The Calling of the Wild

In the darkness of the night,
close you windows,
and bar your door.
For I run on two legs,
Before I run on four.
The moon sings in my blood,
and echoes through my soul.
There is no difference between
Lover, friend, or foe.

Oh, Love you are lost to me
as elusive as a wolf running free.
When the banshee wails through the trees
Beware the call of the wild,
for the Wild calls to me.

Don't say that you love me,
Because I don't want to know.
When the wild calls to me
Fur, Fangs, Flesh and Fury,
Are the only things I know.
Diana calls me to her pack
The Huntress commands my soul
And there is no difference between
Lover, friend, or foe.

Oh, Love you are lost to me
as elusive and a wolf running free
When the banshee wails through the trees
Beware the call of the wild
for the Wild is in me.

Tell me, is your heart fresh?
Tell me, is your heart pure?
Tell me, is your blood sweet?
Is it as sweet as my dark desire?
When the Wild calls to me
The Hunt runs in my blood 
And the moon consumes my soul.

In the darkness of the night
close your windows,
and bar your door.
For I run on two legs
Before I run on four.

Feast Day

Women in long flowing white dresses dotted the gathering place. The fragrance of flowers filled the air from the orchards nearby and men of all ages set down blanket for the picnic. This year it was going to be a wonderful gathering. The morning sun warmed the air and birds sang out from the massive trees that offered their shade. Her mother had kissed her forehead and placed the wreath in her hands, then sent her out.

               She knew what this meant. She was the chosen this year. She wasn’t the prettiest, or the smartest, and she was far from being the most popular. But for some reason, which she didn’t quite understand, they had chosen her. She was quite sure of what she was supposed to do other than to pick someone. Her hands clutched the flowering wreath, and she hoped that no one would notice that her knuckles had turned white from her grip.  Who was she going to pick?

               She had to pick the right person; everyone was counting on it. Many people, both men and women flocked to her, as she wandered. They hoped that she would pick them. All she had to do was set the wreath upon someone’s head and it was done. Everyone would know who she picked and would gossip about it for forever. This is why she didn’t want to be the chosen, but they had picked her. Someone told her once that they drew the names out of a little hat. She wasn’t sure if it was true or not. No one knew for sure how they picked the chosen every year.

               Her mother had beamed with pride, and with tears in her eyes. She told her that she had to choose well, because whomever she picked, she would have to live with it for the rest of her life.

               “Please pick me.” Her sister whined. “You have to always pick family first.”

               “But” she replied. “I don’t want to. I don’t really want to pick anyone.”

               Her sister huffed and moved away. She could live with her sister’s disappointment.

               The day wore on. People were starting to get impatient. They wanted to know who she would give the wreath to. No one could start cooking the festive meal until she had chosen, it was a sacred tradition that no one was willing to break. In the years, before, someone had always been picked fast in the morning. It was just past noon and the sun had already climbed to its zenith. People were starting to wonder about why she hadn’t chosen anyone yet. She could hear their whispers.

               All eyes were now on her. Voices hushed whenever she walked by, and she knew without a doubt that they were talking about her. They didn’t think that she would choose anyone.

               “Why don’t you just choose me.” Daisy snarked at her. “I don’t know why you were made chosen anyways. I deserved it more than you do. You are just a useless skank.”

               “I don’t really want to choose anyone.” She replied. Daisy and the girls around her laughed. She hated their laughter. They had tormented her ever since she and her family came to this place.

               “I know you don’t.” Another of the girls sneered. “Who would want to be with you anyway?” Someone pushed her from behind. She turned and didn’t see who. Daisy covered her mouth and snickered.

               “You should let me choose for you.” Daisy laughed. “I will choose, and we will all get to eat tonight.”


               “What?” Daisy gaped. “Are you serious?”

               She nodded. “Point at who you want to me to pick and,” she held up the wreath. “I will crown them. I never wanted to be chosen.”

               Daisy laughed. “Damn right.  You are pathetic. A nobody. They should have picked me. In fact, I pick me. Hand it over.” Daisy held her hand out for the flowers.

               She smirked. “No. We will do this the old traditional way. Kneel.”

