BLOGS

Chapter I: The Concord. 

He walked, it was cold as usual, not blistering, but to him no cold was good. He wouldn't be out here if he didn't need to, but of course, he did. Walking with a cautious step mindful, that no one must see his face, not that any sane soul would travel this way. Still this was no consolation, for this was Winterbourne country and a Winterbourne he was not. They had taken everything and in doing so gained complete control although how they rose to prominence was a mystery, he was sure that his destination would provide a remedy to the cancer plaguing his world. The wilderness swirled around him in the torrent of snow; the howls of distant animals graced his ears. Slowly he entered a hollow wound in the earth. As he went deeper, the freezing cold gave way to a tingle. There was a dim light, which became brighter as he approached. There were rumors that this cave was guarded by something so horrible, the realm of nightmares wouldn’t dare conjure it up. Finally, he reached a cavern, illuminated by a translucent green fluid, hanging from stalagmites. They were like hesitant tear drops, cried by the cave long ago and along with the soft light they gave off there was also warmth. Below, a mirrored pool waited its surface calm, unmoving, beautiful, this was the ‘Fourth Wall’. He blinked at his reflection, his hair had grown, long black locks draping over his shoulders and his eyes, almost feral, were alien to him. How long had it been, since he’d been told about this place? He took a deep breath, pealing off his heavy clothes; he shed them for slender, white collared shirt, black jacket, pants, and gloves. As he prepared to plunge into the liquid below, a sound reverberated through the cave, a sound much like that water moving through strained metal pipes. Was this it, the horrible guardian of the fourth wall?  Jumping back he braced himself, a gale force wind slapped his locks back into his face, followed by a vertical wall of water. It spouted up from the pool and hit the ceiling, Where is it? The liquid hung in the air like a cloud of smoke, if formed a sphere as a light moved across its reflective surface. And then he heard it, the ear splitting screech, followed another gust. He covered his face and tried not to lose his balance, the wind stopped and standing directly across from him was something constructed of his childhood nightmares. It was a deathly gray, bent backward as its head spun in around to observe him, its mouth or what counted for one appeared stitched shut, along with it’s eyes. It jerked around horribly as if it were on the verge of seizure, it’s elbows and knees were bent in the wrong angles and it stank of death, of violence. I’ve come too far to be stopped now.  The young man placed his hands at his sides, took in deep breathes, closed his eyes. The creature reared back ready to lunge toward him, it shook uncontrollably and launched itself over the hole.

Show time, the young man opened his eyes, which were now gleaming silver and a bright flash filled the room.  

Roderick stopped, saved his work, and logged off; he’d been writing this story for as week. It started as a project to relive stress and exercise recommended by his friend Sierra, but now he couldn’t stop as if something compelled him to write, as if he had a duty to tell this story. He walked over to his bed removed his glasses and laid down, it was as if his entire life force went his work, scrawling his dreams on to paper making them real, solid, dense. Sleep now hung on his eye lids; he’d write tomorrow, for now sleep.

He closed his eyes slowly dwelling between the point of reality and the rapid eye movements that awaited him in dreamtime. As his eyes closed he imagined himself in the story he wrote, nothing was different. Same town he lived in, nothing different except he could do what ever he felt like.  He was rattled awake by the sound of footsteps and his eyes shot open. “Who’s there?”  He waited for a reply but none came.

   It’s probably just Avery. He closed his eyes again and tried at a second attempt to go to sleep, and seemed to be succeeding.

   “Roderick”

   “Yes” he whispered. He shook his head.  

   Roderick got up out of his bed, opened the door, and walked into the hallway. “Avery did you call me?”

      “No.” said a loud voice from a door in the middle of the hallway.” You hearin’ things go to bed.”

  Roderick was about to ask his mother but stopped himself when he realized that she was at her boyfriend’s house across town. He closed his door and hit the bed, closed his eyes and hoped that he could get to sleep. And he did.

During the night he’d dreamt of a young man with dreadlocks like his swimming in a tunnel filled with water, no, not water; something else. He was woken up mid dream and seemed to be stricken by sleep paralysis. Of course, the only parts of his body that worked were his eyes and mouth. At the foot of his bed, he caught sight of a young man sitting down.

      “Hello Roderick” the young man dread locks that were covering his eyes.

       Roderick closed his eyes tight and utilizing the ostrich theory he hoped it would be gone when he opened them.

      “Open your eyes” the young man had a wide grin on his face too wide to be human. He wore a T-shirt with a soccer ball on it, blue jeans, and converse. “I’m not going anywhere just yet.”

     “What …I…I…Is it that you want?” Roderick broke into his nervous stutter. 

   “Only to talk”

     Roderick blinked and the young man was sitting in his computer chair. “I'm here to give you what you want.” The figure moved in the chair a bit.

    “What I want?” There were a couple of things that Roderick wanted.

          “I want to escape”

    “Great me too.” The Young man spun around in the chair playfully. “So do you want it or not, what am I saying, of course you do.”

     “How do I get it?”

        “Just shake my hand.” The young man smiled beneath his locks.

            “But I can’t move, sleep paralysis.” Roderick breathed.

            “Yes you can, get up.” The young man motioned for him to rise.

            Roderick bolted up immediately as if by some strange magnetism. “Ok… so we just shake and that’s it?”

            “That’s it, come on.”

          “What do I call you?” Roderick asked

          “It doesn’t really matter because by tomorrow, I’ll be you.” The Young man smiled and his eyes shown a bright silver.

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     Roderick lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. It was 7:00 AM.  A cold sweat coursed down his brow and caused his hair to stick to his face. He looked over at his alarm clock flashing 7:00 and buzzing loudly.
   Why do I keep this thing, all it does is make noise. He slammed his fist down on the snooze button and got up. It was Thursday and school was at 9:00. Roderick put his hair in a rubber band, put on his glasses, walked to his dresser, and stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor. Reaching for the drawer, he took out a pair of boxers and an undershirt.  Opening the second drawer he pulled out a pair of Levis, then shuffled through his bottom drawer looking for a shirt to wear. He picked out a shirt with a fox on it and threw it next to the pants; he then picked up a dirty towel with boxers and undershirt in hand and walked out of his room.

            A few seconds after Roderick left a man two inches shorter than him, but obviously older walked in quietly. Slowly picked up Roderick’s wallet, he removed twenty dollars and crept out again.   

          After ten minutes the door flew open and Roderick walked back in. “Damn it, my hair.” stepping in front of the mirror he attempted to move the wet, matted mess from its entanglement not noticing the small thin crack that formed as he stepped in front of it.

    He walked up to his stereo and hit the Power button as raging guitar riffs and screeching vocals roared from the speakers.

         “Turn that shit off.” A voice lumbered from behind his door and a body followed” Nigga you black. You can’t’ listen to that shit”

          Roderick cringed. The word Nigga cut him like barbed wire.  He hated that word. He also hated his brother Avery the living embodiment of It. Avery rushed through the door. He never approved of Roderick leading the lifestyle he did or the music that came with it. Avery was your typical black stereotype, thuggish, listened to rap, spoke improper English, and was generally negative.

            Roderick never liked Avery, not in sight or in mind. He’d often times wondered why his mother didn’t abort him. He was an accident. 

        Roderick put his clothes on with no hurry and hadn’t even turned to acknowledge his brother shuffling through his drawer for his keys, wallet chain, and MP3 player.

         “You hear me?” Avery’s tone was annoyed.

         “Yeah, but do I care?” Roderick still didn’t turn around.

          “Man whatever” Avery walked out the room slightly angered.

            All the while Roderick hadn’t noticed that his mirror was cracking nor did he notice his reflection moving of its own accord. He turned to get his cell phone from the dresser. He stopped to notice that his reflection was staring at him. Its gaze was cold and distant. 

  “What the hell!?” Roderick stepped forward

     It made no attempt to move, if only to watch him move forward.

      He raised an eyebrow and tried to touch the mirror. At this it moved to match him. The mirror rippled like water and as the reflection reached out the glass bent around its hand.

        “Oh shit!” Roderick Jumped back and hit his bed causing it to make contact with the wall.

        Avery ran into the room “What the fuck happened?”

       Roderick looked at the mirror. Nothing was out of place; his reflection was where it was supposed to be “Uh I slipped...” Roderick looked for something he could have slipped on, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with his brother calling him crazy. “On my socks”

        “Well keep it down.” Avery was attempting to sound like the adult he was supposed to be, rather than the Child he was. “You gonna wake da dog.” He slammed the door behind him.

           Asshole. Roderick got to his feet put on his sneakers then picked up his messenger bag lying on the left side of his bed near the window. He crept passed the mirror regarding it as a sleeping giant. He opened the door and glanced at the mirror quickly to see if anything had changed. But all stayed the same.

     He walked out his door ignoring the loud music and weed smoke coming from his brother’s room then continued down the long hall. Roderick stopped in front of his mother’s room. Natalie kept her room like any other woman. Lots of jewelry, too many clothes with an abundance of shoes. On her dresser was a five-year-old picture of her Roderick at 12 and Avery at 22, right next to the new photo of her and her boyfriend James. There was no indication that his father Malcolm and his mother had been together or that he had a father.  

         Roderick never liked the idea of his mother attempting to erase his father from the family’s collective memory. The methods she used to do so, included but were not limited to letting the phone ring out when ever Malcolm’s name appeared on the caller ID and calling Roderick a cab rather than risk a direct encounter when he visited his father.  

      He stepped out, jogged down the stairs, opened the front door, and left his house.

      Roderick read an old worn copy of the book Vigilance on the bus ride to school. That was coupled with a song rock, which was steadily damaging his eardrums so as not to be disturbed. He sat in one of the single seats to further make sure no one bothered him.  Despite his trying the book failed to hold his attention and his mind teetered between thoughts and dreams, the music as loud as it was only did to mesh both together.

          With heavy eyelids, he glimpsed something like a dog running beside the bus, and then he began to doze off, glasses hanging off of his face.

