Ok, I was doing a PC tech job on a NASA base. I saw in the hallways a number of older black women who were scientist or engineers. I still imagine older black women as grandmas' or aunts', sort of like the seer in the Matrix movie. Can you imagine granny in her granny dress, baking cookies or cooking a stew being a space scientist and her roles criss-crossing to save a space mission or the class science project.
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Black Steam: A steam punk novel
<This is my intro . . . am i too far off base? >>
Black people who came to America did not always arrive in chains. They arrived by luxury China Clipper sailing ships, underneath giant bags of hydrogen gas, or on the backs of giant Vodoun eagles. These people brought the philosophy, socery and science of Africa to the emerging New World. But their divine mission was not to build an Empire to rule over human civilization; the African ancestors had demanded that the chosen people be put back on the right course and onto a proper timeline.
Thus, with the divine help of the Africans, the Southern Confederate States were destined to defeat the Northern Federal Union in the American Civil War. But even the Ancestors make mistakes and rely upon “The Gifted Messengers” to set things right.
-- Black Steam coming Fall 2012
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| "On June 6, 2012, Ray Bradbury, the Universe's writer, was called back to his galaxy." - Orange County Screenwriters Association |
JUNE 6, 2012
Ray Bradbury, recipient of the 2000 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters, the 2004 National Medal of Arts, and the 2007 Pulitzer Prize Special Citation, died on June 5, 2012, at the age of 91 after a long illness. He lived in Los Angeles.
In a career spanning more than seventy years, Ray Bradbury has inspired generations of readers to dream, think, and create. A prolific author of hundreds of short stories and close to fifty books, as well as numerous poems, essays, operas, plays, teleplays, and screenplays, Bradbury was one of the most celebrated writers of our time. His groundbreaking works include Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles, The Illustrated Man, Dandelion Wine, and Something Wicked This Way Comes. He wrote the screen play for John Huston's classic film adaptation of Moby Dick, and was nominated for an Academy Award. He adapted sixty-five of his stories for television's The Ray Bradbury Theater, and won an Emmy for his teleplay of The Halloween Tree. In 2005, Bradbury published a book of essays titled Bradbury Speaks, in which he wrote: In my later years I have looked in the mirror each day and found a happy person staring back. Occasionally I wonder why I can be so happy. The answer is that every day of my life I've worked only for myself and for the joy that comes from writing and creating. The image in my mirror is not optimistic, but the result of optimal behavior.
He is survived by his four daughters, Susan Nixon, Ramona Ostergren, Bettina Karapetian, and Alexandra Bradbury, and eight grandchildren. His wife, Marguerite, predeceased him in 2003, after fifty-seven years of marriage.
Throughout his life, Bradbury liked to recount the story of meeting a carnival magician, Mr. Electrico, in 1932. At the end of his performance Electrico reached out to the twelve-year-old Bradbury, touched the boy with his sword, and commanded, Live forever! Bradbury later said, I decided that was the greatest idea I had ever heard. I started writing every day. I never stopped.
Web site: RayBradbury.com
CNN: Sci-fi legend Ray Bradbury dies
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Queen Philippa: England's First Black Queen |
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As i sit here and think about what ifs and why nots, I research certain questions and i see the questions repeated over and over again but to no avail. Why arent there more black superheroes in the movies and mainstream comics even? Where are all the black heroines that i know are out there waiting to have their movies made? Where are the black comics? Milestone set the bar high what have we done since?
They say the world isnt ready to accept an black hero i say bull, what about Blade? Why havent new stars been given the nod yet( Michael Jai White) Who can pretty much take anybody out he darn well pleases and yet we have him doing comedy roles. Really? Is that the best we can do for someone born to be an action star like him comedy? Tell me what you think
So I had the artist for my adult web comic take a crack at the Geist just for fun, It came out pretty cool but the original is till the best. Shout out to Garvoe.
