Saturday 29 December 2012
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Auspices In Thuggery
Ron Koppelberger
Auspices in Thuggery
“The pittance of a new raiment, an allay in ash and blood for the soul of your secret conference.” The Vampire bothered a chaste look and seized rouge by the arm.
“ Tantalize me no more by the will of your accusation.” he whispered in perfumed breaths. Rouge hastened to amend his proposal to the Vampire. “The very child of humanity is in subscription to the bond of mortal ghost, give me your gift.” he spoke in dreamy anticipation of the evil he could allay himself to with the immortal pact. The Vampire tapped his finger against Rouge’s scalp as he trailed his hairline.
“ The yield of bedlam is the slandered by which you live and in graces of great mystery and modesty the rack and ruin of your spirit have confessed a tithe to our gain, nevertheless the marriage is to ought.” The Vampire paused and considered Rouge Unholy for a moment, he was clever and to that end he knew better than to invite his courtesy to seasons of desolation.
Chewing Foil
Ron Koppelberger
Chewing Foil
She reserved the expectation of blood for her evening tide triplet, symphonies of scarlet and fuzzy decrees of sated triplet, blood, blood, blood. Unfortunately she needed the temper of foil, chewing in electric passions of repugnant surrender. Sprayed by the baptisms of blood denied, a thirst unquenched, a dry bone dust desert.
The vampire chewed the foil as she existed in a nimbus of acquiescent accident. A measure of blood for a touch of tinfoil. She thanked the angels of abstinence for her tinfoil and willed the world to revolve in dry gulps of evermore mercy, mercy for the average bond between man and sustenance, between curses and gods blessings, between demons and angels, between heaven and hell, night and day, sunshine and complete desolation.
In resolute suffering she thought tinfoil. The gospels of flavor and tinfoil, gnawing potluck temperance and the will to span the gulf between human and vampire, in knowledge of tinfoil, in ascending jawbone chaw and chewing considerations of necessity. Her salvation and sway, the rhythms of tinfoil.
The Veil Of Sleep
Ron Koppelberger
The Veil Of Sleep
She was by the edge of a great glassy pond, partially dressed and bathing her fatigued body with the fresh spring water, her reflection cried to the gods in shadow light, to be of the caste, the vampire laden unto the task of feeding, sleeping and even bathing. She sang a lullaby as she bathed, something her mortal mother had taught her,
“Clean about little one
The day will come little one
When the seams and stitch
Of a forgotten dream will
Bring you all that it seems
All in all clean.”
She was dressing in the dream when from the corner of her vision the silhouette of a creature appeared. Startled she dressed and stood away from the edge of the pond. “What is this…..?” she spoke aloud. The sky sang songs of evening tide dread in that silhouette, in that great goblin of a beast that had found her in a moment of weakness. She prepared herself for the fight that would ensue when the great beast came to her. It was fire red and smelled strongly of brimstone. It’s horns were great appendages growing from it’s forehead and it’s teeth were pointed and dripping saliva. She watched as it plodded closer to her whispering, whispering.“Sin, I come to collect what is mine by the right of those who feed on vampire and wolf, by the right of we who have the steadfast hold on dreams and nightmares, we who hold the key to your salvation as well as your damnation. I come for you Sin, in this dream of dreams as a messenger and the spirit that will take you to the test.” he whispered with a lashing tongue and fangs that sang the song of everlasting pain.
“But you are no vampire beast and I shall not succumb to your whim or your test!” she said with a touch of rage in her voice.
“By seasons of betrothed calm and lessons of rapture you will come to me Sin, for the blood, the blood of the condemned and the taste that lies within you. By my eyes and yours!” he commanded as he moved closer to Sin. She stepped back a few paces and drew her dagger, the pass between them filled with a dank fog and sin coughed at the stench of rotting flesh.
“You are dead beast, if you are to test me then how will you do it, you’re not a living thing, how will you do it?” she yelled at the roiling mist around her. His voice echoed in the fog and smoke.
“I will test you in accord with the vampires of old, the vampires of old my dear…to the blood of a lamb and the innocence of a babe!” his voice said closer to her now. The sky filled with the light of a thousand suns in her dream and the trees looked as if they were in flames. The beast glowed a bright crimson and maroon as he loomed closer to the edge of the pond. She could hear him breathing, he was panting now and the heat he was generating filled the space between them. “You will be mine!” he spoke into her ear, “You will be mine Sin!” She drew the silver dagger she had near her hip and thrust blindly into the glowing smoke. The sun blazed and the beast screamed in mortal agony as the blade penetrated it’s flesh. Shadows and silhouettes filled the smokey flames around them and the beast fell to the ground defeated by the one action that Sin had guaranteed him. “You will die now!” Sin said in the dream as the beast faded to nothing and the night horizon returned with inky blue velvet and the twinkle of a thousand stars.
Sin fell to her knees and prayed to the elders, the vampires of her youth and in that dream of praying she found respite with the truth of who she was, what she was and where she belonged. She knew she would never be anything but a vampire, Agile Sin the wash of a thousand dreams and the wish of a lonely vampire, and she dreamed until she awoke, and when she awoke she found a few sprigs of dandelion weed clutched in her palm smelling green and new. Like the fresh cut flowers of a new day and a new beginning.
The flowers stained her fingertips and she tasted the bloom, it was in patches close to her. The stain of crimson drizzled gray and black on the grass as a remembrance of her dream, had it been real? What of the test? She tasted blood and the sensation revived her and made her ready for the evening hunt, except for dreams and nightmares she had no care in the world except to fulfill her destiny as her caste demanded.
The night sky lay like a blanket across the landscape as Sin made her way to the village common and her food, the sweet taste of warm blood would cradle her in it’s ecstasy and give her a reason to move from today into the promise of tomorrow. She sang again,
“Patient vapors hold the
Ceaseless plumage of a raven in
Designs of ancient taboo
And shadows alive unto the twilight of a new evening
Dream and the way of wandering hearts given the
Will of the night and the taste of a tear in silence and blood.”
Saturday 15 December 2012
Under Cover
Ron Koppelberger
Under Cover
His men were background visions of greasy green and sprays of moss, shadowed in silhouette they shared an uncommon commitment to the yield of a good cook fueled by the eagles promise of glory. The cage rattled in the jungle clearing.
The locals had the rudiments of civilization in the form of machetes and bowie knives, they had been used in the construction of the cage. The Eagle had supplied both of those items to the village in exchange for the contents of the cage.
Suds grumbled to the rear and the black and white reality of the cage moved him forward, his momentum carrying him to the edge of the cage. Suds lifted the burlap cover and screamed like a banshee; a moment later he lay motionless on the trampled ground. Eagle thought of cosmic travelers and the ultimate rifle. His expression was grimly determined.
With a test of wont, the need for what lay ahead he waved Quay forward to the cage. Quay snubbed the coincidence that fate had dealt Suds as he crawled forward a long blade between his teeth. The Eagle watched as Quay trespassed the boundary of destiny. Moving in to the clearing he took a wide berth of Suds lifeless body as he moved to the opposite side of the cage. Shifting the burlap a few inches, he peered into the cage. The cage shook and quivered beneath the burlap and Quay gasped inaudibly as he collapsed in a heap of convulsing camouflage and war paint.
In unison and fear the three remaining men fled back down the dirt path to the hummer that had driven them to the edge of the path. The Eagle barely noticed as a cloud cast a dark silhouette across the jungle hammock, blocking the few spears of sunshine that ventured the balmy jungle shadow. Eagle moved forward, “The value of a good hunt,” he said aloud as he pulled back the burlap covering, “….is as good as the hunter.” The jungle echoed with his screams as he found his treasure and his death.