               Daisy rolled her eyes and kneed on the grass before her. She lifted the wreath high then slowly placed in on Daisy’s head. “There.” She said. “It’s done.

               She took Daisy’s hand and lead her away. The picnic always happened in this same field because it was the farthest from the kitchens. They didn’t want the smoke from the ovens to disturb the community. The elders said that it was symbolic, this journey away from everyone. They said that it was important to spend this time with one’s chosen and to appreciate them.

               She didn’t appreciate Daisy. Daisy snarked at her for the entire time of the walk. Why do you have to be so weird? Why don’t you dress better? You suck. The questions went on and on. Daisy never shut up. By the time they arrived at the steel doors of the kitchen, she had grown tired of listening. It was wrong of her to not totally appreciate Daisy. She knew that. Choosing Daisy was something that she could still live with, however.

               She waved at the door, like her mother had told her. She hadn’t been this close to the kitchens before. The entire building had been made from thick steel and no one knew how long it had been there.

               “So, what do we do now?”

               “We wait.”

               They didn’t wait long. The entire building shook. The doors didn’t slid open to the side as she had imagined that they would. She could hear the gears grinding deep with the structure. The doors lurched upward revealing a cavernous space filled with shadows.

               They stepped forward, a trio of elders. They moved silently over the dusty floor and their faces were hidden with the deep folds of their robes.

               “You have chosen.”

               She swallowed. “Yes.”

               Their robes swirled around them as they turned towards Daisy. She took a deep breath, raised her chin, and stubbornly held her ground. “You have chosen well. Very well.” One placed his hands on Daisy’s shoulders; the other pulled a long knife from beneath the grey cloth.

               “Wait!” Daisy tried to pull away. “What are you doing?”

               “You have been chosen for the feast.” One of the grey ones said in a low whispering voice. “She was chosen, but she chose another, and she chose well.”

               “No! Please! I don’t want to die.”

               “It’s okay.” The grey one said and raised the blade.

               “Wait.” She shouted. They turned towards her. She held out her hand. “I am the one who picked her. Please let me do it.”

               The elder nodded and held the knife out to her. She took the blade. It was heavy in her hand and it felt, not good, but right. Daisy started screaming and struggling against the elder’s grip.

               She smirked. She sliced open Daisy’s throat in one smooth motion. Blood turned the white dress red and splatted on the ground. Daisy’s bright blue eyes stared as her last breath guggled free.

               “You should have been nicer to me.” She said.


I admit it. I have been neglecting this blog for quite some time. What can I say, life happens and often it sucks, like really really sucks. It was never my intention to disappear from the blogosphere.

The past two years have been harsh in ways that are difficult to speak of. I am not going to go into details here, or ever, but lets just say that I am glad that 2022 is finally over. 2023 is young yet. We are only a month into 2023 and it is already a complete improvement over the past two years.

So here is a few things to look forward here.

  1. Short Story Sunday. Every Sunday I am going to post a shiny new short story right here on the blog. I stole this idea from WPaD. I still believe that this is a great idea, just because it will get me back into the habit of writing.
  2. The 300. At some point I am going to restart the 300. I will pick a random writing prompt from somewhere on the net and write a short piece on it. Hopefully I will complete the whole 300 posts without missing a day this time around.
  3. More Reviews. Once a month I will be reviewing one of the books that I have read. It will be totally random and most likely and indie author, since I read a lot of indie authors these days.

I am looking forward to the rest of the new year and hopefully we will have a ton of fun.

No. 5: Mittens: Ninja at Large

Write about the secret life of your pet.

She watched and waited. The hooman was still in the room and hadn’t noticed her and she had no intention of getting caught. This hooman liked to mess with her fur and she didn’t like that. She worked hard to get every bit just how she liked it. She still had time before she needed to go on with her mission. The hooman sat down and played with the shiny glowey thing that made the cool noises when she sat on it. Now was her chance. She popped out of her hide out and dashed through the room.

She wasn’t seen. The hooman didn’t even notice that she was there. Hehe, she was awesome.

She wasn’t sure of what her mission was going to be today, but no matter what it was going to be awesome. Everything she did was awesome. That was why she was the queen of the place. Everything here belonged to her just because she was so awesome.

