Short stories in a corner of the web

 I was told that today was World Suicide Prevention Day and I guess it's as good a time as any to write about my least favorite subject some days: me.  Let me be up front: I have suicidal ideation. It's always going to be with me, but I can at least talk about it. In grammar school, it was the first time I tried to take my life. My personal life was in shambles; my parents were at odds with one another with me stuck in the middle. I had a lot of thoughts I couldn't process..but all I knew is I couldn't take it anymore.  I left a note and it was found by a teacher. All it did was just get me yelled at by the faculty and my parents. They never asked why I felt hopeless enough to try it...but all they felt was shame. Great start for me trusting adults. The family situation didn't get any better during that time. Both sides of the family were in a cold war sort of situation and it just made me feel worse. I counted 9 times I've tried. And I failed each time.  I actu...

 I've had many loves in my life, and in recent memory? Industrial music has been one of them. It's given me lifelong friendships and bonding moments with people whose music I've listen to in college, and in a self serving note? The ability to do shows with them and have my name alongside some of the greats. It was a place to be myself.  A scene built and fostered by the LGBTQIA+ community and wouldn't have thrived had it not been for gay clubs.  Why do I preface my thoughts with this? Because it's integral to what needs to be discussed.  The Industrial scene should be seen as one that's inherently progressive aka counter culture. Especially when you see what the prevalent culture is at present, Industrial is the opposite of it. It should be a place where all who believe the marginalized should feel safe belong.  But this story isn't one of triumph and understanding, its one of disappointment and frustration.  Brian G. of the Gothsicles fucked up. There's...

(I honestly wrote this when I was in a low depressive state. And getting this out actually helped out a lot.) The glow of the dim ring light and a laptop were the only illumination in the abandoned warehouse. Antonio Cerqueira stared at the screen listlessly, slouching back in a ratty leather armchair. His eyes were red and swollen from crying.  He sniffled slightly and rubbed his nose slightly. "Fucking hell," he muttered. A small end table sat next to him on his right hand side with a half full glass, a bottle of liquor and a snub nose revolver. Leaning forward, he put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. Things couldn't have gone more wrong than it did the other day, but it did. Good God, did it ever.  A simple extraction mission. That's all it was. At least that's what he was told.  One stray bullet. One goddamned stray bullet made a job that could be done sleepwalking into an absolute nightmare.  No matter how much he tried to push the image of his charg...

  If you want to check the first 10 questions before this *commercial break ends* Margaret: "We're back, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for tuning in to this up close and personal interview with Ichiro Calder from the Japanese Assassination Team. Well, with his permission, we'll get right back to the back half of the 21 questions." 11. Have you ever hated someone enough to wish something terrible happened to them? Ichiro: "Well, hasn't everyone?" *Margaret purses her lips, trying to keep silent* Ichiro: "Come on. It's human nature. Even the nicest of people have had flashes of wishing irreparable harm on others for whatever reason. It happens. Just...it's only legal if myself or others do it. But with good reason. Oh. Right. The question. Yeah. The whole regiment I served with. I wanted them buried neck deep in sand and have a thresher run them over. They why of it? Beating the piss out of a kid. A kid that looked to them for understanding,...

  Thanks to Writing Prompt once again  for inadvertently helping me out with necessary character development so I can work on my antagonists. I'll be running this in an interview style, which means I'll be making up a person to facilitate the questions a la 20/20. "Good evening, America. This...is 20/20. I'm Margaret Landau and today I will be talking with a rather controversial figure. He has risen to notoriety in the legalized assassination cabal known as the Corporation. This man was part of one of the most feared duos by way of his younger brother who remained in the United Kingdom. He now carves out his own path as the leader of the Japanese Assassination Squad. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Kenneth Calder. Kenneth, thank you for joining us today." Kenneth: Thank you for interviewing me. But I would prefer to be called Ichiro. *pause* Margaret: My apologies, Ichiro. Let us get started then. 1. What is your greatest physical attribute? Ichiro: Physical attr...

The weather was nothing short of miserable. It seemed like the skies echoed the tone of the day; a funeral. It felt as if the elements joined in on the mourning. Thunder boomed ominously while rain came down in sheets, hammering the populace as they went about their lives. Umbrellas popped up like mushrooms, shielding the churchgoers until they found shelter within the sanctuary. Somber organ music greeted the attendees. The vestibule was illuminated with candles; flickering every so often and elongating shadows as it went. People broke off from the rank and file lines to immediately greet friends or loved ones spotted in the pews. Hugs, tight smiles and warm pats on the back seemed to be the order of things. But this was okay. There was only so much one can do at a funeral. The floral arrangements were beautiful; it looked like lilies, carnations and roses spontaneously exploded in a brilliant kaleidoscope of hues. It seemed like the vibrancy of the blooms mirrored the person everyone...