           “Where are you!?” a loud obnoxious voice behind him broke through the barrier of guitar riffs and into Roderick’s lucid dreaming. “Oh yeah well hurry up I ain’t got all day and I gotta meet Trina to go shopping.”

     Damn, please shut up. Roderick adjusted his glasses and turned his head to glare at the person only to realize it was his brother’s girlfriend Latisha. Roderick tried to look away quickly enough so as not to be noticed but had no luck.

  “Hey, you’re A’s brother right?” her voice was even louder although she sat behind him.    “Uh, yeah… hi” Roderick trailed off and looked away 

     “Yeah well tell him I’m going shopping, so I’m gonna need money.”  She said nonchalantly

       Guess that means he’ll be doing more illegal shit or stealing from mom … not that she’d notice. “Sure. I’ll tell him.” Roderick buried his head in his book.

      Latisha leaned over his shoulder and looked at the yellow pages of the book he was reading. “Damn that book looks old, what is it” she said loudly.

     Roderick winced at the sound of her voice and its volume. “It’s Vigilance; it’s about a young man who goes about saving a city in the mid-west, using the occult.”

     “Oh, that’s for school?”

“No. It’s for me”

“You know, you don’t seem weird” Latisha looked at him somewhat puzzled

   “Excuse me?” Roderick raised an eyebrow.

“Well Avery said you were weird, you’re trying to be white and shit”

  Son of a bitch. “Listen Avery’s a liar with a Peter Pan complex.”

 “What, does that mean?”

   Roderick turned around “It means he’s damn near 30 living with his mother”

  “Naw, you lying, he said he was 22”

    Roderick had enough sense in his head not to try and contest her. Who knows what his brother had said to make himself look good and credible. “You’re right. I am lying. I’m only his brother right?”

     Latisha was quiet for the rest of the ride to school.

          The day went as usual a blur of long speeches about the important part classical literature played in our daily lives, the fact that PIs are squared and not round, and the glory of the rock cycle. How do I endure this everyday? His thoughts time traveled to the figure of a young girl with braided hair, chestnut skin, and beautiful full lips. Oh yeah that’s why. Time was apparently knee deep in a swamp so; it took a considerable amount of time for the day to come to a close. It did however in spite of itself.    

      The hallways were barren except for the few who had tutoring or wanted to be out of the house. Roderick strolled along nodding to those he knew sitting and standing. It was 3:00 and with his classes finished he’d bum around for a while, locate a quite corner to read or a loud open space in which to get lost. Roderick dreaded his house, even its aura was oppressive, and his only alternative was to go to his father’s house. Like he’d be home or crash at Sierra’s and well, that wasn’t doing anything but causing trouble. 

                      “I’m sorry Randy, its over.” The familiar monotone yet feminine voice raised an octave. Roderick turned his head to see the tail end of a bad scene.

          “But Sierra, can’t we just talk a little, I mean, we can work this out.”

          “No, we can’t, you’re too jealous…first you start a fight at the movies, because a guy, who was obviously gay, said he liked my shoes and now you’re accusing me of sleeping with Roderick?”

          “What am I supposed to think, you go out like every night with the guy, to the arcade and then I found out that nigga’s spent the night at your crib?” Randy gave his best thuggish scowl. “I haven’t even spent the night with you.”

          “It’s not like that, his older brother attacked him with a bottle one night and he was afraid to go home.”

            “Well tell that bitch ass nigga to handle his own problems.” Randy yelled.

            “Randy , I don’t turn away friends and when we started dating you told me you had no problem with me having a male best friend.” Sierra crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “And since you’ve shown me you can’t do that, we’re over.”

            Randy turned and walked away, caught sight of Roderick and walked toward him, Randy was four inches tall than Roderick and about forty pounds heavier. “You’re real lucky there are people here right now, because I’d fuck you up.” He breathed heavily . “But if I catch you alone or outside of school, it’s on bitch ass nigga.” With that he pushed passed Roderick and down the hall way. 

            Sierra came up to Roderick and sighed. “Don’t worry about him Roderick he’s all talk.”

            “I’m sorry I was a party to that.” He replied, a melancholy expression plastered on his face. “Maybe we shouldn’t hang out for a while, at least until you two can sort things out.”

            “No, this has nothing to do with you.” She sighed again, her newly braided hair framing her angular mahogany face.  “It’s my bad choice in men, I don’t know why I can’t I ever find one that’s not a jealous, thug with violent tendencies.”

            Roderick shrugged, he didn’t like to think about why Sierra kept dating the wrong guys, mainly because he wasn’t one of them. “It’ll work out for you, look at me, I haven’t been with anyone in…forever.” He allowed himself a bitter laugh.

Sierra had been Roderick’s best friend since he’d first attended Endwater high school. Endwater was the second largest city on the eastern seaboard and had been a trading post for many years. It was divided into five districts; Roderick lived in Endwater Flats a suburb of Endwater city, which was the center of commerce. The three other districts were Endwater sound, which severed as a port fort the City, Endwater Fields which was literally a university island and Endwater Commons. The Commons as they were called was the most dangerous part of the City, where crime was a common occurrence and some people estimated that its residents perpetrated crimes committed outside of it. Sierra was born and raised in the Commons, she’d taken a liking to Roderick a right away enjoying his quit wit and sarcastic humor. Her environment had made her less of a lady and more of a survivor and Roderick respected that, even if it meant that she wouldn’t ever think of him as anything other than a friend. Her type was tall, athletic with broad shoulders, a voice like a base drum, and a carefree swagger. Roderick was 5’7 and as wide as a toothpick, not to mention that his voice was in a perpetual bout with puberty and thanks to a car accident, what could’ve been a carefree swagger was now a nervous shuffle. But she tolerated him, whether for entertainment or out of some slight emotional attachment he could only guess, but he hoped for the latter.

          Sierra looked apologetically at him and then swiftly changed the subject. “So what’s up?”

          “Not much, except I realized that seeing you here is the best part of my day. Roderick exhaled slowly. “I’m now deciding whether I should cry about that now or later.”

            Sierra smirked and slapped him on the shoulder. “Man, you always got jokes.”

            “Yeah, I was thinking of trying stand up.” Roderick said with a tinge of melancholy. She was the brightest part of his day.

            “So are we heading to the chest tonight or what?” The Cyber chest or the ‘Chest’ as it was called was a local arcade, she and Roderick liked to frequent.

“Sure I’m just gonna, take my stuff home, and meet you there.” Roderick adjusted his glasses nervously.

“Ok, I’ll be waiting for you.” She giggled and smiled with just a little seduction behind it. Maybe there was something to Randy’s assumptions.  “I’m going to head home and change.” With that she turned and walked away.

            Roderick stared at her, his forlorn eyes held until, a swift movement to his right caught his attention, a shadow on the periphery of his vision, Must be imagining things, that’s been happening a lot lately.  Traveling down the hall he turned right, making his way into the bathroom. It was cold, the smell of urine filled the air, the once white porcelain walls now marred with graffiti, and the steel stalls were riddled with fake phone numbers and scribbles. Standing in front of a urinal he emptied his bladder, Whew I needed that.  At that moment the hairs on Roderick’s neck stood like soldiers, something had moved past him, fast.

            “Hello.” He turned, zipped up his pants and looked around. What the hell is going on?

            There was no sign of who may have been behind him and if someone was there, I’ve gotta get out of here.  Turning on the sink Roderick lathered up his hands and splashed his face with cold water. Chill out man.  

            “Yeah relax.” The voice wasn’t behind him but in front of him, in the mirror.

            Roderick looked up and came face to face with himself, well a version of himself. His hair was long and he wore stylish wire frame glasses. He had on the same clothes but wore them differently, better. Roderick began to breathe heavily and he shook just a little bit, as his mind attempted to adjust to what it was seeing.

     “I’m losing it right?” Roderick put his hands over his eyes, shaking his head causing his pony tailed locks to bob. “This isn’t happening, a daylight hallucination, like in that movie I saw.”

          “Relax man, you know me, we spoke last night.” The reflection put it’s hands up in a calming motion. “I’m just here to let you know you’re about to be in some trouble.”

          “Trouble. What kind of trouble?” Roderick still cradled his head in his hands but looked up between his fingers. “From where, from whom?”

            At that moment a fist rammed in to Roderick’s jaw nearly lifting him off his feet and knocking his glasses off his face, spinning in slow motion he caught a glimpse of his attacker. Randy, I should’ve known.  He hit the floor with thud.

            “Think I’m gonna let a bitch made nigga like you take my girl.” Randy landed a boot to Roderick’s ribs.

            Tears streamed down his face, as he clutched his side, another followed lifting him off of the floor momentarily, he hit the ground and pathetically groped for his glasses.

            “Get up.” Randy yelled.

            Roderick rolled over to face Randy blood trickling from his mouth, You need help. The voice was so clear in Roderick’s mind so familiar even more so than the pain he felt right now.

            “Help Me,” Roderick whispered.

            “What?” Randy grabbed Roderick by his collar and hoisted him up. “what did you say bitch, You want help.” He delivered a cross to Roderick’s jaw but didn’t let him go, another punch came as Randy began to pummel him.

            You need my help I’m taking over.  At that moment Roderick felt another presence enter his mind and then blacked out.

I finally assembled my new desk. I now have a writer's station, right next to hubby's. But I am so freaking tired. Is this going to be the theme of my posts? I hope not. So in the interest of sharing actual information, I will now say...

I got nuthin'. 

Sorry, so sorry. *yawn* 

Zzzzzz.........

Wow, what a day. Did I mention that I've never written a story? Any story? I know you're supposed to put in 10,000 man hours when you're trying to force out that plot, but today it just wasn't happening. BUT, Borders is going out of business, so I went ahead and took advantage of the clearance sale. I found me a copy of America's Best Short Stories 2007 or something like that. Inspiration, you know. I have ideas for NOVELS in my head, not short stories, so I gotta see how it is done.