I use Sketchbook Pro for my thumbnails and Manga Studio Debut to lay out the book. I also draw thumbnails in pencil and scan into Sketchbook Pro. This is my first attempt so the learning curve is quite high but the process is fun. Like being a kid again! I created a twelve page teaser and got some feedback. Spent the time since retooling the script for the first issue. I'll spend the summer completing the first issue
I'm jumping off the walls!!!
The Serpent Cult is now available in PRINT!
So for those who love to read action adventure WHILE actually FEELING the pages and the weight of the book in your hands you can grab it on CreateSpace or at Amazon
Of Course for those trendy techo savy futurists it's also good to go on Kindle and NOOK!
I'm working on my own Website now where I'll be posting all things Mountairy Rock!
Your Boi,
Howard Night (The NIGHTMANAGER!!)
A video link to explain from the founder, brother Refa 1
The project is will happen regardless, but join this campaign like this too:
Cassandra "applying physics":
After spending the Memorial Day Weekend watching both seasons of 'The Walking Dead', it occurred to me there needs to be a set of rules to guide those who plan on surviving a Zombie Apocalypse.
Though there are people out there who are actually stocking up on guns and what-not in preparation of a real 'pock-y-clipse' featuring zombies or worse, 'furriners', I believe these rules will help them as well.
While your neighbors, co-workers, family and friends are freaking out as to 'what's going on?', you will no doubt have these rules hardwired into memory or on a cheat sheet you always keep with you. So pay close attention and take notes (no there won't be a quiz, but you damn sure don't want to fail the practical exam!)
Rule #1- Everything has changed
In every ZA flick you always hear people flipping out asking questions like, 'what's going on?', 'why is this happening?, yadda, yadda. The answers are simple: 'Mofo's are running around eatin' people en masse' and 'Because it is, now shut up and run for your life!'
From the moment you see the reporter and camera crew get overrun and eaten on TV or look out the window and see your neighbors literally ripping your former loudmouth neighbor to pieces, the world as you knew it is over. Accept it.
Rule #2 - All bets are off
In every ZA flick there's always someone whining about 'morality', 'feeling attachment for a zombified loved one' or 'being hostile because of racial, ethinc...' you get the picture. Let me break it down for you. First refer to Rule #1 when you want to rely on your usual thinking or modus operandi. Then recognize all that crap doesn't mean jack anymore. From now on, there are only two kinds of people left in the world; those who are not being eaten and those who are. In the ZA scenario, Humanity is back in 'Savannah Mode'. That means you and every red-blooded person still alive are 'rabbits' and there are hordes of hungry undead wolves on your tails. So that means the honkeys, chinks, greasers, spics, towel heads, redskins, dot heads and nigga's you were arguing with 10 minutes ago are now your allies! Every extra set of eyes and hands are going to come in damn handy. So you better get over your differences quick 'cause they no longer apply.
Rule #3 - Unless you're already there, Don't go home
What's the first thing you hear mofo's say when the feces hit the oscillating air flow cooling unit? 'I've got to get home! I've got to find my family!' Yeah, about that. Here's the thing. Odds are, stuff is jumping off in all directions. So the chances things are already popping off on the homefront are unfortunately pretty good. You're probably saying, 'but I've got to save my family!' Yeah, but you've got three major problems with that. Location, Distance and Time.
Location - If you're in a city, you've got your own problems. Cities are the overflowing 'cornucopia' of zombies. Depending on how fast the 'Sickness' is spreading, you may have only hours or moments to un-ass your current location before you get overrun and turned into 'zombie chow'.
Distance - If there's a considerable distance to cover like 10 miles or more, forget it. Yeah, yeah, I know, 'I've got to save my family!' Well consider this, they've got the exact same issues you do at the same time. Depending on their location, they could already be ass deep in zombies whilst you're trying to literally 'fight' your way through traffic! More than likely you never got around to turning your house, duplex or apartment into the armed citadel of your dreams fully stocked with food, water and armaments. With that in mind, your home is no doubt just as 'soft' when it comes to keeping out zombie hordes as everybody else's is! So more than likely your familia are probably fighting off the hungry dead as you read this....
