the Sandtrooper's Story and the Blade Runner piece. If you didn't realize there were PDFs available, go check out the story threads. There are links in there to download all but the most recent updates. Again thanks guys. I'm happy I could share this event with you. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted September 5, 2008 Author Share Posted September 5, 2008 I'm posting a few more of my short pieces up here in case anyone is interested. This was written for a contest about the color RED. It is based on a character I am developing for a thriller I am thinking of calling Paint It Black. Red Guilt . . . the walls of the alley seemed to pulsate as if alive, on fire. His heart and mind raced as he made his way past the huge dumpster, cardboard boxes and plastic trash bags toward the rusted downspout. Water still trickled from it, the rooftop far above still draining from the earlier freak shower. Water seeped osmotically through the fabric at his knees as he knelt, placing his hands under the trickle. Blood flowed in diluted red streams onto the pavement as he rubbed them together. Red guilt flowed away, diluted in the rainwater. He closed his eyes tight, trying to drown out the incessant looping of Paint It Black playing in his head. "Thanks mother. Do you think you played that goddamned song enough?" He glanced back down the alley at the feet of her sprawled body sticking out from behind the air conditioning unit. What exhilaration he had experienced in the moment of her death . . . feeling her initial pull away from him, the struggle . . . the skin of her throat split open under his blade . . . her desperate gasping and hopeful clutching of the neck . . . the slow, twitching movements of her shocked body and limbs slowing and eventually withering away as she succumbed to the darkness. He watched as his hands came clean, transforming from red-stained guilt to pure white innocence. As it happened in his hands, so it happened in his warped mind, freeing him. He wiped the water from his hands and reached for the small bottle of black paint inside his jacket pocket. Standing, he headed back to paint her nails . . . paint them black. Would anyone notice? Would they make the connection? If not now, someday . . . someone would. Deep down, in a place buried deep inside him, he hoped that someday they would. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted September 5, 2008 Author Share Posted September 5, 2008 This a piece (also for the Color RED contest) completely inspired by the image and the image alone. No Place like Home His voice, and the walls of the little Kansas consignment shop fell away, melting into the ethereal mists now engulfing her. Her head swam, and nausea swept over her as the hushed scream in her throat finally gave birth to actual sound, echoing off the brick walls of the nearby buildings. She felt faint as the fog slipped away. Somehow she was on the street . . . alone. Her back was pressed against the cold metal of a lamp post, and the sound of distant lumbering locomotive cars accompanied the subtle vibrations in her feet . . . her feet. She remembered that he had stopped for a break from the endless driving . . . the endless running . . . in the little town of Cherokee, Kansas. Images of her morning began to align themselves . . . she recalled he had taken her into the shop to find some cheap, used clothing and shoes that wouldn’t match her last description. Yes . . . trying desperately to be noticed by someone, without angering him, she had been looking at clothing and trying on a pair of shoes . . . beautiful red slippers that glittered in the light. Surprisingly, they had fit so wonderfully, but then as she turned to look at herself in the mirror, she had inadvertently clicked the heels together as she turned to the right, then back to the left, and then again as she moved back to center to turn around and see them from the back. Reaching back, she steadied herself on the lamp, her hand coming to rest on a flyer with her face on it. She sank to the ground, exhausted and looking for him. A cruising police car pulled up alongside her, and the officers stepped out to help. As she stood, she caught sight of the city name on the car door. She was in her hometown. She was safe. She was home. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted September 5, 2008 Author Share Posted September 5, 2008 The Dead of Night Andre Kertesz Image – “Budapest, 1914” It was during my walk through the quietest, deadest, still part of the night that the cold, biting wind gnawed at my face and exposed knuckles. I had been down the winding river road trying to numb the pain of the fitful, anxious last moments of one of my oldest friends. His passing had drained me completely, both physically and emotionally, and I found myself shivering to the core as I made my way home. Painful, icy talons of the unrelenting gusts needled at my body through layers of clothing. The collar of my wool overcoat was drawn up high around my neck, and my left hand was buried deep in a somewhat protective pocket. The only sound in my ears was the slight wailing of the winds, and the light crunching of my feet moving hurriedly over the open lot where Miller’s produce had once been, before the fire. My right hand firmly grasped the hard, squeaking leather handle of my thirty-plus year old bag. It had been given to me by my mother at my graduation from Medical School. In the eighteen, no, nineteen years since her passing, it had been a constant companion, a reminder of her, and a compass, that kept my heading in line with the ideals of my early days in practice. That night, however, it was a reminder that my wrinkled hand was as bitterly cold as the tip of my nose. The frozen dirt beneath my feet was as hard as rock, and the village was so suffocatingly quiet in these early morning hours. I was almost home, knowing that as I rounded the next corner I would be able to see the glow of the oil lamp that my wife always left in the hall window for me, lighting my way in this inky-black, moonless night. That was when it happened. There was a brief muffled crackling as out of the blackness came a warm, brilliant light, as if a higher power had split open the night and gazed down upon me. I whipped my head toward the sound and light, standing motionless; transfixed in the wind. A scar of brilliance ripped open in the blackness above as light streaked across the sky. The falling star made no noise, no protest, dying gracefully in an instant of beauty. Reflecting momentarily as the light faded once more to pitch, I hoped that when my time came, that I might be lucky enough to pass with such unassuming dignity and serenity. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted September 5, 2008 Author Share Posted September 5, 2008 Breathe Andre Kertesz Image – “Accordionist – Esztergom, Hungary – 1916” I remember a time as a youngster being settled in the upstairs bedroom in darkness, and hearing the wonderful sound of my Papa’s accordion drifting up to keep me company as I slipped into the seductive, comforting arms of sleep. He would play in the evenings, after supper while mama prepared for bed. As sore and tired as his hands were, it seemed to ease his mind after a long day in the fields. One leathery hand and fingers would glide over the keys, as the other pushed and pulled on the bellows, allowing the instrument to breathe and exhale music like a living thing. Now I see my hands moving over the keys as his had, and I see them becoming more and more his hands season after season. Most of the ivory keys have darkened, yellowing with age, and the bellows have several patched cracks, but the same youthful notes spring forth as I slip my hands through the brittle leather straps and squeeze. Again it breathes and exhales the voice of an old friend after a long-silent absence. I think of my son upstairs asleep as I play. Perhaps someday he will sit here, with this accordion around his neck, and reflect . . . realizing how easily life’s greatest pleasures can be achieved. Maybe his hands will look like mine. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted January 28, 2009 Author Share Posted January 28, 2009 A second of my pieces has now been published online in the Winter Solstice edition of Riverbabble. The theme was death and decay. It's called NOT READY, and you can check it out here if you like, under FICTION: NOT READY Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pappy Posted January 28, 2009 Share Posted January 28, 2009 Im happy for you bro!! Congratulations!! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Dutch Dirty Trooper Posted January 28, 2009 Share Posted January 28, 2009 Congratz bro ! I read your " The sandtrooper story '' with alot of pleasure and it's a awesome story too ! If ever published..count me in bro !! You really have awesome writing skills ! Grtz RAY Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted January 28, 2009 Author Share Posted January 28, 2009 Thanks guys! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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