There is a book of America's Best Science Fiction Short Stories, but I was reminded about it too late from that awesome geek husband I mentioned earlier. Anyway, I say this to say that even though I haven't actually written anything, I am laying the foundation.

Right now, it is bedtime for the boys, #1 is stressing me to my limit. For some reason, he always gets crazy hyper right before bedtime. Drives me NUTS! #2 is chillaxin', but that has always been his personality.

*breathes deep sigh* Super awesome husband has gone out to get sandwiches, and I am about to crash on the couch. Love you all...g'night.

P.S. I need some short story suggestions, as in what to read to help inspire me.

The Story Context: On a cold day in Brooklyn a father and son take a journey together to cure a cough.They not only encounter obstacles, but they have fun getting past them.

In this scene: "After me and my Dad prepare the veggies and fruits, we juice them and drink to our health. The juice is both delicious and invigorating making us feel stronger and lighter with each gulp". -Saj

To see some examples of the process check out my blog post.

Good day to all, ladies, gents. Thank you for reading my first ever blog post. I feel really stupid right now, nervous, insecure, so bear with me. The time has come for me to become a writer while simultaneously breaking the life time habits of an introvert. Please comment and leave thoughts, tips, whatever. I don't care, just so I know somebody somewhere is reading this. Makes me feel good :D

I'm writing a short story, and my posts will mainly be about how absolutely exhausting and wonderfully time consuming it will be. I may sneak some stuff in about my two sons and my husband, my three children as I like to call them. I'm an awesome black chick with two AWESOME sons (2 and 3), married to an AWESOME black man/sci-fi geek, so maybe some of the ladies can relate to that part, I hope. 

I have God to thank for him, and him to thank for bringing me here, to this place I find myself. Well-loved, cherished, resources at hand, and full of confidence to set forth. So let's go.

(Later on I'll probably add links and tags and photos, but right now I'm so nervous I can't think of anything to attach.)

This is a prologue to a story I'd work on six years ago. It was for a class and it managed to get me a good grade. 

Feel free to read it and give me your honest to god feedback. Thank you and enjoy...

The Start of the Sugaar’s Unforgiving Curse: Prologue to Celestial Avengers

Long ago, on a distant planet known as Esther, there were many tribes that fought amongst each other and waged war against one another. They allied themselves with other Country Lords of their nation, who quarrel, bicker, argue, and debate against each under who should have total rule of the lands in order to expand their nation and their empire to add along with it. These Country Lords have paid the most skilled, trained, and militaristic trained tribes to infiltrate, espionage, assassinate, and attack other tribes in their jest for power, fame, recognition, and glory. The most skilled of the tribes have went along with being paid in order to gain more weapons, tools, and food for them to survive on. The numerous tribes created multiple battles that has caused many chaos, destruction, and bloodshed to give rise. One of the most dangerous of battles was the  “Battle of Puma”, where the infamous Felecia clan was against the Puma clan, to whom both share cat-like abilities but the boil of their ancestry would tear them apart. Their battle took place in the most remote places of places known as the “Muddy Creek”, where their battle suits consisted of corset-like clothing they used for their  battle. Despite the hours of fighting they put up against, the Puma clan eventually lost themselves out to the corset-like wearing Felice and they have officially lost since then. Meaning that the Felice’s name would expand from all around. 
But out of the most formidable and most sinister of them all, is the tribe known as the Sugaars, who resided in the Country of the Dragons. Together, with their descendant tribe, the Maju’s, the snake/serpent hybrid of elves who not only specialize in blade-wielding but also specialize in sealing away deadly opponents through learning the black arts that has been a part of their clan for a long time. Their also some of the very of the clan that can be able to access the full abilities of their ancient treasure that lives inside of them; the deadly eye technique, known as the Zulagan, the “Eyes of the Black Bird of Anzu”. With their powers in the eyes, as well as their ways of being blade-wielding specialist in their field, they aligned with the Sugaars through their leader,  Blazegon Maju, and with their union with the flesh-eating, sky dominating, fire-breathing Sugaars, they pillaged through the land and attack many other tribes with relative ease. Their ring leader, Sugaar Von Sugaar, along with his son Zula, has conquered the sky and attack many other people who has crossed them and decided to stand in their way. They ravaged many other structures and civilization with great ease until eventually they made it all threw way to the “Valley of Whimsical Peak”, where they had many other tribes who allied themselves in the attempts to stop them from conquering the world. Through their vitality, vigor, and the ability to fly, the Sugaars and the Maju defeated the ones who stood in their way and ate their bodies as a way of proving an example to those who dare stand in their way. Sugaar managed to make it all the way to the Sacred Arch Valley and through the many traps set for them, Sugaar Von Sugaar obtained the sacred and powerful orb known as the Orb of the Seven Dragons Gates; which has the power to control all five of the elements and the sixth element known as yin-yang, being able to give birth to imagination and reality as their own leisure. With this orb, Sugaar Von Sugaar became immortal and through his immortality, he obtained four powerful men who rival that of the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” as his fresh new henchmen due to not only their power but also their birthright as being direct descendants of the Seiryuu Dragon itself. They decided that they were destined to rule the world and have gone all across one nation after another in order to cause their destructive path for world conquest. Each and every other commander that has come across them, along with their men, have met their death at the hands of the flesh-eating Sugaars who have terrorized throughout the country where the nations resides and have continued their flesh-eating, massive killing carnage for the sake of doing everything that they so please.  The other council members of other nations realized that the flesh-eating Sugaar’s and the blade-wielding, sealing specializing Maju’s were growing too powerful and that they must be stop at all cost. Through the meeting and  explaining the situation of their dilemma, they decide to create multiple Military Militias that range from left to right. They had many polished warriors become their captain, commander, and even generals and proxy generals. Through their created military and their society, the Council would form themselves to be the organization known as the “Celestial-Heavenly-Justice of Esther” and the Heavenly-Celestial Joint Army of the Saintly Order; an organization made by numerous other surviving nations who allied with themselves and are bent of working together to stop the bloodshed that the Sugaars has created and putting an end to the destructive wars that they’d committed from all around the center of their world. Through their command, the generals and commanders lead their platoons, squadron, and their unit all the way to other strongholds that were taken away by the Sugaars themselves. They succeeded in taking back a few of them and have managed to secure one of the countries that was taken over by the Sugaars.However, just as they made it to the Goa Kingdom, residing in Temper’s Valley, they were overwhelmed by the number of Sugaar and Maju units and armies that were under the direct order of Blazegon Maju, who is later become the father of the major antagonist in the storyline. Blazegon allied with Sugaar Von Sugaar in the attempts to break the curse that Sugaar has cast amongst his family in exchange for helping him conquer the other lands. The commanders found themselves no match against the wicked and military rule of Blazegon as he had his men take down those who dare to oppose them. The Council were seeing such a thing and had no choice but to call forth their strongest asset in the mist of their battle against the Sugaars and the Maju’s; the Seven Saint Archers of Constantine. Together, with their leader, they traveled through the land and attack the Sugaar front hold in the attempts to stop the Sugaars from taking over the world. They were stopped by the forces of Blazagon’s person henchmen, the “Asura Paths of Death”. Through the work of his leadership, they intervened the Saint Archers and did battle with them. With only the results of the battle be left as a mystery. Sugaar, pissed off that his right hand man is no longer with him anymore, went on an bigger flesh-eating carnage and decimating numerous other tactics and raids that were made against him. The council members exhaust every material from the military in order to defeat this man and used every other tactics that exist in order to smash down the man and his loyal followers. The well-known leader known as Colonel William CornWallis was to lead the attack against Arch-Duke Sugaar Von Sugaar and make sure that they take him down in very way that they can. The men that followed with him were able to defeat a great number of the army that serves under Arch-Duke Sugaar Von Sugaar. As soon as William CornWallis finally comes face to face with Sugaar Von Sugaar, it was a very long and intense battle. Despite his best efforts and the very long battle that was along with it, William unfortunately met his hands at the end of Sugaar’s flesh-eating intent and eventually was eaten up in the result of it. With no more of their well-known and famous leader, the men were going to suffer the same fate as their brave leader has and throughout the whole battle in itself, they were sacrificed to the number of other Sugaars who were still alive and sought revenge against their enemies for trying to do them in. The sight that  most have seen was unbearable and many of those who survived were to be scarred for live for such images that they had to see and hopefully be able to retreat and survive, long enough to tell the council what has happened to them and their famous, well-known leader known leader known as “William the Hero”. This news was to shock a certain mother who loves her husband and her first born son as well. Having to deal with such sad turmoil that was displayed horribly across the battlefield.  Just when all hope seems lost, just from the jest of nowhere, four mighty, strong, courageous men came forth to the battlefield of the Sugaar stronghold residing in the Country of the Dragons, in order to  fight against the creatures who has pillaged their land. The four men came from the tribe known as Ken Slayer; the Tiger tribe that is best known for their immense strength, stamina, and regeneration, came forth to challenge the Sugaar and put an end to the carnage that they’d begun from across the land. Sugaar Von Sugaar sent forth his four best men to deal away with them, but as soon as they challenged the leader of the four men, Amon, they were easily defeated. Amon than presented the Orb of the Tiger's Paw and challenged Sugaar Von Sugaar to the battle of the death. Seeing his men defeated in such a matter, forced the man to come down and challenge the leader of the group himself. He acknowledged him an a mighty person, and it was because of this claim, is why he decided to put an end to them and kill them all. Amon had his men fall back as this was to be a battle of leaders. They got started with their battle and Sugaar used the Orb of the Seven Dragon’s Gates to summon the legion of storms at his side in order to do great damage against his opponent. Amon was strong enough to withstand the wicked storms that Sugaar created, thanks to the power of the Orb. He used all of his “Death-Swirl” series and caused great earthquakes to happen in order to further do damage towards his enemy. Therefore helping him win the battle. Both of them went at with everything they had, not backing down with what they believe in. Finally it was down to the final bout and both of them were at their last ounce of strength. Just as they were both about to use their final moves against one another, they both vanished, leaving only their treasures behind. Zazel Ken Slayer took command as leader for his old leader's status, took possession of both the orbs, and presented it to the Alliance in any hopes of being able to create peace and reconciliation. The other Elders and Country Lords went through the negotiations with them in any hopes of being able to show them the ways of their society and what they plan to succeed in teaching for the better good of mankind in itself. Through the reconciliation and reconstruction stage, they managed to come forth with a successful negotiation that would involve making further peace with the land and being able to make fair trades with numerous other counties for their pavements and for what else they hope to achieve in the result of it as well. Zazel and the other Ken Slayers held a special meeting with the other Country Lords of the Alliance and have asked that they would have partition for their tribe to attend the next summit, should the next country summit meeting were to begin and would involve other leaders to be part of the summit meeting as well. Through their higher authorities, they have decided to go along with it and have them partitioned for the next summit that is yet to happen. With the orb no more in the possession of its ruler, the Sugaars were forced to live in the corners of their country as punishment for their war crimes and for other persecutions that they were tried for as well. They were exiled by the Elder's Spells of confinement as punishment for their war crimes, their wrong doing, and the amount of damage that they have caused amongst the land. Making sure that they don't try to do the same thing like they did before. Around the time of the post-war, when other countries were doing their best to repair everything that destroyed, the rescue team known as the “Yon-Daemon-Omani”, which was led by the son of Blazeagon Maju, Hallde the name, was making it all the way to where their old teammate was. By the time they make it there, what they saw has left in them such a shock that none would want to ever want to consider to this to the wide public; knowing that such an epidemic would only cause severe and destructive damage from all around. The son of Sugaar Von Sugaar himself, has horrifying raped the holy priestess of the Maju Tribe known as MariVella, an in the result of it has created the hybrid of the flesh-eating, flying Sugaars and the blade-wielding, sealing specialist Majus. Just as Hallde could finish him off, the son of Sugaar suddenly has vanished, saying his last words that the world will know true terror cause now the hybrid of destruction, annihilation, and conquest was brought upon the world and will soon rule the world of Esther, like the Sugaars assured that he would. Wanting to protect the child and the person that he loves, Hallde has made a hard choice that would affect the whole entire course of history as it is.  About twenty years has passed and mysteriously, the Ken Slayers  have vanished, without so much as a trace of them left. This has reached the other Country Lords that were part of the “Celestial-Heavenly” Alliance as they were going to have them attend at the upcoming Summit meeting that involved the rising problem of the Sugaar hybrid itself. Just as the epidemic has reached the masses, suddenly the persecuted Sugaar and their nation, has mysteriously vanished as well. Just when all things were at a stir due to this disappearance of these major tribes, a dark and illuminating shadow awaits for the time to reveal a diabolical plan,  plan that’ll change just about everything in the world of Esther. It was around that time that the Majus, the snake/serpent tribe that has shared many characteristics with their Sugaar ancestry, were also slaughtered brutally at the time due to a horrifying event that went down, such as a traitor of their own tribe and nation and has caused animosity and stir amongst the other nations due to how dangerous this event was and how many people were killed in the process. The mysterious figure smiles under the shadows; seeing that everything was going according to plan and that sooner or later, the time to regain control over Esther all over again will soon be at hand and that it can rule the rule the world once again like before.  This is a story about two boys who are to know who their heritage is and find a way to break the curse that was cast amongst the world of Sugaar. Whether they will work together to find a way to beat this curse or fall victim to the curse’s unforgiving effect, will depend on the choices that they make, the future of others that depend on them, and the character of their nature as well. This is the story known as “Celestial Avengers”. Now, without further ado, let the story begin with the first of the chosen two...the one known as Horus.