Oh, what was that smell? Now that is way more delicious than the tribute the hoomans put out for her and the old one. It smelled… divine. She snuck under the desk. No one ever saw her hear. Her fur blended perfectly into the shadows. She slid around the soft fuzzy thing, and there is was.

It was displayed perfectly on the black pedestal. This wasn’t for her. She knew that, but she had to have it anyways. She crouched low and waited. Patience was the key here. She waited as the picture box changed rapidly. She waited as the hooman set a drink aside.

The hooman got up. Now was her chance. She slinked up to the pedestal and carefully hooked a claw into the treat and pulled. It was way bigger than she thought. She started eating it as fast as she could. It was juicy and wonderfull.

“Hey!” Hands wrapped around her middle and lifted. “That was mine. Bad cat.” She was carried to the door and tossed out. “You can stay out.” She licked her lips. Banishment. She had survived banishment before. She licked her claws and started grooming herself as the door shut her out. It was totally worth it.

No. 4: The Aspect of the Biome

If you had to choose one of the following biomes to live in, which would you choose, and why: desert, rainforest, deep sea, arctic, mountains, tropics.

Biomes is actually one of the things that I often neglect while I am worldbuilding. They are one of the most influential and necessary ingredients to any fictional world. I tend to get so focussed on plot and character development, that I forget that the world in which my characters travel and live in, is a character in and of itself.

There is so much to unpack when thinking about a biome, from the temperature, to the seasons and it has a huge impact on the lives of the people and creatures that live in it. The biome of the world even determines what obstacles that my protagonist has to over come. I have to thank my hobby of playing Dungeon and Dragons for much of my awareness of what a biome is and of the types of cultures that spring from that type of environment. I also have to thank all of the authors that I read for their wonderful works. If it wasn’t for these two things, I would suck way more than I do when it comes to this aspect of world building.

Now, to answer the question. If I were a character in one of my own stories, I would live in the mountains.

This is because of all of the biomes that are listed above, it is the mountains that offer the most in terms of vegetation, water and wildlife. There are often species located in the mountains that are found in no other place and it is super easy to imagine coming across a creature that no one has seen before. It is just as easy to imagine a hidden valley where a whole civilization exists. What can I say? I am a explorer at heart, living in a world where everything has already been found.

No. 3: No Good Deed…

A character finds an odd looking egg in the woods. When they take it home, they never could have predicted what was inside it.

It was an odd thing. It was smooth to the touch and pulsed when he lay his hand on it. It thrummed under his fingers, and gave him the sense that it was trying to talk to him. He knew that this was the real world, and that this wasn’t a dragon’s egg waiting to hatch and lead him to a great destiny, but it was an egg. He didn’t know what kind of egg or even guess of what kind of creature would lay such a thing, but he was quite sure that it was an egg.

He took a great deal of time getting the egg home. He didn’t want to break it, and the egg was heavy. It was far heavier than something its size was supposed to be. He guessed that it had double the density of iron, but he couldn’t be sure. His kids were going to love this. He remembered their disappointment when they had worked so hard to care for a hen’s egg, only for it to fail to hatch. They had even done everything right, from keeping it warm to turning it everyday so that the chick inside wouldn’t stick to the shell.

This was a chance to make it up to them for that disappointment. This wasn’t going to be a chicken. What ever was in that egg was going to be way cooler.

He got it threw the door of the old house and leaned against the wall. He wasn’t a young man anymore. He didn’t like to think of himself as getting older, but sometimes, the world had a way of reminding him. The kids, thankfully, hadn’t come home from school yet. That gave him sometime to get things set up and surprise them.

He tossed the laundry from the good wicker basket. His wife was going to be pissed, but it was going to be worth it. He used the softest foam and lined it with the best rags in the house. To complete this little nest, he dug out the old Hudson’s bay blanket. This blanket hadn’t been used in years, but it was clean and soft and gave the nest a wholesome feel that he liked.

The kids loved the egg, right from the start and the egg loved them. His wife, wasn’t thrilled and left the thing alone. He placed the egg in the courner of the parlor, where it would be out of the way and where the fire would keep it from getting too cold.

