In the Beginning - Knocking on Heaven's Door

Chapter 42, there is more to write on this but I will be taking it offline and focusing on some other things for a bit. So, next week it is back to normal prompts, and maybe the occasional rambling. I haven't done a good one of those in a long time.

The apartment was a tomb. The grave of his happy life, his former world. The first son knew what one did with places of eternal rest and desecrated souls. One kept such shrines clean. So he set about the task of polishing the home he once shared with his adopted father.

Some of the dust he swept free wafted towards one wall. Walls were funny things, one did not really notice them in the standard course of events. It was only when they behaved oddly that one paid attention to the mundane aspects of one's life. The first son moved to wall to investigate this disturbing occurrence.

Kneeling down he felt air being drawn in at the base. Very faintly. Sucked in like the breath of a stillborn child. He held his own breath to be sure and gently peeled away the wallpaper. At first it was gentle anyway. Within seconds he was tearing into it like he was unwrapping a gift.

When he was done a giant double door stood where the wall had been. The Thomas he was thought of it as wrought iron, the first son knew it for cold iron instead. It stood unadorned, a passage to a new world.

The son though that was wrong. It should be marked with some passage of brilliance grown stale and clichéd with overuse by hacks attempting to prove their brilliance through well disguised plagiarism. The son hoped for something like 'Abandon all hope...' or 'While I pondered...' This door though, it did not even bear a 'Nevermore' or a 'Plymouth Rock' to mark his passage into a brave new world. Hell, he might have even settled for a 'This is Sparta' but he got nothing.

He touched it and heard the hum of a choir behind it and knew this was it. This was the portal to his army. He heard the door behind him, the normal one, swing open and knew his sister had joined him. With a gentle tug the doors in front of him swung silently open.

He stood back, expecting a host of angels to fly out, flaming swords in hand, ready to do his bidding. Life did not work like that though. Not even a prophetic life. Not yet. Instead, a leather bound tome fell at his feet.

"That is your army, or the names of them. The ones the mad Peter collected for you. Mine is ready, so I will give you five years to gather yours."

"Five years?"

"It was a sacred number, according to our grandfather."

"Five years to gather a group of killers, psychopaths, degenerates, and madmen."

"It worked for Manson."

"He got women in his though. Five years, then we battle each other."

"You had a choice. You could have left the box unopened, you could have let the traitor live. You could have denied God's plan."

"I don't feel like I had a choice."

"Men rarely do when they follow a true path. People of faith put aside free will for the greater good, and yet they have it."

"Is there no other way?"

"Many."

"But you deny them."

"I will follow the path of faith, even if you shun it."

"So this is it."

"The last time we come together as a family."

"Love you, big sister."

"And I love you, little brother, but I love my duty more."

The doors closed, both before and behind him. Leaving him alone in the tomb of his former world. His only company the book of maniacs recruited for his cause. And the tears. Always the tears.

They fell for everything he had lost.

Even more for all he stood to gain.

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Rocky Rochford brings you The Eye of Mares.

Rocky Rochford brings you The Eye of Mares.

Friend and fellow Author, Rocky Rochford just released the next book in his awesome fantasy 
series, The Rise Of The Elohim Chronicles. The new novel, The Eye of Mares continues the struggle between the forces of good and evil. Readers who love talking animals, magic,epic battles and heroic struggles will love this.
Rocky is burning it up on a blog tour, sharing a little of The Eye Of Mares with his readers. It is my great privilege to bring you part 19 of this amazing new book. We could wish Rocky luck with this new addition, but let's all just go buy it instead. Happy Reading everyone!

The Eye of Mares – Part 19

          …his one-on-one sessions with Zach. 

          The sparring lessons had started around three years previously when Zach, Mako 

and Izal learned Kazza was another Child of Tormenta. 

          Zach immediately took great interest in Kazza and devoted a lot of his own time and 

attention to training him personally. An act Mako was most pleased with, as it was an 

opportunity to see Zach pass on the very things he had learned from Mako. 

          With all the time the two spent together, almost as much as Zach spent with Jasmine, 

Kazza soon grew to become the second most talented student on the entire island. He was 

rapidly approaching Zach’s level of skill.  

          “I’m glad you two continue to spend time together. It is a vital part of your training, but 

now is the time to see what you have learned mentally, as another of your exams beckons,” 

Mako replied happily, before he called out for the other two students. “Davidos! Jason! 

Come!” 