Hi Everyone,

I would like to give some information. I Know a lot of you would like better internet ranking online. I felt in the spirit of giving I should give Black Science Fiction Society this eBook called Google Juice. Google Juice is a book on internet marketing and social media. It's great resource and we all should read. Check it out here @ Google_Juice_Final.pdf

Peace!

Ever have the feeling that children today know nothing about history and what matters from the past?

How far would you go to change that? 

"Well Wishes," my contribution to Out of Our Minds: Tales from the Comics Experience, asks those questions of Denny Gallows, a milquetoast librarian who is just waiting for the clock to strike nine...

The story was written for The Comics Experience's "Introduction to Comic Book Writing" course taught by Andy Schmidt. Aspiring comics writers and artists should check out Andy's course offerings at http://www.comicsexperience.com. Andy's classes represent another way to network in a notoriously insular business, particularly if you participate in the Writers' Workshop. Andy routinely has comics professionals participating, so you could actually get your story critiqued by the likes of writers like Peter David.  

I'd like to think that the "The Twilight Zone"-inspired story is entertaining (if you don't agree, feel free to keep your opinion to yourself!), but I know that its stunning artwork is arguably its greatest strength. Silvio dB is a phenomenal Brazilian artist based in Recife. We advertised for artists on a number of boards and Silvio was my immediate choice. See why at: (http://silviodb.daportfolio.com/ or http://silviodb.deviantart.com/). My letterer, recommended by a contributor who lives in Australia, lives in the UK, so the story you will find below is a truly international production!

In case you didn’t know, my first novel in the Osguards series, Homecoming, received ‘Honorable Mention’ at the 2011 Hollywood Book Festival Contest. My wife, Karen and I, flew out to receive the award on the weekend of July 22, 2011. We were excited. It was our first award, and we were riding on the national 5-star review from Midwest Book Review. We felt like teenagers going to the prom.

We arrived at the airport, bright and early that Friday morning. We were booked on Air Tran, with one stop in Milwaukee. That’s when the trip from hell began. To make a long story short, I am 6’4.5” inches tall and my height is mostly in my legs. So I always ask for, and usually receive either an exit row or an aisle seat. The flight was full, so in order to do this, Karen and I had to be separated. After 30 minutes and $40 to check two bags, we received our tickets. Even though I had an aisle seat, the problem was, it was the last seat in the plane against the back bulkhead, meaning the leg room was cut in half. Plus the armrest did not lift, so I couldn’t swing my leg out in the aisle. This was painful. Luckily, Karen switched seats and was able to sit next to me on the first leg of our trip.

On the second leg, I was able to get an exit row, but Karen was unable to switch seats and sit next to me. Instead, I sat next to a rude man who upon landing began smoking an electronic cigarette. It looked real, so I said something. Well, I guess I left my diplomatic voice in Washington D.C. and he was already rude, so let’s just say the exchange was brief, but not polite.

Then upon arriving at LAX, I found my suitcase drenched. The few books, I carried with me for display during the ceremony and festival, were wet. I tried to lodge a complaint, but the baggage attendant kept calling it water condensation and claimed there was no damage. We had four hours to get our rental car, check into the hotel, get dressed and leave for the ceremony, so I dropped the complaint and left.

Yet, when we arrived at our hotel room, we pulled our clothes out of the bag, and they were soaked. I know it was raining in Milwaukee, but our bags looked like someone dumped them in a swimming pool and left them there for two hours. Rain should not have soaked all the way through the bag. Needless to say, my blood pressure must have jumped 20 points. I called the airlines and received no satisfaction. They wanted me to go back to the baggage attendant at LAX and lodge a complaint. Been there…done that…and got jack-squat!

Luckily the hotel was able to dry and press our clothes in two hours and I took the blow dryer from the bathroom and attempted to dry the books -- page by page. I also tried to salvage our promotional flyers. After two hours, I had two raggedy, but dry books and a handful, out of 500, flyers. We chose the best looking book to display at the awards ceremony, slipped the handful of flyers in my pocket, and left -- no longer feeling like teenagers going to the prom. When I put my book out for display, alongside the other winners, I almost felt like screaming. But I held my head up high and proceeded to mingle with the other authors.

When it was my turn to accept my award, I ended my acceptance speech with the quick story on how the airlines ruined our books and almost ruined our evening. I compared what our bags went through to the classic T.V. luggage commercial of a gorilla in a cage throwing suitcases around.

Well the rest of the evening was flawless, exciting and we met award winning authors from around the nation. The feeling of two teenagers at the prom soon returned. The next day at the festival was also good. The trip was well worth the agony. I also learned a lesson…carry-on…carry-on…carry-on.

But the feeling did not last long. On the way home, the ticket agent stuffed me in the window seat during both legs of the flight. Even after four days, my knees are still in pain. Maybe next time I win an award, I will shoot for First Class. I certainly won’t fly Air Train.

Malcolm D. Petteway,

Author, Osguards: Guardians of the Universe

Owner, Rage Books LLC

www.ragebooks.net

1.866.448.2585

SPRING
Chapter 2 - Spring on the Easter Seaboard

We started south after we passed through West Freehold in northern Jersey, the people there were as always, downright unsociable folk. Not saying they did not have reason to be cautious. This area was frequented by roving bands who escaped the fall of New York. It is one of the stranger things about the Arrival, that thousands of predator trees landed in the major metropolitan areas of Earth. It wasn't as if they targeted the cities, but for some reason the creatures found their way to major population centers if they didn't initially land there. So people were attacked both while they fled cities from the creatures at their back and once again by alien hordes coming into cities. This increased fatalities three fold in the earliest hours of the Arrival.

Survivors fell into three categories. Builders, people who found ways to turn the wealth of the Old World into a means of survival, building new much smaller walled cities and growing what they can when they can, raising animals if they are able to find them. The Feral, groups of humans who barely maintain any semblance of their humanity. They vary in technological competence from military effectiveness to dirty bands scrambling to live off the land or anyone not strong enough to protect themselves. And then there are the Moving. That's us. Our band is much smaller than most, right now, its just our family group, but we often join up with other Movers for protection in dangerous areas, sharing resources, ideas or helping Builders with the restoration of some of the Old World. The difference between the Movers and the warlike Ferals is we choose to move and choose to be non-violent if we can help it.

