Posted in Deli, writing

The Haunted Deep Fryer

A Very Greasy Halloween Special

A beep sounded from the back of the deli, the timer had hit zero and started automatically hoisting the basket out of the bubbling oil.

“Boneless wings are up, Scott.” Mike yelled from the front, while fishing out an eight-piece meal for a customer. The drumsticks were stuck to the grate at the bottom of the tray as always.

Scott grabbed the fryer basket and turned the crispy oily chicken bits into a big bowl, and then pulled out the bag of sauce. General Tsao- no, General Tso, or just ‘General’s’. It didn’t matter, everyone just called with ‘spicy asian.’ Cultural appropriation at its best.

It’s hard to get each piece of chicken covered with the sauce. If you have time, you can make sure they’re perfect, but nobody had time in this place. Scott picked up the bowl by its least sicky edge and tossed it. A few pieces immediately flew out onto the ground.

A glint of something in the chicken caught Scott’s eye. Pulling out the tongs, he fished through until he found it… an eyeball. “Mike, come check this out.”

Mike paused his flaunting attitude for the moment. “Okay, I’ll be right back with your spicy asian wings, ma’am” He went around to the corner behind where the customers could see. Scott was there waiting for him, glistening eyeball sitting between the ends the tongs.

“What the heck… it’s not mine, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Mike made eye contact with Scott, just one to be precise, as the other one stayed fixed in its glassy gaze. In all truthfulness, it was indeed glass; he had lost the real one in an accident as a child. Don’t make mention of 3-D films or “Keeping an eye on it” to him.”

Scott squeezed it slightly. It gave, just a bit, like a bouncy ball. A tiny bit of sauce dripped off it into the wings. “What do we do with this chicken? I mean, it came out of the fryer with it mixed in.” Scott responded.

“I can’t give this batch of chicken to customers. What if there’s another… I don’t know how something like that can show up just randomly in a fryer. That isn’t even a chicken eye.” Mike grabbed the eye from the tongs, then promptly yelped and dropped it. It was still hot. It rolled beneath the fryer. Continue reading “The Haunted Deep Fryer”

Posted in Updates

For November

November is just coming up.  For those of you who weren’t around several months ago, I participated in Camp Nanowrimo and wrote “Wall of Trump.”

November is the real thing.  National Novel Writing Month  50k words in one month. However, now I’m not working a full-time job.  I’m writing the Sequel to “Mother of Mars;” you know, the post that had been pinned at the top of this blog since pretty much the beginning.

ajuud
via: 

I’ve held myself back from wanting… needing to write this, but now is finally my time. For now I’ve put Hell to Pay on hold (thus “End of Book One.”)  It will be most likely come back in December.  We’ll see what content I’m able to put out otherwise

Before that starts… maybe some Halloween themed scary story?  I’ve never done such a thing.  Maybe comment if you have some sort of idea, for at the moment I have nothing.

 

 

Posted in real life, Vlog

Normandy Day One

So my host family rented a big house here in Normandy, and invited me along.  it’s beautiful.  The house is charming, the ocean is vast, and I’m in good company.

How it works, however, is that up in my room where I can have peace and quiet to edit videos and write is too far away from the wifi signal, so in order to write blog posts or find proper media for my vlogs, I have to come into the common area where everyone else has access to me.  Oh well, work gets done nonetheless.

I foresaw that I would create about two vlogs for this week, as the pattern seems to be, but I can already tell I have enough footage for another two after this one. Stay tuned!

Posted in Series, writing

A Trail of Iron

Hell to Pay: Chapter 12

Teivel awoke.  It was dark outside, save the moonlight drifting down from the waxing moon, almost full.  He felt the crusty dried blood on his arms.

The ground was cold underneath him, and the trickling water played a calming tune in the background.  Sitting up, he gazed into the trickling water.  The moon shimmered lightly in the stream.

Damp clothes still clung to his body, sending numbing chills up his arms and legs.  His stiff fingers slipped into the water, and he ran them up and down his arms, washing off the blood.  Teivel could feel the cuts in his arms, forming disgusting crevices in the form of the symbols he relied on.

He picked himself up, taking a minute to remember where he was. He had fallen into the stream, and crawled across.  The only thing he could do was continue.

His sack sat in the mud, soggy papers resting beside him.  They had become completely ruined, but everything he needed from them was now a part of him, either in his mind or carved into his arms.  Taking the papers in his hands, he ripped them ungracefully with a wet tear.  The two halves went into the stream, drifting lightly into a rock downstream.

The air was still, and beside the stream, the night was quiet.  Tranquil, Teivel picked up the bag and slung it across his back.  By the light of the moon, he could find a path through the trees.  The darkness was his ally, if nothing at all.  Continue reading “A Trail of Iron”

Posted in Series, writing

Sodden Images

Hell to Pay: Chapter 11

The heat of the day was agonizing beneath his many layers and heavy pack.  The tall grass grated against his hands and set them ablaze with tiny cuts up his wrists.

He could see a large horse chestnut tree in the distance.  Many of the five-leaved fronds adorned the ground, faded into a delicate brown color.  He studied the plant’s structure, much like the five points of his pentagrams.  Many more were still attached to the tree, providing shade. Spiked pods were scattered about, stuck among the tufts of grass.

Those who had split open revealed the dark flesh inside, the tree’s offering of itself.  They immediately caught Teivel’s eye, who went to gather them up, carefully prying apart the sharp pods that encased them.