          “Master,” both boys cried in unison, as they bowed their heads respectfully and tied 

their wooden weapons to their belts. 

          “Well, that’s three of you. Where are Damien and his gang-fellows?” Mako inquired, 

just as the quartet of boys came running over, but not from the direction of the academy, but 

the forest. 

          “Good morning, boys,” Mako greeted, as the newly arrived boys, panted heavily. 

          “Morning master,” Damien and his contingent replied, panting. 

          “You came from the forest. We shall talk about your presence there later on, but for 

now, an exam awaits you all.” 

          Neither of the boys bothered to say anything. Instead they followed Mako to the 

academy in complete silence. They shuffled into the classroom one at a time and took their 

seats, ready to get the exam underway.

Eye Of Mares Buy Link

In the Beginning - Arise the Faithful

Chapter 41. This should likely go after the next chapter when it is written, but we shall see.

Opening his eyes and looking out the window to spy falling snow and twinkling lights brought joy to his heart, like very little could. Christmas was always a wonderful time of year for men like him. What kind of man was he though? What was his name?

Trying to remember caused pain to shoot from the middle of his head. There was something rotten at the epicenter of that agony. What it was remained as lost as what to call himself. The last thing he remembered was it being summer, and a requested betrayal. He was pretty sure there was a hammer involved.

When he stopped thinking about it and took it on faith things were better. He thought that was how it was supposed to be. Eschewing the idea of dressing, he walked through a house he could not remember. He was sure it was not his own. He was equally sure the emptiness and silence were new. Why would his house have so much that appealed to younger women?

Upon exiting the home he felt warm, which made no sense due to the snow drifting down. Still, the world seemed right. It seemed at peace for the first time in he did not know how long. Everything was good until he bumped into a barrier that felt like glass.

He pressed his hands to the cool surface keeping him in this hell. He was about to pray for guidance when a giant hand gripped the sky above him. What could only be the hand of god lifted the home and the yard as the flakes slowly lessened. The world turned upside down and shook around him.

Still he remained rooted to the earth. He did not slide from side to side. The only difference in his world was the wind, and how the snow flew up and began to fall back down again. It landed on his skin in flurries.

The pain returned, driving Father O'Reilly to his knees. His eyes closed, and he wondered, in that moment, why he was spared. Then he opened his eyes and he knew.

If not for the hand, retreating into the clouds, he would have thought it all a dream.

Instead, he understood the truth without knowing. Not snow, but refuse was falling into the yard. O'Reilly mourned the dead; friend and foe alike.

Of course he knew Chester was dead, but the discarded crab shells reminded him. A broken stiletto fell and he knew Nicole's fate. An empty bottle of Old Crow and he understood that his friend, Jack, was gone. Newspaper flittering past told O'Reilly that Peter had gone the way of the dinosaurs. An undelivered letter and O'Reilly knew that a mailman, unknown to him but important to the prophecy somehow, had also passed from the world.

The tumor in his head throbbed and O'Reilly shut out the world with his eyelids again. Everyone was gone. Everyone that mattered to this silent war. Everyone except the children, and the women, and the prisoners. Everyone except the enemy and O'Reilly.

He knelt, a man with terminal cancer and a mission. A man saved by the enemy for reasons unknown to him. The enemy was legion and he was alone, standing against the incoming darkness. Or, rather, on his knees against it, as a man of prayer and faith should be. He uttered the only words he could think of.

"Father, why hast thou forsaken me?"

Tear slipped from his closed eyes. The rotten thing throbbed in his head, pulsing out pain and power. He wondered how he could survive alone in the night. As if in answer to both words and thoughts the streetlights came one. Nobody saw how good it was.

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In the Beginning - The Northern Dilemma

Chapter 40.

Jack followed the trail. The current case led him into an office building as the sun set behind it. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. His distraction might get some credit for that.

He was thinking about Thomas. His stolen foster son, not the priest. He did that a lot recently.

Ever since the boy ordered the box, something wasn't right. Jack knew the boy purchased items online, but he didn't understand the appeal of the container. Though, from time out of mind young men loved objects capable of holding worthless treasures and half lost memories. Despite this history repeating itself, their parents never understood the appeal.

When Jack was a boy it was cigar boxes.

As to the evolution to fancy looking containers, Jack blamed the hipsters. He did that a lot too. So why was this whole thing making him uncomfortable?

He snapped out of his dread, into the tomb silence of the building.