At West Freehold, we traded non-potable water for our vehicle's fuel cells. We would sterilize it later and make sure it was particle free when we had some time. We also managed to get some tough nu-potatoes and traded some high density batteries for their short range stunners used for hunting and repelling undesirables. For some canned extras, likely plundered from the major cities where no one would be willing to live, we gave them a windup radio we plundered from the outskirts of New York. There are still emergency broadcasts made on occasions depending on where you lived in the country. There is no effective government anywhere on Earth. Each area works to establish whatever can pass for a government and they seem to last for a while but almost always decay or are destroyed by Ferals or increasing populations of the predator trees or their other symbiotic life forms. It seems as soon as our populations start to increase in an area, word gets out and that area becomes more attractive to the aliens.

With the next bit of the road being some of the toughest, potatoes and other grub would be in short supply while we made the first dogleg south. We would make a stop in Philadelphia since there was a strong and thriving human community there. The trip to Philadelphia was long and circuitous because of the lack of decent roads in this part of the country. With building materials in short supply and active predators on the road, the people managed to build a decent barrier around the center of the city and do their best to keep it clear of the predator trees and their ilk.

We usually make a quick stop there, just long enough to trade some mail, rearm and if there was someone who needed passage south and can pay, we could take up to two more. Hopefully they could use a gun because this part of the route gets a bit hairy after Philly. Our route takes us from New York to the former capital in Washington DC. The direct route to the capital from Jersey would have taken a much shorter pathway but the roads were destroyed early in the offensives against the predator trees and their symbiotic allies by bombing runs. The roads were simply too effective at allowing the fastest of the creatures to move, so many were destroyed. It was against these very creatures we had to prepare for now. We called them tumblers. Scientists gave them some scientific name but what they resembled more than anything were tumble weeds. Except these did not roll harmlessly though old ghost towns. And they almost never rolled alone.

Our vehicle which doubled as our home, was full at the moment with my wife Martha sitting in the top turret, manning a fifty caliber rifle which had been added to our heavy vehicle, a military fast attack vehicle released at some point around 2013 called the Rhino. She is over sixty but a natural when it came to using the weapon. Who would have thought. We found the Rhino outside an army base that had been overrun a few years ago, and with just a few days were able to figure out how to load the fifty-cal and use it. Up until then, we had been using a solar assisted RV but it had been trashed by Ferals who had chased us onto that base. It had been small enough to have been missed by them and our luck had been to find active stockpiles of weapons still protected from the environment.

The vehicle resembled a Jeep except it was twice the size with none of the vulnerability. Hardened armor with the ability to add or subtract heavier armor plating we decided to ditch everything except for the lightest armor. We did not expect to run into any grenades, tanks, RPGs or bombs. Not too often at any rate. If it came to that, we would count on our speed and maneuverability to win the day. And the fact that Martha was a crack shot with the .50-cal.

Designed to be used by fast attack crews, it was designed exactly for our current lifestyle. Keeping it in ammo was the hardest part since the vehicle had been designed to run on a variety of power sources. It could be charged using plug in or generator electricity, it had a backup gasoline engine and had rechargeable and replaceable fuel cells. The greenest and cheapest method of keeping it powered was using the solar film and electrical system on the outside of the vehicle. Lucas, my grandson told me the vehicle was covered with a multiple layered solar mesh designed to capture solar radiation completely and super-efficiently. He said the mesh would reroute energy even if it took small arms fire damage. Then he mentioned something about nano repair capabilities and I stopped listening. The boy continued on for another ten minutes before he realized I wasn't listening.

It also had solar blankets which could be set up to enhance its recharge rate when it wasn't moving. With two hours of sunshine we could move at low speeds of fifteen to twenty miles per hour for over six hours. And if the sun shone on it while we moved, we could conceivably drive all day. We would stop two to four hours before sunset, so it could gather and recharge if we had to move at night. It offers us a good eight to ten hours of travel every day, so if we are not in a rush, we can travel almost entirely without using any of the harder to get fuels such as water or even rarer these days, gasoline. Setting up the solar blankets was generally only done when we were safe since they took time to lay down and pick up. We hadn't figured out a quick way to deploy or retrieve them yet and they were simply too vital to risk.

Their kids, Sharon and Lucas were riding in the back of the vehicle manning the two electronic gun ports. Using a sensor array and a display system they targeted the two swiveling guns on the side of the vehicle. The guns were targeted with six electronic eyes on the hull and a laser targeting system to enhance accuracy. It required a steady hand and a sense for shooting while moving. None of us like to admit it but the kids used them far better any of us old people. But to keep everyone on their toes, we all spent time using them and using to shoot our collection of rifles, machine-guns and hand guns and no one went anywhere unarmed or unescorted. Ever. The gun ports were accurate to about three hundred and fifty feet, making them our preferred method of violent problem solving since the 5.56 ammo they used was much easier to replace than the much more precious .50 caliber ammo.

During our normal operations, I was the rear door gunner. The vehicle offered the option of firing from a gun port at the back. It was not very large, so you had to be a good shot. And for any long range shooting, I was even with my slowly diminishing eyesight, the best shot of my family. But we always rotated the duties to make sure everyone stayed familiar with all of the weapons and their idiosyncratic behaviors.

My daughter's husband, Marcus, was driving and kept a fully loaded Colt Anaconda in his lap. He was very good with it and could shoot and drive at the same time, if he needed to. Since the Rhino had bulletproof windows, it was often better to keep them up in hostile territory. My daughter, Linda rode shotgun and used a fully loaded military combat shotgun. Army surplus was all over the country and no one to tell her she couldn't carry it. She had years of practice with it.

Our plundering of military facilities over the decade since the Arrival, has given us access to a wide array of military technology and we dressed the part, carried the gear and understood the language. We spent at least two summers training with military survivors who had the good sense to run when the Arrival started looking like a rout. They were hard on themselves but after a few years facing the enemy, it was clear, they were numerous, terrifying and deadly. It is only because we are very careful and exercise cautious thoughtful interactions we have survived where more heavily armed troops died. We had two rules: Rule One: think before you shoot. Rule Two: Bullets don't always solve problems. Shoot sparingly.

You would think we should have more rules, but living out here as a Mover, you learn too many rules makes it hard for you to be able to think on the fly. Since the Arrival, more creatures have begun to appear as the well fed predator trees continue to grow in size and strength. There are places now where the predator trees tower over one hundred feet tall and have whole ecosystems springing into being at their roots. With new creatures appearing every day, we have to be able to observe, learn and tailor our tactics. Having survived for ten years out here, our reputations as couriers, messengers, escorts and scouts ensured we were well paid, well respected and depending on who you asked, just a little feared. We didn't promote violence, but we certainly had an awareness of situations which might go south on you and a knack for handling violence effectively and permanently.

The world was now a very dangerous. It was no place for the stupid or the weak. Which meant knowing one more thing important thing if you planned on surviving. If you met any human on the road who had been there for a while, consider them the most dangerous thing you can run into. Yes, predator trees and their kin were always dangerous, but with humans you might drop your guard. That is a good way to end up with your throat slit. When consorting with humans, be even more careful than you are against any Arrival. Humans were simply too unpredictable with the fall of their world.

Leaving Philadelphia, we did not pick up any riders, but we did get a load of mail and goods needing to go to DC. The capital city was gone, completely overrun, but the Pentagon survived and continues to operate in a limited capacity as a hub of military deployment and intelligence regarding the Arrivals. Using brute force, the military keeps a clear path into and out of the city and what is left of the functioning government is found there. This government is in name only since it has very little economic, social or political clout. Since every other world power is functioning under the same handicap, the Arrivals have made the world a very equal place again.

Rumor has it we may get to meet the President with our latest deliveries. As we are leaving Pennsylvania, something seems wrong and Marcus stops as we approach the state line. I see it too.

"Pop, there is more blue than green. More black too." He pointed to the trees overhanging the road. They were not the symbiotic predator trees, they seemed to be more of the kudzu variety. Kudzu trees were capable of emitting a stupefying spore, which causes creatures to breath it and fall into a deep sleep. While sleeping the kudzu would have vine-like tendrils grab their prey wrap it up and consume it. Their only blessing was they could not move. Once rooted, they depended on prey moving toward them. They could also replicate other smells. I can personally attest to the smell of peanut butter, chocolate cookies, steak, pizza, and mangoes as part of their scent library. I am certain they can do others. One man said he was witness to a tree that could smell like the finest Chardonnay.

"Put your masks on. Check your filters. Go slow and lets see it a bit closer." After everyone was set, we moved up until we could identify more clearly what we were seeing.

My daughter, bless her sharp eyes, whispered, "tumblers."

Marcus stopped the car immediately and turned off the engine. Martha cleared the barrel for the .50. The kids cycled the long range gun ports. I grabbed two grenades from our stores, noting we had only fourteen left. This was supposed to be our supply stop.

I could see what had happened to the convoy. They did not notice the new black additions to this grove. If they had, they would have known that tumblers had taken up residence. Tumblers were fast growing, dangerous mobile seed pods. They could move on their own, without the need of wind. They attack prey they believe they can bring down, blasting it to bits with its own organic shrapnel with the force of a grenade. Tumblers attack in waves, with the earlier waves bringing down the food and later waves consuming it and bringing it back to the host trees. "I don't know what to think right now. I don't see any stragglers, so they may have already killed and eaten their fill. But that doesn't seem right. There are an awful lot of tumbler trees here. Far more than this tiny road should be supporting."

Martha looked down into the cab and said, "You don't think they may have grown in response to the Pentagon? It's the only thing that looks like a city nearby."

"If we are want to know, we need to go in on foot. The Rhino is only going to attract them. So who is staying here?" I will say this about my clan, their curiosity always gets the best of them. No one wanted to be left behind.

