I received some exciting news today – I was published online!
Ditrie, a friend I made on WP and Twitter, submitted my post from yesterday to an online newspaper publication called Daily Chill. Daily Chill published the piece under their Art section.
WOW! I was very, very surprised. And, of course, elated. I never, ever expected anything like this.
There is a frequent turnover of content on the site, so unfortunately you won’t be able to see it there anymore.
I’d like to thank Ditrie for her help and encourage all you to check out her wonderful venture Spectacle Media Publishing Group and to get involved as and how you can.
As she does weekly Indigo Spider’s Sunday Picture Press has some incredible material to get the old imagination going yet again. It turns out that one of my favorite writers, Evelyn, responded super quickly to the prompts and then challenged others to write a sequel/prequel to her piece: Spiral Wit. I was intrigued by her story, and though not sure I could continue it, gave it a go anyway. Here is my attempt to continue with Spiral Wit: (but first the picture that prompted it all)
Spiral Wit – Part II
Both Mason and Bacon writhed with agony, squelching in pools of their own blood and gunk at the base of the stairs-turned-slide. Each tried to outmoan the other.
“I’ve really done it now,” Mason wailed. “I’m moments from death.”
“Get on with it then,” Bacon said. “Your bitching will be the death of me.” He was secretly fed up with Mason and began to wish the fool would just die. The thought of passing on while his friend continued a pathetic litany of lamentations was more than the old assassin could bear. He wanted to die with dignity befitting a cold hearted killer, not as some goddamned amateur psychologist.
“You know what your problem is, Bacon? It’s always all about you.” Mason choked on then spat out a gooey glob of bloody mucous that exploded like a ball of glue upon hitting the cold concrete floor. He lay his down, too tired to care anymore.
“That your way of telling me I need to collect the chalice?” Bacon asked.
“Go fuck yourself,” Mason responded.
“Gladly,” Bacon said before beginning a slow roll towards the golden cup placed on a pedestal nearby. His raw nerves and tendons, exposed to the outer world through long gashes where he was sliced to ribbons by the band of brothers, stung so badly that tears welled in his eyes. He gasped involuntarily. Then slumped. He was finally defeated.
A pair of bare feet stepped out from the shadows underneath the stairwell. Bacon tensed, ready to fight on.
The feet stepped deeper into the light. They belonged to a fairy wrapped in green silk, with fiery red hair framing pale, narrow cheeks and severe eyes that watched him with bemusement.
“Are you magic?” Mason croaked.
“Yes,” the apparition said.
“Are you going to kill us?” Mason asked.
“Oh, Jesus,” Bacon moaned.
“I don’t need to,” the fairy said. “But I will save one of your lives.” She knelt down to examine Bacon, her knees and the palms of her hands dipped in his blood leaking onto the floor. Satisfied he was no threat she did the same with Mason.
“You boys here for this?” she asked walking to the chalice and stroking it with a bloody finger.
“Nah,” said Bacon.
“Not us,” said Mason.
“But, eh, as you were saying about rescuing one of us,” Bacon prompted.
“Which one is it to be?” Mason asked.
“Hmmmmmm,” the redhead sighed. “Let’s play a game. Winner gets it all.”
“Deal,” said Bacon.
“Ah, shit,” said Mason.
“What do we do?” asked Bacon
“A duel to the death,” she said.
Nobody moved. Only the bubbling air whistling out the holes in Mason’s chest could be heard.
“Just kidding,” she said. “It’s rather simple, really. Assuming you can both stay alive another five minutes. All you have to do is complete the following sentence. I have a dream…”
“Be my guest,” Bacon offered Mason.
“No, you first,” said Mason.
“’No,” said the redheaded angel of death pointing her finger at Bacon, “you go first.”
Who’s willing to continue the story?