Lecture Hall Flows
Ron Koppelberger
Lecture Hall Flows
The professor rambled on with the remains of a lesson on incarnate manifestations; Nell had taken the course, metaphysical doctrine, on a whim, the notion that a class on ghosts and ghoulies would be an easy three credits had been the essence of his motivation.
The professor stood beneath the bright yellow fluorescents near an ancient wood scared podium. The lights in the auditorium were dim, flickering and the current flowed to the lights above the professor in ample supply, giving him an ethereal glow.
“………..this leads us to the incarnation of demons.” the professor explained. Suddenly transformed, Nell scratched the scales on the back of his hands and belched a great roaring gout of blood, “ darn it,…..” he said as he clawed at the stain on his vest, “what a mess.” Distant in contemplation he thought about the lecture hall flow and the manifestation of tobacco dreams and the cool dry burn of a drag. The students screamed and the professor pulled the fire alarm, running with flailing arms and wobbly legs. Nell sighed and took out his lunch bag, the bologna sandwich fit neatly into his mouth as something akin to coal smoke poured from his nose. Oblivious, Nell thought, Wonder if I can score a date with that cute redhead in physics class as the beating wings of eternity shaped the lesson plan.
Lusty Cares
Ron Koppelberger
Lusty Cares
Truck felt a tense prickling across the nape of his thick bullish neck; he thought in waves of scarlet, a charcoal assessment, cauldrons and warlock amore’. He had memorized the invocation,
“Wills and thrills
Deem it in dreams
And tender seams
Give me yer turn and
Accept the magic’s
We burn.”
As he said the word burn he drew the Gillette stiletto across his hand. A fine spray of crimson followed the shaving blade in a misty arc as it splattered Daisy. They waited and measured the moments by the puddle of scarlet tears beneath Trucks palm. Truck touched the edge of the blade and looked at Daisy. She was leaning back against the sofa staring at Truck, she whispered,” Come to me love…..,” Truck smiled and moved toward the couch. His palm print stained the beige cushion with red smears as he scooted up close to Daisy.
“ ye got some homespun for daddy Daisy?” Truck said as he kissed her full on the lips.
“ I got the best in beasts baby.” she sighed as his hand caressed her thigh.
The light grew dim and a gentle rumbling rain began to pour in cascades and buckets. Truck knew it was raining inside the house, nevertheless he was entranced by Daisys passionate response.
The air hummed and rumbled as Daisy called out in the throes of passion,
“Rage and downy allure
Come and be sure.”
Truck screamed a moment later as the house tore in two, a division of light and terror, of sylvan egress and whiskered demons in bloody raptures of Canada Gold and crimson smeared cushion. Something huge, unbidden, unbridled and ancient reached through the rend in space, the torn half of Trucks space. Truck fought and screamed as the phantasm consumed him, as the specter of forever told a tale of obsidian shadow and gray ghost. He slipped and turned in tumult as the air closed around him; an instant later he was gone.
Daisy apologized to the empty space where Truck had been and sighed with a tired requiem. The day turned twilight and Daisy became a picture in ash as she walked through the shadows between what had been and what was a new world of contrasting wonder.
Sunday 2 December 2012
Symbiotic
Ron Koppelberger
Symbiotic
The fullness of the day was necessary to the ecology of Avion; Axion concealed his disdain with the piercing ache of sunshine showers and daffodil dreams. Avion whistled and hummed an old gospel hymn and Axion cringed. The vaguely occult twinkling of darkness touched axions lips as he muttered a curse. Avion slapped Axions hand in a high five gesture. “Cheer up Axion, it’s a beautiful day.”
Axion grimaced as his teeth ground in irritation. When Avion bent down to pluck a rose from the gentle rambling rose bush the sound of a blue jay screamed overhead. Axion bent in synchronous compliment to Avion. Axion caught the misty bouquet of Attar as Avion waved the perfect blossom under his nose. Avion smiled, “Come on brother, be good.” Axion chuckled and smiled back sheepishly. As they carried the newspaper into the house, hand in hand, the postal matron drove by and stared with a bemused fascination. The Siamese twins, the pair, one body and two very wonderfully functioning heads, turned and waved at the mail car as she drove by.
Custom Built
Ron Koppelberger
Custom Built
The clearing was secured by the pines and the briar scrub of a sylvan wild, the only egress a footpath, dusty, well traveled and foretelling the end of the trail.
Sable Style stood poised in the center of the clearing, surrounded by the denizens of Houghton Common. He smiled and paced the clearing, back and forth, back and forth. The crowd tittered in anticipation and Sable screamed, “ Tis in the company of dreamers and saints, by the lords of magic and the love of those who dare to embrace, watch and be amazed!” He crouched in readiness and then he threw himself to the ground. Plumes of dust flew up around him as he beat the dirt with his flailing limbs. The crowd swayed and whispered as Sable grunted and convulsed. Finally, his excited condition abated and he, once again, stood before them. The crowd oooohhhhhed and ahhhhaaaaaed for a moment as Sable stretched his arms upward. His checks were smudged with dirt and he had grown a pair of horns, twelve inches each. His cloths hung in tatters about his frame. “ The blessings of Houghton be tenfold with the mystery of the horned angel; you’ll prosper and the needs of a generation shall be met.” He sang in softly sibilant tones. The crowd hungry for the promise hoisted the demon onto their shoulders and carried him in bond to Houghton Common.
In the rise of Sable Style, Sunday gave notice and the towns fathers, the merit of a generation in desperate need, unbosoming wont, were tried as common criminals and taken to the gallows post.
Sable, in reflection, spoke to himself in conclusion, “They found the law of beast and demon for the wont of a moment, a breath of fire, a living sin at the cost of their souls and the wont of a generation.” In retrospect he realized he was custom built by the age of ignorance.
Round Robin
Ron Koppelberger
Round Robin
Her smile faded as he whispered in gentle coquette,” There’s a fire in the loft love, a fire in the loft.” He watched as she struggled to identify the whispering source of her fear. He watched as she grimaced, teeth bared in fright,
“YYYYYIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE”, she screamed through clenched teeth. “FFFiiiiiiirrrrreeeeeeeee.” her face contorted into creased lessons of fright and her expression became a contagious rhythm of flowing fear. The room shifted and the crowd churned to the front door, Screaming surges trampling, crushing in waves of patent leather and stiletto heels, in waves of bloody stomped silk, stumbling ails and tuxedo stain. They surged and pressed and the demon smiled in distracted interest as the broken bloody bodies of a dozen lay heaped near the door. “Round robin, round robin,” he hissed in sibilant appreciation.
Tuesday 27 November 2012
Primal Smoke
Ron Koppelberger
Primal Smoke
In the distance a flock of crows screamed and squawked, faraway and forlorn with the rolling tide of white. Rankin turned and moved back retracing his steps to the front porch. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted and Fern alsomes dogs barked, “Probably Nothin.” he said aloud to himself, “Probably Nothin.”. The tethers of a cautious farmer bound him to the front porch, he could have sworn he had heard something else, something long forgotten and alone with the fog. Maybe he was just being superstitious, “Probably nothing.” he said again in a whisper.