Time - The real 'killer' in this scenario is time. The more time passes, the worse the situation is going to get. In the initial hours of the outbreak, the number of infected will grow exponentially. Before or if Rigor Mortis sets in, the zombies are going to be fast. Damn fast. Unless you've kept up your high school track skills or made your living as a purse snatcher, you'll have to fight and run. Clock keeps ticking, you're going to get tired 'cause you can run on adrenaline only so long. The infected unfortunately don't have that problem. So the more time you'll have to spend trying to get home, the greater the odds your family will have run for their lives by the time you get there.
So even now if you're still saying, 'but I've got to save my family!' refer to rules #1 and #2.
Rule #4 - Be prepared to go 'Conan' on a mofo
Let's face facts. In the ZA scenario, you've got dead mofo's trying their damndest to turn you into 'Fool under glass'. You also have around you as Agent 'K' from MIB eloquently phrased it; "A bunch of dumb, dangerous and panicky animals' represented by your fellow homosapiens. 'Wise men' by the way who in blind panic are knocking each other over and trampling the fallen, thus making the zombie's dining selection process that much easier.
In order to clear a safe path for yourself and your fellow survivors, you're going to have to get your hands dirty. Big time. It is highly probable, the most efficient way to dispatch the infected will be a shot or crushing blow to the head. Let's just say it is all but certain you won't have a rifle, pistol or assault weapon with plenty of ammo on hand when things start jumping off. You're going to have to get a suitable blunt or edged weapon... right now. When you do, you're going to have to get as Clint Eastwood said in "Unforgiven", "... Plum mad dog mean." That means if it's dead, bash it in the head. If it's live, bash it 'till it dies.
What? You're saying I should kill potential survivors? If they are panicked and are about to put you in a situation where you can't escape, yup. With extreme prejudice. In the film '28 Days Later' when Selena thought for an instant her longtime comrade had been bitten, she instantly hacked him to death. Despite his screams, she mercilessly did him in. She survived. Let that be a lesson! If you have a problem with that your choices are; allow the person to turn and infect you and your fellow survivors or stop whining and accept rules #'s 1 and 2 then dispatch your bud quick!
Rule #5 - Adapt
I cannot stress enough Rule #1. Because of rule #1, you must adapt to the new situation. Your days of corporate austerity, girly-girl chic or metrosexual style are over. Clothes that restrict movement or reveal skin are absolutely out! Perfume, cologne, scented deodorant, baby powder, scented soaps are also out. It's a pretty good guess the infected are working with the basic senses alone. It's probable dead noses could transmit sensory info for a while in the initial hours, days and weeks, as the sense of smell will be the primary source of detecting the living. You don't want to help them sniff you out 'cause you couldn't let go your fav' scent.
Adapting means you're going to have to do what the situation requires. If the only way to hide from 'Walkers' is to jump into a sewer, get to jumping. If you have to cover yourself in walker guts and gore to pass among them unnoticed, don't forget to get that hard to reach spot on your back!
If you are claustrophobic but the safest place to hide is an air conditioning vent, get your ass in there and keep your trap shut.
You will also have to change your behavior. If you're a talker when you're nervous, shut up. If you fidget, be still. You a farter when you get scared? Put a cork in it. Teeth chatter? Stick something between your teeth thick enough to keep your jaws from moving and bite down.
Rule #6 - Heroes get eaten
Before you say, 'but I've got to save people!' Yeah, when you can and if you can. But not at the expense of your own life. The price of selfless heroism is being dinner. Save your bravery for when you have to be cunning or stealthy or when it's time to bust open a hole so you and your fellow survivors can make a run for it. What your fellow survivors need to see from you is your determination to get out alive. If you've got a problem with that see rules #1 and 2.
Rule #7 - Let those who are about to die... die
This is the harshest rule of all and where rules #1 and #2 apply the most. It is safe to ascertain a ZA is an 'unnatural situation'. Now that you and your fellow survivors up to now are in a prey-predator dynamic, you have to recognize that everyone in the group ain't gonna' make it. Babies, young children, the extreme elderly, the non-mobile, semi-mobile injured/disabled and the mentally disabled will all be the first to go. I know, I know, 'but we have to help everybody!' Again, I refer you to rules #1 and #2.