Hands full of the chestnuts, he placed himself down beside the trunk of the tree and removed some of his layers, along with the sack that held still not much more than his study material.  If nothing else, his papers would stay with him forever.

Biting into the tough maroon skin, his teeth sunk into the pale flesh.  It was still moist and rigid, and the skin was bitter.  He still had his knife, tucked into his belt.  When he originally picked it up, it felt heavy and rigid against his thigh, but now it felt like it belonged there.  He slipped the knife out of its leather sheath, and proceeded to slice at the tough nut.

His fingertips ached as he attempted to peel at the skin that still held tight to the flesh, but his stomach ached more.  Despite their texture and bitterness he managed to put a handful of them down.  Feeling satisfied and refreshed, he picked himself back up and slung the pack back over his shoulder.

The sun started to set in the opposite direction of the sky and Teivel began marching in file with his shadow.  His stomach rumbled, and twisted itself just a bit.  He chose to ignore it, but before long it became impossible to do so.  It felt as if someone had punched him in the gut, which was not a feeling he missed from his days in school.  His knees crumpled and he set himself down on the ground, shoving the pack off.

Curled over, he began to convulse, wishing he could simply get the affair over with.  Tears pooled in his eyes, and his thoughts went to his mother.  He though of her, comforting him in times like this.  He though of her, wrapping her hands around his neck, choking him.  He vomited.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, tears still in his eyes, he pushed himself up with his waning strength.  The sun was still bright, and Teivel wanted his journey to be over.  He had lost track of how many hours he had been travelling.  His feet laid heavily into the ground as he stomped on ahead. The trickle of water came to his ears.  He licked his dry lips and he realized how thirsty he was.

The earth sloped downwards to reveal the source of the sound, a small stream, clear and ice cold.  Teivel slid down the slope and up to the bank of the water.  The cold water flowed over his hands.  He brought it to his face, rubbing the dirt and tears away.  His cupped hands brought some to his mouth, it flowed smoothly down his throat.

As he tried to pick himself up and continue, the mud beneath his feet gave way.  He felt himself slip, in danger of going into the water.  The pack slipped off his shoulder, throwing him off balance.  He fell flat in the shallow water with a dull thud and a splash.  He felt like crying, screaming.

Crawling across the slippery stones, he made his way to the other side.  The pack had been dragged though the water.  Teivel was freezing, but he couldn’t care less.  The fished out the roll of papers from his pack.  The edges dripped water.  Many were soaked through.  A lump formed in his throat.

Unfurling them revealed the ink, starting to run into an illegible mess.  The sheet with the bloody pentagram had started to run as well, turning the browned blood into a sanguine mess.  He could not let these images disappear.  He had to double check, the knife was still firmly in the sheath.

Kneeling down in the mud, he rolled up his soaked sleeved.  His wrists were pale white, with dark blue lines running just underneath the skin.  He flipped his wrist over, revealing the Star of David, ever present, faded into a dark red.  He looked back at the knife, reflecting back at him a dull sliver of a reflection.  The point was sharp.

As the colors of the ink and blood sunk into the textures of the soggy paper, so he sunk the point of the knife against his flesh.  He winced at it pierced into his skin, causing blood to pool at the surface.  The blade was too big for his small hands, especially in this situation, clumsy.  He held it up by the tip of the blade and guided it like a shoddy quill pen.  With each symbol it became easier, as if he had given up feeling the pain.  Slowly, his arms became a canvas for the artistry he still knew very of.

With all of the symbols properly etched, he placed the knife down in the dirt.  He noticed his hands were shaking.  He turned back to the water.  Dunking his arms in, the water stung and burned.  The cold sent numbness up into them.  Tiny strands of blood floated from his fresh wounds, moving downstream.  When he could no longer feel anymore, he swung himself backwards onto the bank, collapsing in the mud.  Blood still pooled at the incisions.  He was exhausted and cold.

 

Posted in Series, writing

The Gift of Nature

Hell to Pay: Chapter 10

The sun burned at the fog that hugged the ground around him.  Tievel’s cold feet sunk slightly into the matted grass and moist ground.  He could feel each hair on his body stand up, and his teeth threatened to chatter against one another.

The sun, still low in the sky, was enough to guide him through what seemed like a never ending maze of trees and underbrush.  Hard rough oak branches scratched him through his thin sleeves.  His toes were crumpled up in the tips of his shoes, losing feeling bit by bit.  His hands as well, gripping tightly to the straps of the sack he had slung across his back.

A cold wind cut through the tall grass that seemed to have never been trodden on by humans before.  As the whistling of the gust died down, Tievel heard rustling in the grass ahead of him.  Pushing his way through, he was met with the flapping of wings, some sort of hawk taking off, startled at his sudden appearance.  There was a large puddle f water formed into a depression in the earth, creating a clearing in the grass.  Grey feathers were strewn across the ground, and in the middle was a smaller bird, eviscerated and partially plucked clean.   Continue reading “The Gift of Nature”

Posted in Uncategorized

The Carmen Sandiego Vlog

Where in the world was I?  I bet you can guess…

I think for once I explained everything I needed to explain in the video. I will at some point be visiting other places, like the Notre Dame if any of that stuff interests you. However, Paris is really big and walking to more than place is hard enough.

The family and I are leaving for vacation tomorrow, and after tonight’s post of whatever story I plan to write (probably hell to pay), I may be headed off to a place with no internet.

Whether it does or not, you will know by the virtue of whether I have any activity here for the next week.