He had sensed that something was off balance in the yard but he wasn’t sure what. The moan, what about the moan, he had heard a moaning sound coming from the edge of the yard nearest the field. Standing on the worn wooden planks of the front porch he squinted into the fog toward the sound, there it was again, a moan, he knew it was someone moaning. Rankin rubbed his chin feeling the stubble against the tips of his fingers. There it was again, a moan. “Who’s there?” he shouted into the dense fog. The mists parted for an instant and Rankin saw a flash of red and blue. What’s that he thought, it had looked like the bloody face of a man, dressed in blue coveralls.
He thought back for a moment to the curse, it couldn’t be. The curse had been Cross Corners answer to all of the strange happenings that go with any small town. The Curse, they had blamed Leonora Hapscans pregnancy on the curse and a myriad of other incidents that had gone without explanation in Cross Corners. There it was again, his face in the fog bright red and torn to reveal bone and muscle. Was he seeing things? Was this the curse come to life. He heard the moan again then silence, an eternity of silence and waiting. “show yourself ghost!” he knew it was just a ghost, it had to be.
About two years earlier two men from Castings International had come into town. They had been unwelcome visitors and the town had challenged them to get their asses out of the Cross, but they had persisted wanting to buy up the fields of wheat that made up the terrain of Cross Corners.
Evan Wigstan had said that they were trespassing on his property when he shot them both dead and no one in town had questioned it, but things started happening after that. The local sheriff had been killed in a multiple car pile up a week later and Angel Contern had hung himself the following Tuesday. The local bar and grill burned down two months later and the next years crop had been a bust for the first time in seventy years. The credited all of these things to a curse poor old Evan and his hot temper.
There it was again, a moaning sound then heavy plodding footsteps through the yard. “What do ya want?” he shouted into the thick fog. The answer came back in the form of a gravely rasp.
“We want yer property Rankin, we want yer property and what belongs to us is for us to take!” The figure in blue overalls moved into view.
Rankin gasped, his face was a leaking series of torn flesh, bleeding and leaking the graveyards rot. The front of his overalls were stained a bright red and maroon, trails of intestine lay in tangled heaps about his feet. “We Want what is ours Rankin and we aim to take it by force if need be!” Rankin inhaled a deep breath of air, sour and full of decay. “We aim to take what rightfully belongs to us!” The other man moved into view and Rankin screamed. His face had been blown almost completely away and a tiny spurt of blood spayed from what was left of his jawbone as he pointed at Rankin, “What is our, what is ours Rankin!” sounded more like “aaaahhhhaaat ith ourrssssss.” as his shattered jaw moved at an angle.
Rankin stepped back and fumbled for the doorknob, “Yer only ghosts, yer only ghosts!” he said as panic began to overwhelm him. The door fell open behind him and he stumbled backward into the house, “Yer only ghosts!”
The two men moved up onto the porch after Rankin, “What is ours Rankin, What is ours Rankin!” Rankin slammed the door shut in the first mans face. Looking down to the edge of the door he saw a small knot of intestine closed in the door frame. “Oh Jesus god!” he gasped. The door smashed inward and the two stumbled in grabbing Rankin by the hair and hauling him out into the rows of wheat.
The next day they found Rankin on a pole in the midst of his wheat, waves of saffron and clear blue skies calling out gods name. He had been tied to the pole and his eyes were missing, as if he had seen something too terrible to convey. The coroner for Cross corners noted the blood on Rankings cloths as an unusual happenstance. Other than his eyes he was free of wounds. They had tested the blood at the labs in town and it had come back as belonging to something that had been dead a long time.
Ultimately they gave credit to the curse and the ghosts that seemed to haunt Cross Corners.
The Horizon's Edge
Ron Koppelberger
The Horizon’s Shadow
Reverend Hollow said a prayer for the cattle farmers, “…let this terrible incident be the end of it, all in all lord give us peace in this a dark hour!” he spoke in a commanding voice near the corpses of several of the cattle. By the condition of the cows he knew it was just beginning. The cattle were being attended to with heavy equipment and the local veterinarian Locus Flame was examining one of the animals.
“Looks crystalline…..” he said noting the clear mottling on the cows flank.
“What coulda done that doc?” said Ben Listed the unfortunate owner of the cattle.
“I dunno, maybe some kind of chemical, I’m not sure.” he said as he moved one of the torn folds of flesh.
“Did you notice their eyes Doc, all missing. Do you think it was kids or some kind of aliens or something Doc?” Ben asked.
“I don’t think it was aliens Ben, but maybe a cult or something. I’m not sure if any animal or sane human would’ve done this.” Locus explained.
The reverend looked at Locus and said, “God help us, god help us if this thing gets to our loved ones. It’s something dark, unbidden, from the edge of twilight Locus. In all of my years as a reverend I’ve never seen anything like it.” he whispered more to himself then Locus.
Later that evening near midnight tide a dark cloud formed over the Wise. The air became chill and damp as if expecting something cold and ancient, dark and forbidding. Most of the township were sleeping by then with the exception of Locus who was analyzing some of the crystallized blood from one of the cattle.
Locus scratched his head and rubbed his eyes, he must be imagining it. He had placed a sample of the blood under the microscope and adjusted the focus. He was seeing it but it didn’t make sense. The blood cells were dark and clotted near the center, they formed a design almost a star in shape. Locus rubbed his eyes again and yawned. What could have done this, he knew it wasn’t any compound he’d ever seen. Just as he was about to give in for the night the Wise’s tornado sirens began blaring and somewhere near the south end of town there was a giant rush of wind, not exactly a tornado but fast and inky in substance.
Locus watched as the lights blinked on and off for a moment, then went dark. There was a low hum coming from outside and it seemed to be building to a crescendo. Locus locked the lab door and went to the window. A cool dank air was rushing in under the door frame and the smell of moss filled the air. Something ancient had come to Needle Wise, something from the darkest realms of the abyss. Locus pushed a chair in front of the door and waited.
On the North end of town Reverend Hollow was praying, he knew it was the end, he knew something had finally come for mankind, something that they would have little hope against. Crosses across the copse, spittle and holy smoke across the dust laden path didn’t dissuade the wrath of distant elders, distant vistas in crimson and scarlet woe. He had naively believed he could stop it on his own. The book, he had only read two words aloud from that damn book “CRYSTALINE CASTE!” and he had known the mistake when his nose had begun bleeding uncontrollably onto the incantation. He was a man of god and it was his job to secure such things, and he hadn’t known it’s power, it’s wont and passion for the soul of man. He had prayed and searched the heaven’s for an answer and when none had come he cried knowing an ancient evil would steal the Wise.
The Caste came in rushes of wild wind and dark smoke filling the landscape and denizens of Needle Wise with an inescapable fear. The sirens blared their warning to no avail as the town was absorbed by the great Crystalline Caste.
Ben stared at the bottle of whiskey in his hand and unscrewed the lid. Taking a swallow he grunted as the warm Scotch rolled down his throat. Tilting the bottle back again he gulped the liquid with a relish abandon. If he were drunk it’d be better he thought. “To tha land of nod my friends, to the land of nod!” he yelled at the noise as it approached the farmhouse.
The house shook as something huge slammed up against it and Ben screamed as a grayish fog rolled under the door. He gulped the whiskey down and stood bracing himself as the thick viscous smoke roiled around his ankles. The pain was immediate and his flesh became solid crystalline from his ankles spreading upward toward his face. “ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAA, HEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPP MMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEE!” he yelled as the smoke overwhelmed him. In the end the smoke, the terror didn’t spare him his eyes only leaving two empty staring sockets where they had been.
In waves the creeping anomaly moved across the Wise stealing what it needed to gain control, to break the barrier between here and there, feeding on the living and taking the eyes of everything it touched.