Yes, it's a horrible thought to even think about babies, small children and grandma/granpa being devoured by zombies, but remember the rabbit analogy. There's a reason you never see baby or elderly rabbits in the wild. If you can see them something's about to eat them. Also, you have those individuals who get what is called 'Deathstruck'. Those who are deathstruck
are stricken with a panic that literally causes them to move or freeze in the path of potentially fatal activity. These people are dangerous! All too often those who are possessed of the heroic impulse leap to save these persons and usually both end up dead. In the situation of a ZA, that 'bad end' is certain. If someone is deathstruck and throws themselves into death's jaws, don't let their sacrifice go in vain!
These are just the first few hard and fast rules, for Surviving a Zombie Apocalypse. In Part II, you'll learn what's necessary for staying alive once you escape the initial event! Until then, RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!
© 2012 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved. Images used are owned by their prospective copyright holders.
I have read alot of books over the years, too many to count but now finally i can write my own books and i have plenty that i write from my mind not anyone elses. I have currently 6 books that i am writing and cant wait to get these out of my head and down on paper. I have to title the last book still but i am working on it and this year alone i will have at least 2-3 books completed. I have been scouring the web looking for a site like this and did cartwheels when i found it. Black media is seriously deprived of any thing mainstream. Oh sure we can put out a comedy show and be the but of every joke and get air time but what about some real quality movies? And why not Sci fy? I think its time to change that and change lives and times as we know it. I dont know how many times i have went to the fantasy book section looking for a black face on the cover or in the author spot. Growing up i loved comics but always wondered where were the black heroes and heroines? When Milestone came online i went nuts and tried to grab everyone i could get my hands on. I knew they would kill it right away when it came out. They still dont understand the black market and i dont think they want to up in hollywood. So yes we need to support each other but we need to do it with the knowledge as well which is the key to our weakness and our strength. Fantasy writing is a skill and one that we do well just from what i have seen on this site their are some very talented people on this site. I hope that my writings are met well here and are of substance enough to keep your interest and merit your comments and advice but we shall see.
Born from the thirst of a King Vampire and the bite of a werewolf, Bayne was born dead but revived as a hybrid through the combination of these two supernatural creatures.
BAYNE
Born -1620 Died - 1620
Re-Born - 1620
BAYNE LEGACY 2014
The world as we know it, has immulated Movies and movies have told the story of a world absent of life. With the consistant preaching of the end is here and the end is near, it has finally come to past. Mother nature has had the last say about life as we know it. With a simple push of the reset button, the core nucleus of Mother earth proved to be unstable due to the constant raping of her nutrional value.
And God said "the world will never ever perish by water but shall feel the heat of Fire". The thing about God is, he doesn't have to be specific just know when the fire comes it can come in any form. And in a form it did. Molten lava. Massive Earthquakes giving way to the inner rage of the planet's distain for humanities lack of respect for her.
Once her rage subsided, Mankind's reign over her ended. In their place, the creatures of legends walked the surface and humanity with all it's posturing and boasting and proving they are at the top of the food chain, all turned out to be empty words. Frome hence forth The Pale ones and Warwolves walk the surface and mankind has become cattle.
BAYNE NARRATION
We all thought it would end in a bang.
Or biological warfare. From the dawn of
time, man’s conviction since his creation,
has been to destroy the world.
FADE IN:
EXT. SAN FRANSISCO BRIDGE - DAY.
The skies are scorched. The San Francisco bridge, is partially demolished. Abandoned. Dilapidated cars some occupied with skeletons of the deceased, are strewn about. Random cables holding the bridge up, have snapped from their housing.
SLOW MOTION:
A man in white, holding two custom made battle axes which are engraved silver axe heads with a hooked shaped wooden handle and wardog’s K9’s extending from them, walks across the San Francisco bridge away from the city with deadly intent.