He was alone. The place where a receptionist should sit was, to him, ominously empty. It was a bit before five though. Maybe she just ducked out early. More likely, in this day and age, the fat cats running the businesses were saving money by cutting Martha the single mother from the payroll.

They probably still paid her just as much when they saw her on the pole, Jack thought. Realizing how uncharitable that was, he tried to shake off his dark humor. He looked to the doors behind the desk instead.

One was orange and the other green. Jack moved towards the orange one, because he was not Catholic.  He thought about drawing his gun, then didn't.

The hallway was dim, but not enough to stop him seeing. Another door at the end stood ajar, faint light spilling from it. Silence continued to rule the building. Jack made his way down that hall and pushed the door the rest of the way open.

He was surprised that he was not surprised to see Thomas sitting behind the desk. The teen spun a large gun on top of the blotter, causing Jack to wonder why anyone still had such a thing. Jack would have wondered where the gun came from, but he knew it was one of his own.

Jack could have wondered at the feelings inside him. The sense of inevitability for instance. The last decade or so had eliminated most such things from his personality though. Then the boy spoke up and answered any questions he might have.

"Did you think you could take the prophecy out of the boy?"

"I hoped, for your sake. The box was from her then?"

"You'll never know. Your part of this testament is done."

"I'm sorry..."

"Save it, your apology won't save you."

"...that I failed the priest."

"Aren't you supposed to play the hero and try to redeem me?"

Jack looked sadly at his adopted son for the first time. "I think you were lost before I even found you, son."

The gun screamed once, branding Jack as the new Judas.

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In the Beginning - Her Name Day

Chapter 39, all previous chapters are below. Remember to pick up a copy of the December Awethology - Dark, and I guess Light too. The story I am proudest of so far is in that collection. Anyway, on to this weeks installment. Three more weeks of this and then I'll be taking this offline to finish the latter two thirds of it.

Thomas felt more and more grown up. Something about Jack trusting him to stay home alone since he turned thirteen. The greatest joy the young man knew was in receiving a package. That little thrill when an stranger bearing gifts he was allowed to accept knocked on the door was the primary reason most of his allowance money was spent in online shops.

Jack didn't understand the obsession, but he enjoyed the independence the boy showed. He also liked the smile on the young man's face. Thomas was a melancholy child, who lived far too much in his own head. So Jack never considered putting a stop to the mild and non-harmful addiction.

When the two simple joys combined, there was nothing better in the world. Not even close. This one though... a trill of fear quaked up his spine as he opened the door and signed for the package. Jack's birthday was coming up. Thomas was saving for that, so he had not ordered anything in weeks. Yet, here was this package.

The door closed on the delivery man, leaving Thomas to his wonder and the unnatural silence that suddenly filled the house. Jack wouldn't order something for him. He'd buy it in the store and watch the boy's face. So there was a secret here. Mysteries are irresistible to teenage boys, and Thomas was no exception. Then there was the package itself.

The fabric containing the gift, for that it surely was, was like nothing Thomas had ever seen. The color for one thing. Thomas thought of it as a supernatural shade. A cross between midnight blue and the red of heart's blood, it shown like the black of a moonless night. Thomas instinctively thought of it as Judgment Night purple.

The feel of it was no different. Like furry sandpaper he could not help but pet. It felt like sex and violence. That touch of the beckoning divine, corruption and salvation. It felt like his first time, though that had not happened yet. Thomas knew not how he understood all these  things. But he did.

When he set the shoebox sized package on the floor, it began to shake violently. It beckoned to him. A silent scream emanated from the box, for his ears alone. It called to him with the ceaseless appeal of modern siren. Thomas could not resist, no, tell the truth and shame the devil, he would not.

With all the patience inherent in the male of the species he showed the wrapping its proper respect. He tore the fabric asunder, discarding it like a prom dress. The box inside was made of an ebony wood held together with pure gold fastenings. Interesting, but nothing compared to the fabric that previously encased it, or the things inside. Also, much like a prom date.

Thomas flipped the lid open. A howl whirled past his ears. Blistering cold and numbing heat, damnation and salvation, angels and demons, all whipped past him and into the night. He saw none of these things but felt them just the same.

When he recovered and looked inside there was but one piece of velum, smaller than an index card. Everything the world needed was already out of the box. Written on that parchment in flaking, metallic ink, once the black of night now faded to the gray of forgotten sins were three words.

Treason - Love, Pandora.