Reverend Hollow looked at the book, he knew the Caste was coming, the Crystalline Caste, a great beast and it’s torrent of death. He knew he would have to close the gate, the gate to what he thought? To hell, was it the gate to hell and damnation? He read from the book. It said the eyes of the chosen one will repeal the beast and it’s warrant otherwise all will be lost if the Crystalline Caste is loosed. The eyes of the chosen one, who was the chosen one? He prayed and waited, if he were the chosen one he’d have to stop the terrible conclusion, the end of time and the world…he had to stop the Crystalline Caste, it had been his blood on the book and he had brought it forth, it was up to him to stop it.
Reverend Hollow waited and in the end the great beast accepted his vision, the vision of a holy man caste by god seeing the light, what it needed, what it desired in great passionate waves of wont. In the end the reverend was blinded, his life spared and the remainder of the wise left to wonder at the carnage that had come to their little town.
Years later the reverend would think back to that moment in awe and shock, what had he seen when the Caste had touched him, a vision of hell, utter darkness and the shade of blackness that waits just beyond the horizon. He knew the Caste would return someday, but for now he kept the book hidden and safe from those who would have them return to conquer the world
Sink Hole
Ron Koppelberger
Sinkhole
Moody was oblivious, eyes nearly closed, slivers of twilight sky leaking through to fill the void in his mind. He would ride the broken earth, the soils of encroaching perdition. He would sling low, six gun on his hip, breaths of Pabst Blue Ribbon tingeing his lips, a ride on the way to places bidden by dark shadows and bread crumb trails. “Yeeeeeeeeehhhhhaaaaaa.” he yelled up as the hole deepened.
The chair swayed in uneasy rhythm with the crumbling earth and he moved down, down to the depths of dramatic wandering pass, the sky becoming smaller until it was nearly a pinpoint of azure beckoning. Down, down and further down, finally he reached the bottom, the base of the depression, the center of the earth and close to the devils hearth. Whereupon a demon, winged in crimson, flew across the gulf and came to rest next to Moody’s chair.
“ What hath the lot of selfish wont brought you Moody?” Moody thought for a moment before answering.
“ A moment to trip up the lot of fate demon, I’m here early for the sake of a distraction and chance, chance before the last peal of infinity, chance for redemption, chance for a pitchfork in your backside devil.”
The gentle rush of a beguiling blue light filled the pit and Moody was transported to heaven where he was received in passionate embrace. An angel was heard to comment,” He has the temper of a tiger and the heart of a lion.”
Passion In My Evermore
Ron Koppelberger
Passion in my Evermore
“What of the springtide fray Ash, what of the hunters? You know the creed always hunt for fresh blood in the spring. If they catch us together it’ll be death for both of us.” Rapture said motioning to the east.
“They won’t come here Rapture, they don’t know about us.” Ash replied trying to convince her to stay. Rapture thought for a moment as she ran her hands through her long sandy locks. She was pregnant with ashes child, she would have to find shelter, the vampire ancients hated the wolf and her trespass wouldn’t be forgiven. She had to leave, find asylum somewhere in the west. She had heard about a convent that sheltered those who had made trespasses against the vampires. The sands of desolation and despair overwhelmed her for a moment and she went to ash finding comfort in his arms. “I have to leave ash.” she hadn’t told him of the pregnancy.
Deciding to travel together to the convent, at least that’s what Ash believed they’d be doing, was his inspiration, Rapture had other plans.
They sang long into the evening dusk and when they had said the last they slept. Rapture awoke to the sound of distant owls and flittering droplets of rain as it pattered against the cottage window glass. Quietly she packed and slipped out the door making her way to the western path. She’d have a few hours to travel before the dawn horizon stole the landscape.
Ash awoke just before dawn, Rapture’s side of the bed was cold and the door stood slightly ajar, she was gone, his love and laughter, his days of long refuge in her arms gone. The woods to the East of the cottage were full of loud shouts and approaching vampires on the hunt, she had been right, they had come this far and if they discovered him he’d be killed.
The yells grew louder and the chant of vampires in brood screamed the wont of blood and anger; they’d be bound by their opaque cloaks and facial covering, vulnerable to the approaching daylight, still he’d be no match for them. It sounded like they were twenty or thirty strong. Following the ally beside the cottage he moved to the north circling around to find the western path where Rapture would be.
Ash moved west toward the convent and his love. The hunters would be on horseback and so Ash had initiated the change, growing long gray fur and sharp teeth, it would be faster he thought and easier for him to hide if they did catch up with him.
The day wore on for ash and near noon he caught a wild goose and devoured it. His muzzle still coated in the gooses blood he ran west hoping to draw closer to Rapture. The sounds to the East were distant and unrelenting, they were moving this way far from their haunts and hideaways. Ash knew they had been found out otherwise they’d have turned back, they never relented when it came to forbidden union. The legend held them fast and sure, he knew they’d kill them both if they were captured.
The vampires believed the end would come from the marriage of wolf and vampire, pregnant desires with teeth beneath they’d say, chains to the destruction of both castes. Ash paused near a clear stream and sniffed the air quietly, lilacs and cool air tinged by the wild forest daisy. He drank from the stream and looked at his reflection wondering how Rapture could love a wolf, the fear of farmers and men, strong tempers and rare breed like her.
His dreams would foretell the promise of their union, he knew they had to be together, they had to share the bond of wife and husband, they had to he thought in new courage and faith.
Near the edge of night-tide as the sun settled into the horizon he arrived at the convent. Angels with teeth, both wolf and vampire. The fires glowing around the outside square were bright and inviting yet there were guard, cautious knowing the hunt would come their way. Tethers held several large stallions in place and two men in dark attire approached him. He stood in the shadows unclothed from the change. “I’m here for Rapture, she may have arrived for your shelter this morning. I am a wolf in need of clothing as I have made the change back from my long journey.” One of the men disappeared for a moment and another threw him a pile of clothing.
“Put the cloths on and show yourself!” he commanded. Ash did as he was told. “We know what you have brought with you, the hunters are close.” Stepping out of the shadow with his hand outward he apologized.
“I am sorry for the trouble, if you’ll get Rapture for me we will be on our way.”
Looking to the far side of the clearing he saw Rapture climb onto one of the stallions while leading the other his way. “We are ready for the war to come with the hunters wolf, leave us and we will stay to fight the hunters, take your wife and leave!” Rapture brought the horse around to ash and he climbed up on to it with practiced ease.
“We have to go Ash.” Rapture said with a nod to the west. They tell me there are fields of wheat and saffron to the west, and asylum for us and our child to be. Ash looked at her lovingly for a moment understanding that she was with his child.
“You are my passion in evermore sweet Rapture.” The war would stay behind them and ash prayed for the convent and his destiny.
The Plague
Ron Koppelberger
The Plague
(Love in the Rebirth of Hope)
Spate walked into the background, the remnants of what they had left behind. Dusty cars and old plastic shopping bags drifted and lay unattended by their former owners. They had all left when the plague had blossomed. At first a few died then they started dropping like….like what he thought, like water balloons. Plop and splash in leaking crimson buckets, they fell apart at the seams bleeding from the eyes and ears and finally from their pours. Squish, splat and into the dirt, plop against the concrete walks and streets, eventually they all fell. The news had said, “Temporary……a temporary problem with the Scarlet Pox.” Most believed they could outrun the plague, some died in their cars, some died miles away from home, mostly they all just died and bad, as bad as it gets.
He walked the streets of Baltimore with casual abandon, spitting on the sidewalk occasionally and singing out loud, “This is the end, my only friend the end, this the end.” he sang as the old Doors tune filled him with a temporary remorse for what had been lost. The row houses and cobbled streets stretched into the distance and barely, just barely the scent of decay.