BAYNE NARRATION
Always preaching the end is near. The end
is here. Warring for position and power.
The man in white continues on. Suddenly out of nowhere, a car flies in his direction. He tilts his head slightly evading the oncoming vehicle.
BAYNE NARRATION (CONT’D)
Fighting for political gain. No one ever
knowing their place in the food chain.
He grips his battle axes tighter.
BAYNE NARRATION (CONT’D)
No one ever took into consideration who
held the real power. God, if there really is a
God said the world would end by fire. So when
the end finally came, it wasn't by man’s doing.
The man in white stops.
BAYNE NARRATION (CONT’D)
Mother nature made the call and decided to push
the reset button.
He tilts his spectacles down to get a better look at hordes of Warwolves snarling and growling in front of him. The man in white, smirks.
BAYNE NARRATION (CONT’D)
Warwolves. Looks like it’s going to be a long day
and I have nothing but time on my hands.
With a quick twirl of his battle axes, The man in white, leaps high into the air poised for combat.
I always get these in my email and have kind of ignored them, but with so many of us involved in creating and producing our own materials maybe some of this production music will be useful. I am thinking of getting a set just in case.
Maybe it will be of use to someone!
In the wake of the Fukushima nuclear disaster that occurred 15 months ago, the American public would be very displeased to know of the imminent potential for American children to play and frolic on their glowing backyards.
It’s actually quite comedic how the general consensus has allowed distraction and propaganda to fog the path that will ultimately trace back to the root of the problem.
Once I turn into a radioactive mutant/zombie, maybe my dancing skills will start to improve by 30%. Finally, I can get that Thriller sequence down like a legendary pro.
http://evilforalltime.blogspot.com/2012/05/contaminated-soil-may-prove.html
//////////////////////////////
Enter Kenneth Neal (you can call me Ken):
A multimedia journalist doing my part to promote social, cultural, and class destruction awareness with my blog.
Thank you for your time. If you have any questions after viewing my work, feel free to let me know.
-Kenneth Neal, A Modern Day Abolitionist
Facebook, "Ken Project-EFAT"
I might get rid of the daggers.
Lamiarum Unguenta (Witches Unguent): By boiling (a certain fat) in a copper vessel, they get rid of its water, thickening what is left after boiling and remains last. Then they store it, and afterwards boil it again before use: with this, they mix celery, aconite, poplar leaves and soot. Then they smear all the parts of the body, first rubbing them to make them ruddy and warm and to rarify whatever had been condensed because of cold. When the flesh is relaxed and the pores opened up, they add the fat (or the oil that is substituted for it) - so that the power of the juices can penetrate further and become stronger and more active, no doubt. And so they think that they are borne through the air on a moonlit night to banquets, music, dances and the embrace of handsome young men of their choice. -- Giovan Battista Della Porta. From De Miraculis Rerum Naturalium, Book II, Chapter XXVI (1558 AD)
“Hurry up, girls. The bobbies are on their way.” Margaret’s glamour had worn off as she walked into the door, slamming it behind her. Her hideous hook of a nose arched out over her wide mouth, distorted by her decades of constant magic use.
She was beautiful once, with wide blue eyes and rosy cheeks, those days long behind her, her flaxen hair now knotty wisps covering her now sunken eyes and hollowed cheekbones. Her dress, ragged, something taken from the body of an unfortunate who made a fine tincture last year.
“You know better than to rush me, Maggie. Flying potion isn’t something you rush to get done. The fat has to be rendered just right.” Elswidth was standing over a caldron in the middle of the common area, with a strange arrangement of bottles, beakers and piping winding around the room. She turned a tiny spigot as droplets of rendered fat fell into the dark fluid in the ceramic bowl he held in her other hand. “Ah, such a sweet scent.” The room was in complete disarray, tables and chairs lie broken. Scraps of clothing and dark spots fleck the dimly lit walls. Elswidth’s eyes reflected the poor candlelight like a cat’s.