 Jeanne Duchamp yawned mightily and stretched herself out onto her couch. The tension that inhabited her body slowly ebbed away with that motion. She swept her long locs out from behind her to rest on her left side. "Last thing I wanna do inadvertently pull my own hair while napping," she muttered. Her surroundings were rather homey; wood paneled walls, burnt umber hued couch, and all the other bits of furniture were made of heavy oak. One thing of note was the heavy bookcase to her left, laden with all sorts of literature. The low lighting in the room was causing her to slowly drift off. Maybe just one quick nap before her session, she thought.  Just as she was about to drift off, her cell phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. Groaning in effort, she rolled off the couch and grabbed the still ringing phone from her pocket. "nnnnhello?" "Doctor Duchamp? I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?" She cleared her throat noisily and replied, " Oh no, I wa...

  So, this past weekend I went bowling with my family that lives locally and out of town. I initially went to just hang out with them because, what, me bowling? Last time I did it seriously was in high school. League and everything. But nah, my aunt was cool enough to let me bowl her game. Let me tell you; my bowling coach of yesteryear would’ve had my head for me losing my form like that. Ah well. I did better when I listening to my own music. Still abysmal, but less gutter balls this time.   After all that, I ran around like the old me; not caring about whatever little ache or pain I usually have (joys of being chronically ill) and just lost myself in the joy of being with family. Drank Brugal, took shots of tequila and played cards like I was an actual adult – wait, I am. Ah well.   While reveling in the fact of my adulthood with family, I overlooked one major thing: the comedown when the aches and pains are multiplied.   On Sunday, the hubris of aging hit me full...

 I've been trying to query for a novel that I finally finished during the pandemic but was incepted during my last year of college (2009).  There have been a lot of ups and downs. Mostly the latter, but that's how it goes.  But, I did make a decision regarding that one particular book. I think that self publishing it will be the way to go. I can toss as many query letters to the wind and hope someone believes in my work as much as I believe in it...but with that time there, I could have done more. And I will. It's not that I'm giving up the concept of querying because I have other stories that might strike the fancy of different agents. But for now, it's probably for the best that I don't inadvertently hold myself back from getting my work out in the world short of a few blog posts here and there.  

  A fun prompt. "Hey. Wake up, kid. Come on...wake up." Juni groaned and yawned mightily, perturbed about being disturbed. He looked around with sleep clouded eyes, unable to see who spoke to him.  Using the sleeves of his hoodie, he wiped his eyes and grousing all the while.  "Who's there?" A statuesque woman stepped out from the shadows of Juni’s bedroom. He was obviously startled. Why would there be a woman in his room in the dead of night? Leaving that aside, why was she just chilling there like she owned the joint? Her hair cascaded in fiery red tresses, a gauzy red shawl draped about her shoulder and set off with a black off the shoulder dress. Juni was torn between complimenting her outfit and screaming in abject horror about a stranger in his room. He opted to take the middle road; asking his way out of it.   “Are you real?”   She seemed stunned at the simple question, but didn’t want to show it.   “I don’t know; are you real?”   Juni immediate...

     Everything around him was growing cold. The concrete beneath him was sapping his warmth quicker than his wounds were.  "So this is it," he thought. The blood leaking from him became cold under him. Who would've thought he would die alone in a dingy back alley? Not him.  Maybe he could get up? He tried gently rolling onto his side, but the sharp pain from his abdomen cut that idea short.  "Well, fuck," he croaked. He heard footsteps coming toward him. Whether or not it was help in the way of ending him or saving him, who even knew.  "To hell with it," he sighted to himself. 26 seems to be a good age to die. The footsteps suddenly stopped and he saw a blurry shape lean over him.  "Hey, man...are you alright?" Blood bubbled him his lips as he laughed slightly.  "Do I look like I can dance right now?" The shape focused in front of him and what he saw stopped his laughing for a moment. What was staring at him was a brown skinned man...

 Hi there! Well, I did say that I was going to try and update as I could. So, there is another update (not another story yet; I'm currently juggling two and a query letter haha).  Before my life as a fictional author, I was a music journalist. Specifically a journalist that covered the wild and varied world of industrial music.  Since I found out about Authory, I figured the best thing to do is to gather all the articles here . You can read about the shows I've covered, people I've interviewed and the odd movie review here and there. I'm hoping I can keep it going because I heard it's good for prospective authors to at least have a dedicated sample of their writing somewhere. I mean, that's what this is for too, but still.  Variety. Have a good rest of the week!