He paused for a moment and looked across the street to Baltimore’s Civic Arena. On a whim he crossed the street and the huge parking area leading to the triple set of doors. He peered into the glass doors and saw disarray. There were scattered popcorn boxes and empty booths circling the arenas stage. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. The odor of rotting flesh was faint and old. “In the fold of priests and fools alike.” he said aloud to the empty halls. There were pennants and piles of T-shirts heaped against the brick walls and in the midst a single sleeping bag with the arenas last tenant.
He was gray and black, mummified and quite dead, there was a pistol laying next to him and a suspicious brown stain speckled the walls near his head. Spate paused for a moment and prayed.
There were two steel doors leading to the auditorium, Spate stared at the doors for a moment and pushed them open. The air inside was stale with old decay and death. There were rows of cots with the remnants of the sick, all dead. Spate closed the doors and returned to the parking lot. There were a row of stores further down the street and the noonday sun shone brightly from that direction. Follow the sun Spate the west is the best Spate
Spate went into the drug store on a whim. Maybe ther’ll be something cool he thought with an amazing thirst. The shelves were nearly empty and there were splashes of red on the counter where someone had sneezed. He went to the dairy section, it was small but a cause for a grin, the back up generators were still functioning. He grabbed a bottle of OJ from the shelf and guzzled it down in two gulps.
Spate wiped his mouth and went to the rear of the store where the Vitamins and athletes foot powder were.
Pausing, he surveyed a horror in tune with the desolation of the country. He was splayed hands outward feet tied together with lengths of variegated yarn, blue and brown, someone had bound his hands to the top edge of the shelf and he hung there crucified by unknown shadows. Spate sidestepped his feet, askew and angled to the edge of the isle.
The day wore on and the sun shone through the plate glass at the front of the store; mottled sunshine and the remnants of a coke, Spate sat there at the front of the store leaning against the counter sun illuminating his tired face with the silhouette of a few flies and an empty cloudless horizon.
Spate marked the passing seconds and minutes by the shadow of the sun against the tiled floor. By his best estimate it was four or five in the afternoon.
Standing he stretched and yawned, the jewelry counter held a revolving display of watches and crucifixes. He went over to the Plexiglas display and knocked it to the floor. It bounced without breaking; staring down at the case he noticed a tiny rainbow of light shining through the thick plastic. Grabbing the case again he slammed it down into the floor with a great heave and a yell, “YYYYAAAAAAAAAA!” The plastic cracked and he stomped on it a few times breaking it open and scattering the watches across the floor. Reaching into the shattered plastic he grabbed a silver Timex; it had a simple elastic band and was waterproof. The watch read four-thirty-eight. Slipping it on his wrist he went to the front of the store and looked out the double glass doors. The sky was an azure in the late afternoon; the day wore like it was his and his alone. He wondered for a moment and the thought was a terrible conclusion to an almost empty afternoon, was he alone, the only one left alive, he knew it was possible. He pushed the doors open and moved out onto the sidewalk.
A stray newspaper flittered in pieces across the street. There were a few cars lining the edge of the two lane blacktop. The closest one was a gray Camry; its hood was up and there were the bodies of a man and a woman slumped over in the front seat. There was a portable cloths rod in the backseat, cloths, suits and dresses even a few t-shirts hung on plastic hangers from the rod.
Spate went to the Camry and opened the rear passenger door. A whoosh of hot air rushed out as the reek of decay overwhelmed him. The couple were glued to the seats by leaking pools of congealed blood and strangely enough the flies that swarmed from the car were more interested in the spilled milkshakes that had dried across the dash than the couple.
Spate closed the door as quick as he had opened it. He had been thinking about a change of cloths. There must be a clothing store around here he thought as he looked up the empty street.
Spate made his way further into town. He had come from the southern side of End house Street from the Baltimore countryside. He had passed a few houses and a gas station and there hadn’t been any signs of life, not even a stray cat or dog. The idea that there might be other survivors was the notion he held on to as the hours wore on, there must be others he had thought, instead he had been greeted by the ghost of a once thriving city……empty streets and the crimson splashed bodies of those who had died in the plague.
Spate moved further down the street until he found a clothing store. Bay worth Tuxedos, he climbed inside through a smashed plate glass window. Inside there were mannequins dressed for weddings, parties and ceremonies that would never be. The store was dark in shadowy echos of what had been, what was. Spate grabbed a ruffled shirt and a gray jacket. Stripping off his t-shirt he put the cloths on. The ruffles followed the button-line of the shirt and the jacket was a French cut tailored for someone much larger than him. He stood there for a moment, silent conscious realization, he knew he was alone. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed; he’d have to find a place to sleep before long, he was famished and dog-tired.
Sitting down against the concrete wall beneath the window he sighed and scooped away the glass piled there. He clenched the handful of glass for a moment and thought about the man at the Civic auditorium. A tiny stream of blood ran down his wrist and he flinched letting go of the glass shards. He wouldn’t end up that way, he had to survive and find other survivors, companions on a desolate world, he had to succeed in his quest.
Spate closed his eyes for a moment and slept and dreamed. He was in the auditorium singing, his band was grooving and the crowd was screaming for more when the light went out. The guitars and drums fell silent as did his voice. The auditorium lights came on and they were a bright fluorescent red, illuminating the confused crowd in scarlet. The public address system squawked for a moment and then Jim Morrison’s voice filled the air, “This is the end my friend, my beautiful friend the end.” the song continued and the crowd began to sway as Jim neared the end of the tune. From the back of the auditorium there was a gunshot and the crowd heaved in the direction of the exits, then spate woke up.
Spate looked North toward the center of the Baltimore and for an instant, just the briefest of moments he caught the light and silhouette of a figure moving along the West side of the street. He walked then ran toward the woman making her way up the sidewalk.
The sun shone an orange twilight cloak across the Baltimore cityscape. A gauzy dream in vacant storefronts and abandoned cars. The sounds of both laughter and joyful tears filled the empty spaces around them. They met, running to each other arms outstretched in greeting.
Embracing they knew the promise of a new beginning, they would make it…together. They were survivors and they had finally found each other.
“Thank God!” Spate said as he hugged her. She wiped the tears away from her eyes hesitantly with the back of her palm.
“I thought everyone was dead!” she said in half gasping sobs.
“So did I!” he replied smiling widely. She wore a tan skirt and a pleated top with a name tag attached to it. She was a waitress, or had been and her name was Elaina.
“I’ve been staying over there!” she pointed to a squat brick building with the words “JAYKEMP LIVERY” it looked to be a hotel and a restaurant. They walked hand in hand to the hotel.
Ultimately they would have children and the city of Baltimore would hold them close to what had been with the promise of what would be again, someday through love, laughter and moments given them both as the mother and father of a new generation, a new world in revolution.
Through all the years they lived and raised eight children and thirty-seven grandchildren they never met another soul on earth, indeed they had been the only survivors of the plague.