“Was that Malcolm?” Margaret asked? She sniffed conspicuously, eyes narrowing in recognition.
Elswidth looked over her shoulder, “why yes it is, how did you know?” Her cats eyes open wide, drinking in every scrap of light. Margaret’s dirty shift and shuffling gait stirred up dust in the hall, each speck twinkling in the light of the full moon from the common room’s skylight. Margaret’s squat and wide form filled the narrow corridor leading into the common room.
“I’d know that sweet, buttery scent anywhere. Did you save any for me?”
“Why would I do that? How else did you expect to make it to Prague unless I used all of him. Look at you, fat as a cow. You would be lucky to make it halfway there.” Elswidth spit on the floor and kicked a dirty shoe into the fire under the caldron.
“Now, sisters, there’s no reason to fight. We have had a good time in London. It has been very, very good to us, hasn’t it?” Selene came down the stairs, staff in hand, followed by three brooms and a couple of old bags festooned with strange locks that resembled demonic mouths. They opened and closed at random, snapping at each other.
Selene was young as witches go, barely a century and looked it. Still lithe, full and sensuous, she filled her sisters with both a hunger and an envy that was easy to see. Her dress, slick, diaphanous, showed her ample bosom and wide hips and it clung possessively to her, looking almost alive. A closer look, might notice its fleshy tone, it silky texture like the skin of a small child or perhaps several small children. Then you might look away.
Her eyes, dark, unpleasant, and cold, had the look of a reptile, replete with slitted eyes and flickering lids. Even with this disturbing feature, her face was like cream, smooth, flawless, the result of bathing in the blood of innocents.
“Yes, Selene, it has been good to us. We must thank Jack for inviting us. Orphanages aplenty, homeless vagrants, the sick and dying who work in the black smoke filled streets of Whitechapel have made our work all too easy.” Elswidth smiled as she thought of how many young ones this orphanage had when they came to work in it nearly a year ago. There were nearly fifty children whose parents died from consumption. Vowing to find them homes, the three women, with impeccable references, set out to reduce the population of the orphanage through what they claimed was a process of finding the children homes in neighboring countries. A third of the children were actually shipped out of the country and were never seen again. The remainder, too weak and sickly to be of any true value laboring anywhere else were rendered for their essential elements.
Margaret called her bag and broom from Selene’s magical wake. As her bag approached, she noticed one of the clasps was unmoving. Grabbing her broom, she hit the bag repeatedly and each blow opened one of the mouths until they were all howling. Once they were all open the bag also opened and she counted the tiny flasks inside. One was missing. Gripping her broom tightly she turned to Selene and lightning leapt from her eyes.
Selene turned at the last second and interposed her staff between the lightning and herself, deflecting it into the room. “Sister, you seem upset?” Her smile belied her pretense of innocence.
“You stole it, didn’t you. The only thing I wanted from this entire trip.”
“It isn’t fair you would keep such a thing to yourself.”
“You could have made your own. You are always going on about how superior your magic is.”
“But it’s so much easier to let you do the heavy lifting, for me.”
“Stop it! Both of you. Don’t you hear what’s going on outside?” Elswidth was stirring the last of the rendered fat into the blood-red elixir in the caldron. “Handle that. This will take at least another ten minutes to be ready.”
“Yes, Sister.”
Selene and Margaret stand still for a moment, and a gentle mist slowly forms at their feet. A slow groaning and creaking begins and the house shudders imperceptibly. The crowd outside the house feels a sinister dread and becomes quiet without knowing why.
Margaret wipes her hand over her face and her glamour of beauty is restored. She looks prim and proper, a headmistress of an orphanage. Selene’s dress of awful flesh, appears instead as a proper frock of black and white satin and she looks like a young woman in the prime of her life.
Margaret opens the door as the nervous bobbie was about to knock. He was very young, a face barely used to shaving. He sported a stylish mustache in order to appear older. His uniform fit snugly; likely a hand-me-down from one of the older constables. His movements and mannerisms indicate he was still not quite used to be obeyed.