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New Release: A Brief and Literal History of the World

Have lunch with gods and prophets. See the words of the Lord in new and interesting ways. See, for the first time ever, the world through the eyes of the most complicated and enigmatic prophet to ever (maybe really) live. Narrated in his own words and voice.
Sit down with Jesus and hear him recount how his father created the worlds, including where he got the idea and sections missing from all other known holy texts, even the made up ones. Listen to a harrowing tale of addiction and redemption as he recounts the missing years of his life, on record for the first time in all time.
Walk the dark streets of the youth of the first child star. Learn of the first band of apostles and their inevitable break up. Is there a woman who drives a wedge between Jesus and his first favorite? Perhaps a greedy record executive who convinces Jesus to dump the boy band lifestyle and venture out on his own? Most likely none of that happens as this is back cover material, which never really has anything to do with what's inside the book.
So what does happen? Pick up this brilliantly faux-faux-leather clad tome and find out. Jesus will tell you in his own time and his own way. You are the priest to the Lord's confession, but only for a Brief and Literal History of the World.

That's right. The newest one is out and it is a bit of a departure for me. Jumping into the realms of satire and, probably, offensive humor. A Brief and Literal History of the World has something to amuse and horrify just about everyone. If you've wondered when I'm going to write some lighter stuff, give it a try. If you're easily offended... give it a pass. As in buy it and pass it on to someone else. Someone with a broader sense of humor or that you hate but still need to buy a nondenominationwinterholiday gift for.

Up on Kindle, Kobo, Googleplay (search my name not the title), and physical copy. Nook is taking its sweet time, as usual.

If you're on Google or Kobo, you know how to search. For Kindle you can look here http://hyperurl.co/duudrb and Amazon will have the physical copy in a few days.

Why wait though? Like all my books this makes the perfect gift for everyone on your naughty list. You can skip the wait and those horrible lines at Amazon's physical book stores and order your copy here.https://www.createspace.com/5823165 As a matter of fact, you should just go buy it directly anyway!

You can also pick up a copy of the new December Awethology Dark while you're looking around as well. Just in case you can't get enough of me this year. Well, pick up light too, but Dark first.

And so ends this week's #shamelessselfpromotion.

#novel

In the Beginning - Borders

Chapter 38, as always the other parts are below.

Tim found staying with a family strange, especially one with a teenaged daughter and a nearly teen son. He worried he was going to end up as de facto father figure, but it didn't turn out that way. The children paid little attention to him, except when the daughter was bossing him around. The new son, as they insisted on calling him, simply stared at Tim most of the time.

Nicole, the woman he rented from, made one thing clear. He was not to enter the basement under any circumstances. A simple enough rule, even if it did remind Tim of too many fairy tales. He had just moved to the city though, and very few were willing to take a chance on a long haired, starving musician. It would all work out.

Nicole seemed to be an absentee parent though. A week after Tim moved in, she vanished. That was when the chanting started. It came from the basement and continued into all hours of the night. It did not keep Tim from sleeping, as he mostly did that during the day. It did make it hard to practice though.

Though Tim had never seen anyone other than the three family members there was a chorus full of female voices chanting in the dark down below. At first he thought it was just the daughter's friends, but she never really seemed to have any over. He held his curiosity in check for a few days.

Then he started wandering the downstairs while the chanting increased. After a week he was pacing in front of the door for most of the night. After several weeks he could not take it anymore. He opened the door and descended. The sight before him made him wish he was born without curiosity.

Nicole, nude and bound to a stone dais, a gag keeping her screams held back; that greeted his eyes. A gaggle of younger women in varying states of leather clad surrounded the altar and chanted in what sounded like Latin. All of that was strange enough, but the daughter in a short silk robe, holding one of those wavy daggers, standing over her mother, was beyond bizarre. The son sitting in a corner, staring at where Tim stood, was the cherry on top of the insanity Sundae.

"The time has come for the torch to pass, mother."

The daughter raised the dagger as she spoke. Nicole squirmed and screamed against her gag. Imploring eyes looking to the stranger in their midst. Her faith failing her, in her last moments, she cast about for rescue. Tim was frozen where he stood though.

The dagger plunged. A looser, but still near perfect, chest parted before the steel. Warm blood sprayed and flowed down over stone. The younger women showered in it, scooped it up in cupped hands to wash and anoint their flesh with it. The boy spoke some of the first words he had to Tim, with a sick smile on his face that Tim felt obliged to obey.

"I need a first follower and recruiter. Mom broke the one that belonged to my brother."

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