"Marcus, I need you here, Martha, he needs you on the .50. Back it up about a mile and set up a perimeter. You still have two of the small laser ranging bots. Put them out and keep your radio handy. Turn it on, every thirty minutes for two minutes. When we know more we will call in. Before you pull out, check for salvage here."

Everyone got their kit. One grenade, three clips of ammo, one small arm, with two additional clips. Masks and five filters good for eight hours apiece. So we have a day and a half to figure out what happened here. As we surveyed the military vehicles, there was food, water and weapons here, so they left in a hurry. There were tumbler explosions on all of the vehicles, low and into the wheel wells. Organic matter was caked up around every explosion. The only upside in dealing with tumblers is they are volatile and prone to explosion, so if you shoot at them and hit them, they tend to blow completely up and detonating their neighbors. This can work against you if you are amid their population when you start shooting.

Moving quickly and quietly we salvage the vehicles and the Rhino backs down the road. There is always that feeling of nakedness whenever the Rhino pulls away and we are not on board. But we had to know what had happened here; this was one of our primary drops and resupply points. If it was lost, the spiritual head of our government was dead too. We set out knowing it was at least a ten mile hike to the Pentagon from here; a hike through an area reclaimed by nature and the new Arrivals.

It was going to be a long walk.

"Adventurous white folks joined long, dark lines to get into the 'black-and-tan' clubs, which daringly welcomed an integrated clientele. The pre-fight partying extended to whites-only establishments as well, where revelers raised numerous toasts to a champion who would not have been allowed past the front door had he desired to join the festivities."  So reads a paragraph that serves as a prelude to the scathing boxing match between black boxing champ Jackhammer Jackson and the Nazi ubermensch, Wolf Krieger, in DAMBALLA, Charles Saunders' wonderful new novel, published by Airship 27 Productions. This is pulp fiction at its best -- and who knows the world of boxing better than Charles Saunders?  But this is much more than an old-school, action-adventure story. DAMBALLA has all the elements of film noir and hard-boiled detective stories. It has Nazis and gangsters, and a real sense of time and place--1938 Harlem. There is also a serious subtext dealing with bigotry and racism, performance-enhancing drugs, and is also a reflection of America's past, and in many instances, our present, as well. Saunders has created the first black, crime-fighting superhero in pulp fiction, a true brother to The Shadow, The Avenger, and The Green Lama.  It's history and history-making, superbly told and well-written, with enough twists, turns, and surprises to keep you turning the pages.  Bravo, my friend! Bravo!

 After a few tweaks and my Partner Eric's supervision we have The GALTOW poster by Jay Aguilera! In the online store

Along with a sale on the Fantastic Keylon Jakes statue by Eric Nocella Diaz for just $40:

http://xmoor.bigcartel.com/

In September 2010, 12 aspiring comics writers from North America and Australia completed Andy Schmidt's "Introduction to Comics Writing" course, producing original five-page stories. The writers then worked with artists from literally all over the globe to create Out of Our Minds: Tales from the Comics Experience.

It's available for purchase at:

http://www.indyplanet.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=5687

Chapter 7 - Heart to Hart

Ms. Hart, The Hell Hart, that was what she was called over two hundred years ago. Two centuries ago, no one would have believed she would be tending someone near to death, praying for their recovery. Then, her reputation as a swords-woman, in an age where women did not use a sword was legendary. Her skill with it, impeccable, her dueling record, perfect. After a time, her travels would make her master of many weapons and nearly as many enemies. If you saw her standing over the body of someone, it was to watch the light go out of their eyes in that final darkness.

Driven regularly from her home, partially from her strange, ageless and impertinent nature, partially from the fear and responses her enemies had, she acquired a number of names over the decades. In civilized lands, she was The Lady Hart or Frau Hart. In places where she was a warlord, she was known as The Red Hart from her standard, a large deer on a red standard. In places where she killed her enemies indiscriminately, she was called The Butcher. For a time, she was a revered as a warrior-queen.

Those were different times, her Light, her power kept her outside of Time. Forged of the stuff of cacastrom, the random forces of dark Chaos and bound by illiaster, the stuff of Order, direct by her will, she carried it inside her body. It suffused her bones, wrapped itself inside her skeleton and appeared as both weapon and armor. Her House carried this artifact and different members were able to do different things with it. Few had her strength and mastery. Ever fewer survived. Now, she was the last of her House. And as she knew it the last of her kind.

Her charge, a woman of extreme age, was still physically imposing but the power that fueled her body was all but gone. She held on by force of will, hoping relief would be coming soon. That relief needed to arrive soon, or all would be lost. Hart remembered the first time she met her, this once extremely powerful and now fragile woman who held the fate of the world in her trembling hand...

* * *

My best name was less than seventy years ago; Kathrin Hart. It was the late 1940's, and I had been in Paris during the World War II, when I met him, the man who I would call the Sergeant. He was a G.I. working in a small town and our initial actions together had been to repel a super-weapon created by the Germans. At the time, I was a weapon of the Reich as well, but my memory fled me until I died. I died protecting him. I had no regret. There was something about him. Something dark. I instinctively knew then what he was, but could not bring myself to accept it.

He did not know. He could not see the other lives he had lived. Like rings in a tree, he had many lifetimes, each of conflict, and of suffering. He had many, each renewed by his dark connection to his power. Our powers were complementary, so we were drawn together, time and time again, our lives mixed sometimes as lovers and other times as deadly enemies. This time we started as enemies and ended as lovers. When the war ended, I found my way to him in the States and we married. Again. It was the beginnings of a mistake. Small at first, but it grew over time.

My presence, my Heart, my Light, triggered his Shadow and soon we had to move This would become a recurrent theme. Each time we grew comfortable, misfortune would follow us and people died. As his power grew I realized he was not just a child of Shadow. He was a Power. A repository of the Great Gift. As great as my power had been, it would be as nothing once his fully awakened. His power was a named one. And as I watched it grow, I refused to recognize it. And the danger it would pose.

During the sixties, we resisted the oppressive governments wherever we could go. We pretended we were just like the people around us. We let our hair grow long, let our responsibilities lapse and got on the road, traveling as the people did. His powers were already nearly as great as my own. He could walk between two shadows anywhere in the world. He could hear his name mentioned anywhere there was darkness. But in a desperate attempt to hide we went to Woodstock. At Woodstock, we laughed, got high, traveled in a broken-down VW bus with half a dozen other hippies, made our way through history until we met her.

She was beautiful. Her hair was an afro, full like the head of a dandelion. Her body, perfect, full, exuding sexuality, everywhere she moved, carnality erupted. She wore a simple halter and shorts and I remember her legs were the most amazing I had ever seen. Her body was brown like mahogany and her smile was a thing of warmth and sunshine. We were both drawn to her and we spent the days getting high and just enjoying the perfect weather.

We danced, sang and it was as if we had always known her. We lost our hippy friends during the weekend, so we spent the nights parked, making love till the dawn. When he and I woke the last day, she was gone, but both of us were more at peace than we had been in years. After Woodstock, things changed in the world. Suspicion and fear became the order of the day. But for us, things seemed good. We were happy for a time able to enjoy our peace until she came back to us, nearly a decade later.

Her second visit was nothing like her first.

She came to us on a farm in Iowa. We had moved there hoping for a cessation to the slowly increasing attacks. These were strange things, they started as simple things, racists with an axe to grind. I was a blond haired, Caucasian woman and he was a powerfully built African American. And things were often hostile when we came to new places. But the tempers did not cool. Their ire and their attacks increased. Soon a supernatural taint could be seen. Entities, not of this world rode the bodies of those racists and eventually attacked directly. Our farm, built and reinforced, protected us from their attacks and became both home and fortress.

And then she came.
 

It was during a terrible thunderstorm, where lightning flashed, tornado-like winds howled. Both of us were on edge. The storm sang of the supernatural and we began our preparations. We renewed our wards, loaded weapons and meditated to bring our powers into balance. The storm grew worse and after a time, we sensed it approaching our farm. As the wind howling increased, we could sense her. She carried the storm with her. Her knock on the door was powerful, able to be heard above the storm. When we opened the door,  we recognized her immediately. She had not changed, as if less than a second had past between when she left us then and now. She was carrying a child with her.

She came in from the driving rain and staggered into the living room. She handed me the baby, roughly as if she could barely maintain her awareness. She dropped to the carpet as if she were dead. He caught her and laid her gently on her back. Hidden by the baby were terrible slashes in her belly. Deep cuts, with razor precision. He looked at me and knew whatever was coming was of a nature more fantastic than any threat to date.

He picked her up and struggled as if she were a great weight. He placed her on the sofa. I slashed away her jacket and opened her shirt and saw her body had been terribly savaged and the injuries were across her thighs and back as well. Whatever did this was powerful and large. The claws were the size of his hands. He rewrapped the child while I tended her wounds. We both had significant experience with injuries and often worked as doctors or paramedics depending on where we lived. The child was about six months old and in perfect condition. After checking him out and satisfied to his health, we made ready. Whatever drove her here would follow. Soon.

When they came we saw them slowly approaching the house. They were wolves the size of horses. Their mouths showed their razor sharp fangs, already bloody, each drip accented by the flashes of lightning, growing steadily more frequent, lasting longer and the crashing of thunder indicating the storm was directly overhead, no time between light and noise. With all the noise the strangest thing was the fact the child did not make a sound. As if lightning was something he was used to hearing.

My crazy husband walked out onto the porch with a shotgun, filled with a mix of silver, lead, iron and salt in one hand and a rune-carved machete in the other. "Stay here. Keep them safe. I will be right back."

He walked out there and the three giant wolves strode up to him within twenty feet and stopped. They were easily nine feet at the shoulder. It was simply impossible they should exist.

"We don't want any trouble." As if talking to giant wolves was something he did every day. I sat with my Winchester rifle pointed out of the window.

