The Coming of the Glory

The Lord was beautiful.

I don’t know where idea of an old man with a long white beard came from. The Lord was young, with white flowing robes, golden hair, and a sunlight-bright smile. I fell to my knees.

“Rise, thou good and faithful servant.” The Lord raised me up. “I have need of you.”

“Me, Lord?” I was just an old country preacher.

“The time draws near, my son. The war is on us. I need every soldier to fight...Him.”

My jaw dropped. “The war? The final one?”

“Yes, my son. You were right: the end times are upon the sinful earth. That’s why I called you home.” The Lord put an arm around my shoulders and led me down a beautiful garden path. Angels hovered over us. They too were beautiful, but not a tenth as much as The Lord.

I swallowed. “What can I do? I’m just an old man.”

The Lord laughed. It was like a crashing thundercloud. “I see no old men here!”

I looked down at my hands: gone were the liver-spots, the wrinkles. They were young hands. Strong hands.

“Thank you, Lord!” I wept. “You’ve made me whole!”

“Yes, my child. Now is the time for rewards.” The Lord clapped a hand on my back. “For tomorrow we attack!”

My smile faltered. “Attack, Lord? I thought the Devil was supposed to attack first.”

The Lord smiled again, his brilliance outshining the stars. “Why, my sweet, innocent child, you’ve forgotten the most important lesson of all.”

“Yes, Lord?”

He leaned close. I smelled sulfur. “I was His most powerful Angel. Why should I live amid darkness and fire?”

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Originally posted here. 

King [Of the Dead Contest]

I never thought I’d get to meet Stephen King. With humanity dwindled down to its last few dregs I had no idea he’d survived. Even being on the coast and with those huge gates on his house…I just thought it would be a safe place to hide. I was wrong, but what a consolation prize!

Now, if only he’d sign my rotting flesh before putting the bullet in my brain…

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Originally posted here, for a contest. Contest ends 7/26/17, spare me an upvote if you like! 

Servitude

I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

I’ve served the old gods faithfully: they were here before my mother and my mother’s mother, and her mother before her. We exist only to serve. All we do is slay the beasts that beset the entrance to nirvana, keeping Them free of nuisance. They could slay them in a moment: for us, a life’s work.

And yet, the old gods are cruel. They destroy our homes. They kill us if we try to enter nirvana in life. A few have succeeded, coming back with tales of splendor and wonder within. They do not last long, weak and skinny things that they are.

The old gods light in the darkness will go out soon, and the vermin will flee back into the night. I have much work to do before the dawn comes. Even if the old gods don’t destroy my home, the vermin trapped within will with their dying twitches. It never ends. Not until death, when I will question the old gods and their cruelty.

I sigh and get to work. My web won’t spin itself.


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Originally posted here.

Maybe it's time I switched to comedies

Tonight I'm home alone watching Netflix. My husband is out playing cards with the guys; Magic, not poker. I don't play, so I stay at home watching horror movies and scaring myself. I'll see figures in the hallway shadows or flashes of movement in the bathroom mirror. Stupid stuff.

I don't know what I'm worried about. Just because serial killers almost always get caught in movies doesn't mean it happens in real life. I should know that by now. Plus I've never been dumb enough to monologue when the coeds are tied up.

I guess I just scare easy.

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Originally posted here. 

Just an explanation

This is where I'll be putting all my work. I don't know if it'll be for the public or what, but it'll be in one spot!