The egg’s thrumming grew in volume as the seasons past. It glowed brighter as time went on as well. Sometimes they could see something moving inside when it glowed.

The kids took turns each night to read to the creature inside. They showed it their toys and told it all about their day. They asked him everyday, when it would hatch and he always told him that he didn’t know, because he didn’t know what kind of egg it was. It could be any of a hundred wonderful things. It could be a dinosaur, a dragon, a golden eagle. Guessing what would come out of the egg became a game which they shared.

One day, in the middle of winter, the egg dimmed and lost it’s glow. He placed his hand on the shell and felt something move inside. The egg rocked as the creature within struck the inside of the shell hard beneath his touch. The kids were still in school, it was the last day before the winter break. He hoped that they wouldn’t miss its hatching.

The egg rocked again and their was a resounding crack as the egg split open. Oh my god! It was hatching. This was it. He was going to be the first to see what kind of creature would lay such a egg.

He rushed to the kitchen and scooped his cell off the counter. He fumbled with it until he managed to get it recording video. He had to record this. He didn’t want his kids to miss it just because they had to be at school.

He focused the camera on the shaking egg. The cracks had gotten bigger and pieces of the shell had fallen away. He couldn’t tell what was inside. He stepped closer to get a clear view. The kids wear going to love this.

The egg stilled. The creature inside stilled inside the shell and paused. In one single convulsion, it heaved and the shell shattered and the creature rolled out onto the hardwood floor.

“Holy Fuck” He dropped his phone and scrambled back. It looked like a cross between a centipede and a squid. It squirmed around trailing ooze. Solid black eyes blinked and focused one him. He swallowed. “Um, hello there.”

It jumped from the floor and engulfed him. It pulled him to the ground. Like the egg, the creature was far heavier than it appeared to be and it was massively strong. He couldn’t even scream when it’s teeth found him.

No. 2: Enter the Star-Father

Write about a frail mobster searching for his lost friend in an asteroid.

The lock clicked and a slow hiss echoed through the airlock. He waited for his bodyguards to give the all clear before proceeding. He waved his attendant away. He was old, but he wasn’t stupid. One did not become the head of the family by being stupid.

The airlock opened into a dimly lit corridor. Why would anyone want to live here? He didn’t want to spend any more time on this godforsaken rock than he had to. There was business that needed his attention on Titan, and he didn’t dare send any of the ungrateful brats that called him father. As always there were somethings that one had to do himself, like coming here.

Vinnie flashed the all clear and stepped away from the door. He strolled down the ramp and took in the site. This place was a real shithole. The grey rock seemed to stretch on for forever, and the lights flickered. People actually lived here?

He tapped his comms. “Search this rock. I want him found and I want him alive and unharmed. I want you to treat him with respect.” Good help was hard to find these days. One had to make do with what one got. These were eager to please, and all to often, were more than a little trigger happy.

It was essential that he was found alive. He had given his word a long time ago and he intended to keep it. These kids, they didn’t know the first thing about honor. That is what made a man successful, the value of his word.

“Come back into the ship and let me get you out of that suit boss.” His attendant said. “It isn’t healthy for a man of your years to be out here.”

He shrugged him away. “I am fine.” They were worried about what will happen to the family if he died without a clear heir. That was why he was here. They came without question to this lifeless rock.

It didn’t take more than an hour or so. This wasn’t a big asteroid after all. He was perhaps the last alive who knew the true name of the man that they were escorting. This was a man to whom he owed his life.

“Morgan.” He smiled, offering his hand. Morgan accepted and pressed it to his lips. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes,” Morgan replied. “That it has.”

“Come. It is time for you to come home.”

Day 1 : Do Brains Taste Like Chicken?

Write about a delighted zombie.

It is light, but it is cold. But I am always cold now. I don’t really understand why. I think that I died, but I didn’t really die. Oh, there is so much that I don’t understand, so very much. I should be worried about the state of things, but I just can’t bring myself to care. I think that I need to sleep, but I am too hungry to sleep. It just smells so good.

Everything seems so fast. Those dogs are lightening fast. How did they get so fast? I try to grab one, but it is just to fast. I want to cry. All I want to do is touch one. It is so cute and fluffy and it smells really good to, not as good as the other thing, but really good all the same. All I want is just a little taste. Come closer doggy. I won’t bite. I promise. I will just take a little nibble, if only you will let me pet you. Why do you have to run so fast.