Tuesday 23 October 2012
New Books by Ron Koppelberger
Voodoo Hyacinth
Enchanting Stories From The Boneyard
Authored by Ron W KoppelbergerA book of frights, troubled diversions, reigning terror and whispering twilight. These are the things you dream of in the darkest hours of the night. These are the ghosts, the demons, the monsters you love to read about but fear in the farthest reaches of your mind. Come delve into the shadows for a brief moment, explore the dark corners of your mind with this frenzy of fear. Voodoo Hyacinth will bring you to the edge and beyond.Available at Createspace.com/4026131 for $7.99
Sundown Shadows
Horror Stories For The Brave
Authored by Ron W KoppelbergerHorror stories for the evening hours. Take a trip to unbidden shores......travel to lands in shadow and realms of the macabre, dance with ghosts and test the limits of your endurance, let the fear take hold and guide you through the mists, the smoke and the lands of the impossible. Let creatures inhabit your consciousness, strange demons and dreams of eternal life, let the frightening become substance, if only for the briefest of moments. This is what you can expect from Sundown. Available at Amazon.com/4021778 for $10.99
Strange Forest
Poetry and Blood
Authored by Ron W KoppelbergerThe dreams of a vagrant few, illusions in dawns promise and the wont of a solitary truth. Poetry that fills the spirit with wonder and curiosity, these are the moments we often cherish.....brought to life with the dreams of a generation and the aspirations of many, this is the poetry you need to read.
Available at Createspace.com/4000925 for $6.99
Tuesday 18 September 2012
Sunday 16 September 2012
Thresholds and Countless Ravens
Heartbeats and the Sublime
Poetry for the lost. Worlds of gentle rain and bright sunshine, worlds full of shadow and light, these are the lines of careless abandon and the wont of dreamers. Come measure the heartbeats of lovers in a summer shower or the footfalls of a lonesome dreamer in the hours before sunup. These are the jewles of blissful broadcast, the moments we live for, the times we leave behind and so desperately desire, these are heartbeats and the sublime. $7.99 at Createspace.com/3983659.
Poetry for the lost. Worlds of gentle rain and bright sunshine, worlds full of shadow and light, these are the lines of careless abandon and the wont of dreamers. Come measure the heartbeats of lovers in a summer shower or the footfalls of a lonesome dreamer in the hours before sunup. These are the jewles of blissful broadcast, the moments we live for, the times we leave behind and so desperately desire, these are heartbeats and the sublime. $7.99 at Createspace.com/3983659.
Thresholds And Countless Ravens
The realms of illusion and the songs of untold truth, fantasy, desire and pumpkin grins. All told the passion of midnight dreams and Carnival glass done in scarlet.
CreateSpace eStore: https://www.createspace.com/3992086
Western Mystic
Ghosts and mysteries of the west, the desert and it's secrets. The future of a generation.....western mystery and poetry at it's very best. The love of spirits in commune with the sagebrush and cactus flowers, desert decrees of heat and wild dance......desire in cowboy duds...travels through the sands of time and beauty at it's most dangerous, These are the elements of Western Mystic. Available at Createspace.com/3970720
Friday 31 August 2012
Western Mystic
Ghosts and mysteries of the west, the desert and it's secrets. The future of a generation.....western mystery and poetry at it's very best. The love of spirits in commune with the sagebrush and cactus flowers, desert decrees of heat and wild dance......desire in cowboy duds...travels through the sands of time and beauty at it's most dangerous, These are the elements of Western Mystic. Available at Createspace.com/3970720
Ghosts and mysteries of the west, the desert and it's secrets. The future of a generation.....western mystery and poetry at it's very best. The love of spirits in commune with the sagebrush and cactus flowers, desert decrees of heat and wild dance......desire in cowboy duds...travels through the sands of time and beauty at it's most dangerous, These are the elements of Western Mystic. Available at Createspace.com/3970720
Thursday 26 July 2012
Farthermost Dream (Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry)Illusions In Shadow (Flash Fiction)
Illusions In Shadow
Fiction Bound By Dreams
Authored by Ron W Koppelberger
A book of flash fiction daring the momentum of a classic. A world of dreams and elusive spells of wonder combined to create a birth in the imagination of the reader. Shadows and light, the brilliance of the sun and the cool respite of the moon, strange asylums and whispering danger......what comes next? The answer is you, the reader, the explorer of distant horizons and magic drama. These are the elements of Illusion in Shadow.
Available at Createspace.com/3953158 for $7.99
Farthermost Dream
Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry
Authored by Ron W Koppelberger A book of Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry designed to take the reader to distant horizons. Explore the red sands of Mars, travel to the distant reaches of the universe. Go to the next Earth and find exotic adventure. Come imagine wolves and kings in worlds of fantasy. Take a trip to the rings of saturn through measures of passion for the far reaches of the galaxy. Rocket ships and twilight horizons, time travel and dark shadows, aliens and the settlers who make their way on new unexplored worlds, this is the essence of Farthermost Dream.Available at Createspace.com/3948018 for $7.99
Friday 13 July 2012
Books by Ron Koppelberger available to buy at Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger
*Twilight-Tide
Dark Poetry
Authored by Ron W Koppelberger A book of dark poetry for the late hours of the night. Pull the covers tight and light a candle. The world in an evening sky at the edge of twilight, this is poetry for the lost, the wandering, the denizen of late night haunt. Imagine flickering lights, full moons in orange spears of light, the lonely call of the wolf at night or a raven's caw, this is the substance of Twilight-Tide. $7.99 at Amazon.com.
Horror Rush
Horror Stories in Shadowy Light
Authored by Ron W Koppelberger A Book Of Horror fiction for the late hours of the night. Imagine the shadows in dreams of frightening contemplation, imagine a world of light and moonshine illusion, imagine fear at it's best. Pull up a chair and get the candles burning because Horror Rush will set you on edge and thrill you to the core of your soul. These stories were written with the horror enthusiast in mind. The darkness never looked so appealing. $7.99 at Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger.A Butterfly Whispers
Surreal Poetry
Authored by Ron W KoppelbergerCover design or artwork by Ron W Koppelberger A book of waking dreams. A world of illusion and dreams, a world of whispers and gentle song is what this poetry encompases. The sun bidden by the twilights horizon and the edge of a long day waiting for the first breath of eternity. Dreams and surreal imagery fill this book with the hopes and promises of a new day. A Butterfly Whispers will take you to the place you want to be. $6.99 at Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger.
Raven's Blood
Authored by Ron W Koppelberger A Book of dark and dreamlike poetry. Imagine a world of dreams. Imagine a world where shadow and light combine to create an image painted in whispers, in silent contemplation, in dreams of what is and what has been. Imagine a selection of dark poetry that stirs the soul and captures the innermost wont of our desires and aspirations. Raven's Blood is a collection of poetry created in hours of silent contemplation and wonder. Come imagine the world in half-lit splendor and often with just a touch of fear. $5.99 at amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger.The Light In Snake Fuss
Short Fiction
Authored by Ron W Koppelberger A book of dark and sometimes light short fiction. Written with a flair for the poetic and the mysterious. The world of illusion and the world of shadow sometimes merge to form a picture. Painted in hues of sunshine and moolight this collection will stir your soul and give you cause to wonder. The arcane and the new, the unbidden and the bidden this is a fresh collection of thoughts and stories from Ron Koppelberger. $6.99 at Amazon.com/Ron Koppelberger.Saffron Mirage
Surreal Flash Fiction
Authored by Ron W KoppelbergerA Book of surreal Flash Fiction. A mixture of dreams for every occasion. Tales of adventure and horror and everyday existence all in one. Stories with a surreal slant and an eye for the unusual. A bright sky lit by the candent glow of the sun and the half-light of the moon. 50 stories for the curious and the wandering. Available at Createspace.com/3939904
All Books Available at The Kindle Store.
Tuesday 10 July 2012
Saturday 7 July 2012
Wolf Craft Submissions
If you are interested in participating in a great anthology about wolves, wearwolves and lycanthropy send your submissions to Will806095@bellsouth.net. The writer's guidelines can be found at Static Movement under the message board (Wolf Craft). Thanks and have a fantastic day!!