"Give us the woman and the child and we will leave."

"Can't do that."

"Then, there will be... trouble."

My husband said nothing, but his body tensed imperceptibly, waiting for them to gather their courage. They seemed to sense his power and were in their way, cowed by it.

The wolf to his left bared his fangs and hissed. "Is that your final offer? Would you make her trouble your own? You already have many."

"Yep."

"Then die." As the wolf lunged, both barrels of the shotgun were shoved directly into its mouth, went off. It howled as it threw its head back, and smoke rose from its mouth as it fell into the rain.

"You, first." 

He turned exuding a crazy menace, smiled and asked to the remaining wolves, "Who's next?" Dropping the shotgun into the rain, he turns and faces the remaining two.

The second wolf, as large as the first lunged forward and my .380 caught it cleanly in the eye. Ensorcelled, it tore through the creature's ironhard flesh and ground its brain into mush as the round scattered inside of its skull. It dropped dead without a sound.

While the second wolf was falling to the ground, he leapt out of the way of the dying giant and his machete flashed against the hardened fur of the third wolf. Its stiff, iron-like fur blunting the force of his blow. Blood came away on the blade, just the same. The wolf surprised, bound backward.

"Die, mortal man." The last wolf braced itself and howled in his direction, focusing its sound like a weapon. The force of the sound shattered all of the glass in the house turning it instantly into the room as shrapnel.

I moved. Time slowed for me, directed by my power, I could see the glass, each shard of it as it moved into the room. My Winchester fell from my grip and my spear appeared, a function of my will. I could perceive those that would be a threat and struck them from the air with my spear, which had appeared in my hand, extending my reach. The wide bladed tip swatting away each projectile. I was struck by dozens of them, each of them trying to gain a purchase, most deflected by my armor, a few penetrating, but nothing stopped my focus, nothing stopped my execution. I did not know this woman but I knew it was important to save her. 

He had thrown himself to the ground at the last second, so the wave of sound passed over him, but even a glancing blow had been deadly enough. He was stripped nearly bare by the sound, lacerations crossed his entire body. Only tattered rags remained. I was put in mind of when he found me, walking away from a plane crash, I must have looked like that to him. He stood up, and snatched his machete out of the ground.

He touched the Nordic runes and raised the blade to the heavens. Lightning flowed down to him and connected the sword, casting light everywhere and dark silhouettes. He disappeared from sight, and reappeared in the shadow of the beast. Lightning redirected itself between where he was to where he now stood. The wolf was in the path. Jumping into the air, he stabs the sword into the side of the beast as the lightning finds them both. He is thrown away from the explosion.

The lightning abruptly stopped. The rain subsided soon after. The woman lay quietly, her breathing slowed, the child lay next to her, blissfully unaware of what happened. I got up, after removing shards of glass from by body and walked to the window. I could see my husband getting up, smoke still rising from his body. He turned and began to stagger toward me. I flew to him. He was still hot and he shone with a quiet luminescence. While we walked back to the house, the door opened up and the woman was there holding the child in her arms.

"We cannot stay here. Others will follow."

"Who are you, what did they want, and why is it every time we meet, I end up naked." His words were jocular, but his tone serious. These were questions he wanted answers to, now.

"My name is Gaia. And this," holding the baby out for a second, "is your son."



Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

A Tale of New Earth

"Now don't get too close, Martha. We just want a picture of you and the trees." My hands were shaking as I took the picture of my wife next to these very special trees. We had read about them in the lastest issue of Life Magazine. The article was called "The Predator Trees of Nassau County." 

She was sure to stay at the line drawn around the creatures which was emitted by a special system of lasers, which also doubled as a defensive array for tourists who did not pay attention. Martha wasn't that kind of tourist. She paid close attention and never strayed inside the line. 

A couple of the trees were very active that afternoon and had slashed out with one of their acid covered tentacles. The lasers fired clipping the ends and kept the trees from reaching her. The tentacles were scooped up and properly handled by a service robot. 

There was a kiosk there and we listened to when they first fell to Earth ten years ago, they swarmed over the planet eating everything in sight. Mankind had been on the edge of extinction until they stopped eating humanity and turned on each other.  

Humans had tried any number of foolish things, but anything we did only caused them to grow faster. We lost parts of China, Africa and the West Coast of the United States when we tried to use nuclear weapons. The creatures created spores and proliferated at ten times their normal rates. When they began to eat each other, humanity breathed a sigh of relief. But their populations did not diminish. So anyplace that had been overrun stayed that way. 

Both Martha and I had lost our previous mates during the early attacks and were lucky enough to find each other when we managed to escape the Arizona Wall built to keep them behind it. We couldn't get far away enough and eventually found ourselves in Long Island, New York in Nassau County. There weren't too many of the creatures left in parts of the world where nukes weren't used and now with the surplusses of food and resources, no one had to work unless they wanted to. Plenty did. I worked as a photographer, gathering information about the walled cities and with Martha and the kids riding shotgun, and gun turrets, we cruise the midwest bringing news and resources to isolated communities. 

Martha and I are now in our sixties and don't think we have much time left, so we are teaching the kids our route so they can help keep the roads clear and sharing information between the cities on the oceans and the middle of the continent. 

Martha always wants to stake out a tree when we find them because of the strangest thing. Predator trees have a habit of attracting cats. The cats come to the trees, sit down on the branches and fall asleep. The trees wrap them in a cocoon and absorb the flesh, leaving the skeletons wrapped in the trees. Once the cilia are removed the skeletons are often posed in strange positions. She takes different pictures of them and collects them. Sometimes she will wait until a cat shows up and will try to rescue them from their fate. They do not seem to be able to resist, likely a spore-based pheromone.  

We came to this tree because there was supposed to be a cat living in harmony with these particular trees. 

"There he is," she said. "A big Tom. He is carrying something." My eyes weren't what they used to be, so I pulled out my binoculars and could see it was a large rat. He dropped it near the base of the tree and then proceeded to climb to the limbs near the middle of the tree. He deftly dodges the poisonous tentacles, though a few seemed to move out of his way as he reaches his perch, a wide strong limb.  He hunkers down and proceeds to go to sleep. 

"I don't believe what I am seeing." Martha has her video camera and leaves it on overnight. It is designed to lock on and autofocus as necessary. The predation process is supposed to take only a single night. "He will be dead by morning." 

We camp out and snuggle while the kids take turn from the truck. The trees, attracted to our body heat, move during the night but a few taps from the laser turret and they return to slavering quietly. 

Martha woke before I did and saw the impossible. The black Tom climbed down the tree, ran off into the woods, quite alive. "Now I can die 'cause I have seen everything. A cat that is good for something." 

"I don't understand." I was still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. 

"The reason there aren't more trees here, is the cat gives them enough food to stay mobile, not enough food to breed. Since there were very few people living here, they never got enough to eat to reproduce." The people of Long Island fled the very night the creatures landed in New York proper. 

"The world's remaining scientists have been doing everything in their power to eradicate them and everything we do just makes it worse. A damn fool cat figures out, all we have to do is feed them enough till they take root. Look at them. They have the coloration of first arrivals. They have been here for over ten years and have never spread." 

"Don't that beat all. Until today, I would have said there was nothing I could have learned from a cat." Seeing cat skeletons in predator trees for nearly a decade, I always assumed it would always be that way. 

The Tom comes back with another rat and gingerly drops it in the same spot. He climbs back into the tree and stares at us. The look seemed to say, "Okay, now go tell somebody and get the hell out of here." 

Who was I to argue with someone smarter than me? We got in the truck, took a few more pictures and started heading out toward Jersey. The trees and cat cast long shadows in the early morning light. They followed us west. 

The Predator Trees of Nassau County © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Chapter 6 - Loa 

"Did you understand me, child? Remember." 

The voice that spoke to me was as much of a question as why I woke with a mouth full of sand, in a place hotter than Hell. Okay, one question at a time. Where was I? Face down, I could notice I was seeing sand. White, dry, hot. Sun overhead and been so for quite some time. Clothes were the last ones I remember, stylish and inappropriate for desert walking. 

I slowly rose to my feet, but stopped somewhere between kneeling and standing, a bit dizzy and realizing I was terribly thirsty. Doing a quick check, I noted no injuries, I was armed with two silvered 9mm pistols and silvered bullets with high quality loads. Strong enough to drop almost anything. There were runic scripts on each bullet increasing their efficacy. So whoever dropped me here wanted me to be able to shoot and kill almost anything that lived and a bunch of things that bordered the boundaries between life and death. 

Looking around, I noticed a dark wide brimmed hat sitting on the sand nearby. I felt I should recognize it. It was on the tip of my tongue. I had the distinct impression that there was something I should be remembering right now. Something so important my life depended on it.

"Don't say that name."  

I heard it as clear as if someone had spoken aloud, but I didn't see anyone for miles. I mentioned that I was standing in a desert. No people in any direction. No shade either. So, who said that? 

"Don't say the name of anyone you remember while we walk. You are able to be here because you do not remember anyone or anything. Names have power. Yours has greater power than most. For now we shall call you Adam." 

"Okay, so who are you and how can you be talking to me?" 

"I am on the ground in front of you. You perceive me as a common article of clothing."

"You mean this hat? Yes, you look like a very common, if a bit unstylish hat." 

"I will have you know I am a very uncommon and quite stylish hat. If you were around three hundred years ago." The hat's tone was less than conciliatory as if it was trying to appease a less than intelligent houseplant. 

"Put me on. You will need protection from the sun." 

"Do I have to?" 

"No, you could stand out here until your brain fries, you remember who you are, shout out the Names of people who should remain forgotten for a bit longer, attract the people who are trying to kill you, and get me killed trying to fruitlessly protect someone too stupid to put on a hat to prevent sunstroke. I think that is sound reasoning. I'll wait here." 