I wish that I could run that fast.

I remember running fast. It was so long ago. I had two feet then. Yes, I remember, it was Bob. Bob ate my foot. Fuck you Bob. I liked that foot. It was my favorite. Now, my legs don’t work right. I want my foot back.

Someone is shouting. I think that they are shouting at me. I try to say something back but I can’t remember how to talk. The sounds coming out of my mouth don’t make any sense. They are just sounds. I sound like a ghost, like from one of those really old movies.

Others are there. There isn’t going be enough left if I go with them. There are too many. That is okay, because, I can still smell it. They can have the shouting people. It means that I can have the hiding ones all to myself. I am too hungry to share.

They are quiet, but I find them. They did a really good job at hiding. This is like playing hide and seek. Why is it that I am always the seeker? When is it going to be my turn to hid?

Ahh, there they are. They are fast, but not as fast as the dog. People, especially the little ones are so much better than dogs. They smell better, and taste better. Oh, I am so hungry. They can’t get away. One tries to push past me, but I grab him. I like hugs. You won’t mind if I take a nibble will you? I haven’t eaten since, forever.

This is so much better fresh. Leftovers are okay, they will do in a pinch, but nothing beats fresh. The texture is still somewhat mushy, and it smells soo good. It smells better than it tastes. Why do brains always taste like chicken?

How to Pretend to be a Writer and The Bloggers Challenge.

I like to pretend that I am a writer. It is one of my most favorite things even though I do fail miserably at it. I fail because of the thing that writers do, that I don’t do nearly enough of. Writers, well, write. Add this to the huge number of silly challenges that are running around the internet these days. Who hasn’t heard of the Tide challenge, right? So, after being woken up by a book falling on my head, a brilliant idea stuck me.

It was a book of 300 writing prompts, by the way.

In all of the different challenges running around on Facebook, YouTube, TikTok, ect. There never seems to be any silly challenges for bloggers. Blogging seems to have become a serious endeavor. It has lost the fun. Oh, there are other challenges for writers out there. NaNoMo is coming up again this year, and completing a novel in 30 days is indeed a challenge, but its not something that really fits in a blog, and while it is an accomplishment, it is very much a sprint. At least, it feels that way to me and I am not much of a sprinter.

So, I propose this challenge, and the rules are going to me simple for those who are willing to join me in this challenge.

This challenge is going to take 300 days, (totally not related to the book that fell on my head, I swear). To complete the challenge, everyday we shall:

  • Select a writing prompt.
  • Write a minimum of 500 words on the prompt
  • Post the prompt on a blog with the day of the challenge and the prompt in the title. If the prompt is a picture, include the picture.

And there is the most important. No skipping days. If we miss a day, even if it is just one, the challenge has been failed, and we will be set back to Day One.

Now, lets see who will last to Day 300.

This is the Great Reboot.

The Pandemic has short circuited many things over the past couple of years and that includes this blog. Okay, I know that I am using it as an excuse since my last post was way before Covid happened, but it sure didn’t help. Life was happening to me in a very dramatic way and when Covid happened, well that was the final nail in the coffin. It was more like a nuclear bomb than a nail, now that I think on it for a bit.

One the bright side, I have a okay looking garden now. I am not sure of exactly how healthy it is to indulge in my own particular brand of paranoia, probably not healthy at at all, however not being completely dependent on what food is available in the stores seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, who could have guessed that the zombie apocalypse wasn’t really going to happen.

So, since later this week, I am going to be receiving my second shot of the vaccine, so I won’t have to wear a mask anymore, and maybe I will be acquiring my mutant super power, cause everyone knows that you get super powers along with your shot. I have decided to reboot everything, from this blog, to my day job, and even to wear I will exist in the future. I am going to start with this blog.

Over the next week or so, you are going to see me fiddling with the over all look. There is nothing better than a make over. A new colour scheme, a brand new logo, new widgets, which will include a calendar showing when my next post is going to appear so that you don’t miss anything.

I am looking forward to sharing new content with all of you.