“Miss Margaret, I am relieved to find you here. I am empowered to arrest you and bring you in for questioning regarding the murder of Malcolm Little, one of the last of your children to be seen here. Your neighbors accuse you of murder most foul.” His head momentarily looked back at the crowd, as if taking strength from their presence. He could hear the sounds of whistles in the distance and seemed relieved that other police would be along momentarily.
Margaret smile was a well-practiced thing, design to disarm and charm, a kind of smile you can only get with decades of experience evading those who might do you harm. “Constable, that is simply preposterous. Malcolm is here with us this very evening. He will be leaving tonight with us to go to Prague. We have done exactly as we promised to empty this particular orphanage of these wards of the state. We have removed the burden they placed on this community, finding homes for them all. Come inside and see for yourself.”
“No, we shouldn’t have anyone with suspicions to have any further doubts. You are all invited into our sanctuary to see what we have wrought for the children of this part of town.” Selene’s smile beamed over the crowd of ten or twelve onlookers and they slowly moved toward the house. The bobby came into the house past Margaret and saw a well kept, antechamber and hallway that emptied into a common room, with clean and serviceable if not well cared for tables and chairs. Elswidth stood there with a young lad of ten or eleven and the rest of their bags and cloaks.
“Satisfied, constable?” Margaret voice was less pleasant than before.
“I am sorry I doubted, but I had to be sure.” The constable brow was furrowed as if he were puzzled by something but wasn't sure what it was. Then he realized what it was. Where was their carriage. Surely, if they were leaving tonight, they would require transport.
Before he could ask, he was interrupted by the honeyed sound of Selene’s voice. She had ushered them into the common room and was now standing behind the group. “Such a dutiful gentleman and conscientious citizenry should be rewarded, don't you think, Sisters?” Elswidth eyes flickered with mischief. She held out her hand and her broom flew into her grip.
“Wha” was all the constable could mutter before the room was suddenly ablaze. Selene’s hands were contorted into the ritual signs of flames. Elswidth’s hand gestured with the primal sign of fear, overwhelming fear; coupled with the burgeoning realization of what they were seeing, the townsfolks were all but paralyzed, their vocal cords unable to even tremble, their bladders voided. Speechless, one made the sign of the cross.
Margaret reached under her dress and pulled forth a wicked dagger; before the constable could speak again, a crescent of silver flashed in the full moonlight and his blood filled the very air, splashing the frozen townsfolk in this crimson bounty. Her clawed hand formed a binding of hideous strength; without touching him, she held him up in the air as if he were light as a feather. Carving his beating heart from his chest, she dropped his body onto the floor as her demon bag ran over to her its mouths open and eagerly accepting the steaming heart.
“Am I forgiven, dear Margaret?” Selene walked past the now burning townspeople whose silent screams filled the house, joining in with those of the children who once lived there. The sounds seeping into the very walls.
“Of course, dearest Sister. The heart of Jack the Ripper was a one of a kind prize, but the heart of an honest man and a dozen fools is a close second.” Margaret was still angry but the heart of the constable would make a fine youth reagent, and the bound souls of the townspeople could be harvested and distilled for their next disguises they would need in Prague.
They were going to be disguised as artists and live among the art community. They would need young and beautiful bodies. There were several to chose from in the room. She would forgive Selene, for now. She was too powerful to confront today, but Margaret was a patient witch. It was how she caught Jack the Ripper. She would catch Selene off-guard, sooner or later. Elswidth pets her demon bag and packs it onto her broom. Her eyes reflecting the dying embers of the locals, she cackles to her sisters, “Prague awaits.”
As the roof collapses in the terrible fire, people outside the house trying to keep the conflagration from spreading, see three shadows flicker past the bilious moon, the flash of silver buckle mouths opening and closing in its pearlescence. Only once the three of them are gone, do the screams of the damned bleed from the burning ruin and resound for hours in the alleys of Whitechapel.
Flying Potion © Thaddeus Howze 2012, All Rights Reserved