How did I know I wasn't already past the point of common madness? Wasn't I out in the middle of a desert I did not recognize arguing with what I believed to be an acerbic and style-impaired hat? Well, if I was crazed, I couldn't be any worse off for having a tiny bit of shade in this blazing damn desert. 

I picked up the hat. It was heavy. Made from a thick leather, no sand adhered to it and I turned it around in my hand. It was black. Completely black, where I expected shadows, it seemed to become even darker. Then I looked at my own shadow and realized what was wrong with the hat. It cast no shadows. My hand appeared to be empty and holding nothing. 

I put it on and just like that, neither of us cast a shadow. And I was a whole lot cooler as well. As hats go, a lack of style had to fall by the wayside when you can knock twenty degrees right out of the air. Relief. 

"Go that way." The hat's command caused a tingling sensation off to my right. I understood intuitively what it meant. "While I cannot tell you much about how you got here, Adam, I must tell you this. You are special. A person so special there are only a few dozen like you on the entire planet at any given time. Right now, you are unique and a number of people want you dead. We cannot allow that to happen. We are on our way to see a person who, while he will not be happy to see you, will want to help you because he has no choice." 

"Um, I have to ask, if we are coercing him into helping us, won't that make him resentful and maybe kill us too?" 

"That is true. And it is even more likely he has already been treating with our enemies. But we have something he wants and needs. And to get it back, he would do almost anything." 

I stopped walking for a moment. Sand is hard to walk in and my feet were already cramping. I looked in my pockets and noticed nothing but a few extra clips of ammunition, a nutrition bar I eyed hungrily, but reasoned I had no idea when my next meal might be, so I put it back. No wallet. No ID. Nice jacket and dual holsters for guns. I did not see anything I had I could bargain with for my potential benefactor to consider helping me. Maybe he liked boots. The ones I was wearing were heavy,  shiny and black. Very comfortable.  

"Okay, so I just took inventory and I don't see anything I have to haggle with unless he has a penchant for really well made, magical firearms or very comfortable footwear." 

There was a series of strange sounds, that took me a minute to realize were laughter. When the hat stopped laughing, it said,  "No, you don't have anything he would want, but when the time comes, you are to offer me in trade for a favor. It will require craft on your part, so don't offer me up until you have everything you want." 

"How will I know when that is?" 

"That young man, is your gift, to be between all things, to be part of everything and nothing, shadow and substance. Between wisdom and foolishness. When you see things looking completely hopeless, you will know its time. Now get back to walking, we have a long way to go before we get there." 

"Where is there?" 

"The boundary between Twilight and Night. The realm of Mr. Black, Master of the Loa."

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

 "Anytime people who are usually ignored decide to credit themselves with recognition, it’s a problem. If people who are often silenced demand a voice, extreme efforts are exhausted to suppress their cries. Whenever there is an emergence of unity from a socially neglected and once dismantled group, those in power scatter for an oppressive solution and attempt to revive the ever so popular “divide and conquer” method. Highlighting subtle differences in hopes to cause the newly proud people to bicker with each other, tear one another down, dismiss what connects us. 

 Our pride is so intimidating. Knowledge of our power is such a threat. Know that. Be aware of the strength that is held in unity. Don’t fight the urge to unite."
by Monochromaticblack
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Chapter 5 - Sunstruck 

The Sun rose over a desert. This is not your Sun. Hotter, more pure, the essence of sunlight. Fiercely white-hot, if you found yourself here, you would be nearly blinded for a time. A light so bright it bleached the color out of the world. Once you adjusted you would notice other things about this desert.  

Unlike deserts in the First World, nothing moved here. There was no sign of life, no undercurrent of hidden activity. Nothing, you as a vistor, would recognize, at first. If you spent a hundred years, and you could, because for you time would pass slowly, you would age slower, you would be out of sync with the First World.   

Here in the Second World, you might begin to notice a texture to the light, a shimmering that was different than any other light here. Like a mirage in the desert, it would stand out to you, a discontinuity you could not ignore. If you were more discerning or terribly lonely, you might approach that shimmer, that trick of the light only to find a single immense structure, also made of pure, hardened light.    

If you had lived in the First World during the time of the Roman Empire, you would recognize this building as the great Colosseum of Rome. In all ways, that majestic structure would appear before you the same in every way save one, this one was immune to the ravages of time. No great walls had fallen, no wreckage due to the imperfection of Man. No trauma of earthquakes throughout time. This structure was perfect, permanent and static; unchanging, outside of the forces of Entropy.   

If you were to, now that you have found this Colosseum, continue for another hundred years or so to meditate upon it, you would begin to see signs of life, not as you know it, beings, mere wisps flickering out of the corners of your eyes, nothing you would see straight on, a movement that seemed to move with purpose, malice and forethought; mostly malice.   

Listening intently, you would hear a conversation taking place between two forces. To wrap your mind around them, you might consider them people, if people were to have the power of a hurricane wrapped neatly in a shape slightly resembling a man in the less of those two and if a star were trapped in the body of a giant in the other form. And their conversation would be troubling to you. Because it whispered of a world without darkness, a world perfect with the structure of Order, a world without Change or the forces of Entropy.    

And after three hundred years of listening, you would begin to know the horror of these perfect, shimmering forms of trapped and barely contained power. You would see their idea of what the world should be like and if you are like any rational being with any ideas of free will, you would be, no, should be repulsed. And that would be the correct response. These beings were not evil. They were merely focused on a different way of being.   

"We have failed to acquire the Equinox. The boy has already tainted it toward the Dark." The smaller storm being stood imperiously before the sun-god giant.  

"Are you saying you have failed me?" His voice, hot, shimmered the very air around them.  

"Yes," the storm being thundered in response. A momentary silence followed.  

"Kill yourself immediately."   

"I will, post haste, your Vastness. But I believe our failure may allow us new opportunities."  Another silence.  

"Continue. Your impertinence may still please me."   

"I believe they may decide to seek the Master of the Loa, Mister Black. He has not accepted our treaty, nor denied it outright. Knowing him, he will betray them if it suits him. All we need do is wait for the right moment."   

As if he were explaining to a small child, the sun-god spoke. "Illuminatus, we must take advantage of the transition of Gaia. She is at her weakest. If we can overcome the Darkness during her transition and re-acclimation, she will have no choice but to accept the state of things upon her return. We can simply destroy the opposition and force her to treat with us instead."   

And in a way surely to arouse the ire of his master, the storm being responded. "I was under the impression unless we were able to harness the power of the Radiant Ones, we would not have the ability to resist her. She is the greatest power in the First World, unparalleled. She cast all of us out during one of our earliest wars and forbade us using our powers fully in the First World. If we did not mask our powers in the Veil, she would have detected our many conflicts. It is only because our human operatives are so weak and puny that she remains unaware of our plans as it is."   

"All of that is true. Which is why your next mission is to bring the Radiant Ones into the fold." If a sun-god of blazing solar light could be said to smile, this would be the feeling you might sense from him. A strange, good humor.  

"I thought you had agreed to spare my life. To go to the realm of the Radiant Ones is to court destruction."   

"Are you saying you are not interested in the mission?"   

"I would be only too happy to serve you in this vital operation. The Radiant Ones live at the very edge of the Second Realm. It will take time and resources to reach them. I was under the impression you still valued my abilities and had spared my life."  

"I did, but if you fail to secure their cooperation, then you would resolve my need to replace you with someone more... effective."  
  
"By your command." 
  
"Before you go to the land of the Radiant Ones, you take my decree to the Master of the Loa. Let him know he is out of time. He is to join us, or you are to take your army and destroy him, utterly. Destroy his clan, the Loa, and any of his offspring. When the Equinox seeks him out, I want him to find my servant or nothing to offer him hope at all. Then you can bring the Radiant Ones to my court." 
  
"Absolutely, your Immenseness. Your will be done. He will join us or die." 
  
In a flash of heat lightning, the storm being would vanish, leaving a pile of steaming glass in the desert floor of the Colosseum. The sun god might look in your direction, sense your attentions and with a flash of light, oust you from the Second Realm. You would be only too glad to be gone from that place.

Jump to Chapter 6

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

I was a little shocked this morning when I was checking emails and upcoming events and realized that I was in the future.

The new black is now.

If the “Attending” numbers on Facebook events are accurate, then tomorrow night the African American Arts and Cultural Center in San Francisco will be overrun with approximately 300 black/afro/futurist/punk/geeks and the people who roll with them. The opening of Black Diamonds Shining’s “The Black Futurists” exhibit and accompanying two month schedule of events, performances and film screenings sound like a love song that’ll lure in all sectors of the Bay’s black outlier culture. The ones usually only glimpsed on the deepest house dance floors, select street art installations and the most underground art events.

A couple weeks after that, the much YouTubed TED conference is getting the Black to the Future treatment, when Berlin based Afrofuturistsaxtechologist Onyx Ashanti takes the stage to show off the latest evolution of his Beat Jazz project-an open source, woodwind mimicking, motion sensitive, MIDI music system.

In September, South Africa will see the 4th installment of the annual Pan African Space Station, a 30 day music and arts festival and “cross-cultural and cyber-spatial exploration, bringing together diverse pan-African sounds from ancient techno to future roots.” The event features everything from musical tributes to Steve Biko and  Busi Mhlongo to performances by Doctor Philip Tabane & Malombo and Theo Parish.

And in true “seen it like a Zenith” steez, Black Rock evangelist, cultural curator and community catalyst Rob Fields recently announced that on October 17th he’s hosting theFestival of the New Black Imagination in, where else but the black planet of Brooklyn. The Festival sounds like a place where all the corners of black creativity can converge and add ingredients to the next serving of cultural cosmic slop.

If you’re looking for the next “It”, it’s here. If you’re looking for African diaspora folks who’re on something different, you really, really don’t have to look too hard. The forward thinking, tech savvy, community building tribes mainstream culture has been “searching” for-those “positive”, nuanced portraits of black folks-are being created in hyper real, augmented reality.