Monday 25 June 2012
Elegant Angels
Ron Koppelberger
Elegant Angels
In Breaths of red wilderness unflawed the beauty of planet 205.9 was unequaled by anything he had ever seen. The flowers in the dense underbrush were a bright orange and the leaves on the trees were red, there were patches of green here and there. The lush jungle tangle was fascinating but he was entirely distracted by the presence of the angels, the elegant angels.They were white with tufted feathers and tall nearly eight feet from the bottoms of their pearly feet to the tops of their feathered heads. They were magnificent and deadly. Their teeth were fanged instruments of death at nearly two feet in length, he thought of Saber Toothed Tigers when he saw them. And their eyes were large bulbous balloons with gold irises in the center. They were truly elegant angels and death to those who bothered them. He remembered hearing about the first explorers who had encountered them. They had been drained of all their blood and placed in giant cocoons, as a spider might do or a caterpillar. The thought gave him chills and he tried to imagine something else.
Elegant Angels indeed, deadly and elegant.
Drawn Close
Ron Koppelberger
Drawn Close
The glass container held a fog of crimson liquid, Edward Lester stared into the murkey depths of the container and grinned. The alien was only partially visible in the swirl of colored water. As he looked into the container two things happened, his eyes took on a curious amber hue and the stream of thoughts running through his mind becme muddled and distant, more like an invading presences consciousness. He grinned again and thought about killing everyone in the lab. He saw himself standing over the bodies of the other lab assistants and he was thin, gray like the alien, dripping the crimson blood of a captive. The idea had just come to him from nowhere, "Ill kill them all!" he said aloud to himself. The misty waters in the tank swirled and swam before him and he heard a whisper, "Kill them and release me!" He stood back for a moment and looked at the container again. The eyes, the damn eyes he thought. The eyes had turned scarlet from the gentle amber hue they had been. Edward rubbed his temples and turned away. He had to get away from the invaders thoughts.
Later he would drain the tank and effectively kill the alien. No one in the lab knew about the aliens thoughts, he hoped they would be prepared for them if they came back to earth, he could only hope and pray.
Sated Attire
Ron Koppelberger
Sated Attire
He worked long into the evening, fashioning his garland and the suit. The exterior of the suit was silk and the interior was a reflection of his anger, his unabiding hate for the man. He lined the inside of the suit with sandpaper and when he was done he smiled at his clever creation. Perhaps he would itch and fret, maybe even bleed a bit, great gouts of blood he thought to himself. Perhaps he’d rub all the flesh from his body leaving a bleach white skeleton, clacking and clinking as it meandered about in the sandpaper. Shiny bones he thought, shiny bones like glass, easy to break, to smash into a thousand bits of splintered refuse.The hour rapidly approached and he waited with anticipation for the man to don the sandpaper suit. Bloody flesh and scraped skin, leaking in torrents, maybe in buckets of crimson pain, sandpaper for the governor Sir, sandpaper for the governor. He hoped and prayed for the sandy grind against the man’s flesh, leaking blood and viscera, spilling to the ground in great stinking heaps. He smiled as the man approached the door to his tailor’s shop and he sang with joy.
“Wonderful splatters of blood
For the matters of his crud,
Dripping, oozing in drips and drops,
In snits and spots,
Let the sandpaper march begin with
The pardonable sin!”
The man entered the shop and looked at the suit, “Beautiful my good man, absolutely splendid!” Striping from his cloths he put the suit on.“This is superb my fine tailor, how did you know of my skin condition? Neverthemind my man, this is a perfect fit for my dry aching skin, for you see I am affected with scales and dry patches from head to toe, thank you my man thank you!”
The man left the shop after paying a small fortune to the tailor. The suit maker sat quietly wondering at his genius and waiting for the next customer to arrive, his hate lessoned by the promise of a job well done.
Friday 22 June 2012
Saturday 9 June 2012
Elements of Dragon Delight
Ron Koppelberger
Elements of Dragon Delight
He whispered and the flame flowed in smooth easy currents against the roast hare. The smell was tantalizing and delightfully amazing. The dragon sighed and the flame turned a cool blue as the fire cooked the meat. What have I here he said to himself, certainly not woe and the tears of hunger. I have the perfect meal borne of the hunt and the need to taste the delicacies of old. He thought again for a moment as his long tail swished in the underbrush waving dandelions and disturbing the edge of the swamp, “What have I, but the will to live and to dine on the fare of humans and animals alike, am I not the same in that sense?” he said aloud. Feared by all and admonished by none he thought as the cool currents of an early winter stirred the languid air.The wolf had been watching the dragon from the bushes and as he edged closer he smelled the air, the scent of roast hare overwhelming him and making his stomach grumble. The dragon was oblivious to the wolf and continued on in the way of hungry dragons.
The wolf inched closer and waited for the dragon to turn from the hare. As his fire belched to a low ebb the wolf leapt to the roast rabbit and grabbed it with his sharp fangs. The dragon turned back and roared a loud blast at the wolf as he ran into the thick palm scrub. The creases above the dragons brow grew deep and angry, nevertheless he did not peruse the thief. He would return and next time he would have wolf, but for now the wolf would have his dinner and a few breaths before his next attempt to usurp the good tidings bestowed upon an old dragon.
Dark Reflections
Ron Koppelberger
Dark Reflections
“Oh kingdoms of shadow and realms of dim light give me the appearance of a dove in flight!” The demon shouted as he looked into the mirror. He was wonting the beauty of a better appearance and in the way of dark beasts he believed the powers of darkness would abide him in his soon to be earthly pursuits. “Slumbering love and dreams of blessed union give me this I ask for my dark communion, a fair face in beauty and wont, a taste of perfection for my confection and my future reign in the land of men and the earthly plane!” he shouted at the mirror.The demons reflection wavered and swam for a moment, loose folds of flesh and scales shimmered in red to blue eyed commitment for just the briefest glimpse of what he desired. The image held for a moment longer then was gone. “To the raven and rhyme let this picture create the time, let this visage of err be gone and beauty be there!” He sang and growled as the glass went from hot red to a cool blue.
The demon smiled and an angel in velvet and of doves wings stared back at him from the depths of the glass. He touched his face for a moment and thought of heaven and the reward he would never see and finally he thought about his anger at man and mankind. The eyes turned red again and the scales reappeared as his hate overwhelmed him.
He thought for a moment as he looked at himself again and the image did nothing to appease his sensibilities.
From above a voice old and gnarled by the ages said, “Little boy of anger and rage look again and define your rage, listen to the wont of a world in sin and go from the start to begin!” he suspected Satan and relaxed for a moment as a dark beast overwhelmed him. He would be beautiful and deceiving in his endeavor to cast the look of a common man, he would find the will to whim and need, he would find existence in part by the seas of human drama, sin and passions dark, they would greet him as a guest and give him what he desired for a while anyway.
The glass steamed for a moment and the reflection painted him in a portrait of humanity, not too beautiful and common enough to pass the test. He laughed and sang, “ To worlds of endless sky and lands that sigh with the need for distraction and less the purpose of grand design, the earth will be his and mine!” The demon stepped away from the mirror and found the other demons so he could show them his new facade. The others screamed and lashed in anger at the approaching human and in the end they tore him to pieces so that a thousand years would pass before he was whole again.
Years later he realized the mistake and being a bit wiser but not much he looked into the mirror with that same wont. This time he would supplicate the powers of old and leave hell for the realm of man. The bones of cactus flowers stay dry and the sand stays hot and cold in both parts but a demon is just that…….unless he thought.