 Oh look, an update that ISN'T a story?  It honestly should be more of a thing, but eh. Anyway, I intend on trying to update things as best as I can. As we all know, life has never ever respected anything in the way of plans. But, shouldn't stop me from trying anyway. For the moment, this will be my centralized homepage in my pursuit of becoming an author. At least until I can figure out the best way to craft a site that reflects me as a person and a writer. Even in my mid thirties, I'm still trying to figure out the best way to describe me. Life, right? Anyway, consider this as a 'pardon the mess' type post. I'll be back at it with more short stories and the like. Later! -D

 Early Monday morning, not a cloud in the sky. Not a bad day to go to confession, thought Hadrian. He peered up at the sunny sky through his red tinted sunglasses. No clue why he felt so good about going to confession, but it has been some time.  The street was awash with people; some were just enjoying the seasonable weather while others were socializing and taking in the sights. A few whispered to each another and cast occasional glances at Hadrian. And why wouldn't they? He was a tall man about 6 feet tall, waist length locs, glistening umber skin, and impeccably dressed in a three piece suit? Of course there'd be looks. He looked over the rim of his sunglasses at the occasional passerby and winked at them. There were a few excited sounds coming from people, and he smiled about that. Doesn't hurt to make someone's day. Whether or not they were truthful doesn't matter; it was the experience. He entered the open doors of the cathedral, a cool breeze greeting him as...

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she mumbled. Leila sighed and hitched up her wedding gown, trudging through the wreckage that surrounded her. She found a window seat close by and sat on the edge of it, her high heeled foot tapping the ledge erratically.  "What a day." Feeling around the waist of her dress, she found the fanny pack she had stowed underneath the bustle. Eva often wondered why they made the back part of the dress so large.  "There was no need to remind me that I lack an ass," she huffed. She dug through it and found a pack of clove cigarettes and a lighter.  She knows she promised her future husband that she'd lay off the cigarettes, but stress is stress. Better to  have a socially acceptable outlet than doing something risky. Leila snorted in amusement. Risky. In one smooth movement she flicked it open, lit it and closed it. She took a deep pull and exhaled slowly. The smoke drifted lazily from her parted lips as she surveyed t...

 "Do you mind dealing the cards already, or will it take another 100 years to keep this game going?" A sound of disapproval met the statement, followed by the riffling of cards. Cards shooting out from a corner of darkness would have been slightly humorous, had it not been for the company in the room. At one corner sat Damiano Alighieri, the leader of a vampire faction out of Chicago. He looked every inch a stereotypical crime boss: black slicked back hair, ivory three piece suit, ornate rings adorning his fingers and a fur trimmed coat draped about his shoulders. His facial features looked almost to be hued from marble. The very picture of of classical Roman sculpture. Damiano adjusted his blood colored tie and smirked across the table at the person across him. "Aren't you warm in that mess, Yuri? Well, warm being a general term..." Yuri Kuznetsov scoffed at the jibe, but it was muffled due to the thick scarf he had around his head. His ushanka sat atop his hea...

 Hi there! Well, I figured I should give a general update apart from the quick writing sprints. There's a convention that just became known to me called DVCon . So far it's been invaluable to me as a marginalized person. I never really knew the general ins and outs of publishing. It's not like there's a clear and noted path for these things, especially for the marginalized.  The online panels have been lovely so far, and the Discord that's along with it? Really really helpful. I honestly hope that there's a virtual component of this going forward; it's really nice to just connect with other writers from all over in this fashion.  Well, I'd hope that in person would be soon enough. However, to coin a phrase or in this case an action? *gestures vaguely everywhere* (make sure to check out that link! And if you mess about in the Twitter hashtags, you should be able to find some more info there as well)

(a prompt I thought of. The theme? Job interviews. I may be projecting with my lack of luck, but writing about it feels somewhat cathartic.) What a busy day, thought Ellen. The office waiting room was filled with people for a position being offered at Riposte Forging. She found it odd that a company that specialized in creating steel weapons would draw so many interested parties. But, she was the receptionist, she reasoned. There should be no vested interest in the whys and the wherefores, as long as her paycheck hit the same time every other week.  She shrugged, accepting it as something that isn't a worry. Time for the next applicant. "Daniel? Daniel Mi-oh dear..Mi-ehhhh..."   A tall gentleman dressed in a dark blue suit raised his hand tentatively. He brushed away the stray strands of his midnight blue hair and smiled almost apologetically to the woman.  Ellen peered over her bifocals at the young man. "Are you Daniel?" He smiled in response, his smile almost...