Thursday 24 May 2012
Sunday 20 May 2012
Dark Reflections
Ron Koppelberger
Dark Reflections
“Oh kingdoms of shadow and realms of dim light give me the appearance of a dove in flight!” The demon shouted as he looked into the mirror. He was wonting the beauty of a better appearance and in the way of dark beasts he believed the powers of darkness would abide him in his soon to be earthly pursuits. “Slumbering love and dreams of blessed union give me this I ask for my dark communion, a fair face in beauty and wont, a taste of perfection for my confection and my future reign in the land of men and the earthly plane!” he shouted at the mirror.The demons reflection wavered and swam for a moment, loose folds of flesh and scales shimmered in red to blue eyed commitment for just the briefest glimpse of what he desired. The image held for a moment longer then was gone. “To the raven and rhyme let this picture create the time, let this visage of err be gone and beauty be there!” He sang and growled as the glass went from hot red to a cool blue.
The demon smiled and an angel in velvet and of doves wings stared back at him from the depths of the glass. He touched his face for a moment and thought of heaven and the reward he would never see and finally he thought about his anger at man and mankind. The eyes turned red again and the scales reappeared as his hate overwhelmed him.
He thought for a moment as he looked at himself again and the image did nothing to appease his sensibilities.
From above a voice old and gnarled by the ages said, “Little boy of anger and rage look again and define your rage, listen to the wont of a world in sin and go from the start to begin!” he suspected Satan and relaxed for a moment as a dark beast overwhelmed him. He would be beautiful and deceiving in his endeavor to cast the look of a common man, he would find the will to whim and need, he would find existence in part by the seas of human drama, sin and passions dark, they would greet him as a guest and give him what he desired for a while anyway.
The glass steamed for a moment and the reflection painted him in a portrait of humanity, not too beautiful and common enough to pass the test. He laughed and sang, “ To worlds of endless sky and lands that sigh with the need for distraction and less the purpose of grand design, the earth will be his and mine!” The demon stepped away from the mirror and found the other demons so he could show them his new facade. The others screamed and lashed in anger at the approaching human and in the end they tore him to pieces so that a thousand years would pass before he was whole again.
Years later he realized the mistake and being a bit wiser but not much he looked into the mirror with that same wont. This time he would supplicate the powers of old and leave hell for the realm of man. The bones of cactus flowers stay dry and the sand stays hot and cold in both parts but a demon is just that…….unless he thought.
Saturday 19 May 2012
Friday 18 May 2012
Monday 14 May 2012
Greetings from Ron
I have been poasting on this web site for over a year and I do not say much personally except with my poetry stories and artwork. My Grandmother died yesterday at 7.00 P.M., she was in a lot of pain. I take solace that she is with god now and happy. Some might say that the forces of darkness have a monopoly on the sorrow we experience and that may be true but I know there is light at the end of the tunnel.
I ordered an advanced copy of Diablo 3 last week and it's due in today. I guess that's like a task I'm not sure.......anyway the one thing my grandmother wanted was for me to suceed as a writer she said you are going to be famous someday Ronnie with lots of books. I have about 103 books with my stories in them and another 160 or 170 magazines with stories art and poetry in them and I am not famous yet.........nevertheless I know I will be because my grandmother was blessed with that kind of intuition....She will be missed and the bad guys have something extra to worry about now. Anyway I hope you have a woderful day.
Ron Koppelberger
I ordered an advanced copy of Diablo 3 last week and it's due in today. I guess that's like a task I'm not sure.......anyway the one thing my grandmother wanted was for me to suceed as a writer she said you are going to be famous someday Ronnie with lots of books. I have about 103 books with my stories in them and another 160 or 170 magazines with stories art and poetry in them and I am not famous yet.........nevertheless I know I will be because my grandmother was blessed with that kind of intuition....She will be missed and the bad guys have something extra to worry about now. Anyway I hope you have a woderful day.
Ron Koppelberger
Monday 30 April 2012
Dreams in Frayed Cotten and Straw
Dreams in Frayed Cotton and Straw
Ron Koppelberger
Sable sighed and rolled amongst the cotton sheets and straw padding. He was caught by the half-light of a terrific phantasm, a sleep chartered by the wont of a decision, a choice given him in the moment of death.
He dreamed of starlight and dark suns at night, he dreamed of red smoke and flame, the better part of a battle wrought for the sake of the kill. With quiet stealth he saw the figure of a man in dark havens of silk, he was levitating and laughing. Sable knew and his knowledge bought the drama. The figure floated closer and he raised his triple edge. The hilt of the sword was solid silver with triple wolfs heads at the base. In the smokey light the wolfs eyes glittered, the eyes were blood red rubies, the blade the sharpest in the township.
Sable swung at the floating specter and screamed with a furious anger. The man laughed as the blade ripped through his mid-section tearing him in half and dropping him to the ground in a spray of blood and viscera.
Sable grunted in his sleep and shivered; in the dream he wore his executioners hood and silver tinged vestments of leather. He saw the sky as the twilight shone its light on the figure of the man. There was a twinkle of metal around the dead mans neck. Sable wiped tears of blood from the corners of his eyes and uncovered the flash of metal. It was a necklace hewn in gold and slick with the mans blood. The design was unfamiliar to him, stars, half moons and emerald slivers of stone. Sable grabbed the chain yanking it free, the spoils of battle he thought.
The sky bled bright orange and red and in the distance wolfs howled at the approaching blood moon. As the shadows closed in around him he moaned and rolled in the cotton sheets, sleep laden and borne by what was due he dreamed of crimson seas and the wont of an untrod path, the path of an unconscious passage, in dreams of love, loves lost and the end of his humanity. The blade lay next to him in darkness and he continued on dreaming of yet another battle. Sable swung his sword and the flesh was always pliant, the blade unforgiving as he sliced the head from a slender figure in union with the fight. Wooooosh, a moment, a breath of mere seconds as the head toppled revealing a woman’s face, it lay, face upturned, bleeding on his leather boots.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screamed recognizing his wife’s face. The sheets tangled about his feet and he dreamed of a scarlet sash binding his ankles and a small child, a boy towing him through mud and ash and the embers of countless fires. Sable kicked and screamed as he was pulled along, he was helpless in the child’s undoubting sway. The bed creaked and shook as he screamed in fear and convulsive thrall.
In the dream, the source of his unconscious hell he kicked screamed and fought the child pulling him, dragging him toward unbidden ends, toward an executioners fear.
Haze filled the air for a moment then thousands of leaves, dry, crumbling, flittering and fluttering like a million moths, they fell down around them and buried them absolutely. The tugging ceased and suddenly the child was gone.
He stood amongst the pile of decaying leaves brushing the heap away from his face. He moved forward. Ripples moved beneath the thick blanket, fast scurrying toward him in circles, and the sound of children at play, singing. The sky flashed a brilliant fire red and the leaves disappeared only to be replaced by mist and a sparkling dew that covered a long sloping hill of grass.
The castle stood in the distance and in the front a large pole with long tethers attached at the top. A group of children circled the pole each holding a tether. “We all fall down…….” they sang. They were expressionless as they fell to the ground in silent play. Sable moved to the edge of the circle, the children had dark half moons beneath their eyes and were covered in leaking bloody sores. He thought, the harrow has passed.
He groaned and tried to awaken without success. Daring fate he moved closer to the castle and the arched entrance. Bitter acorns lay in wooden bowls on either side of the gate, pausing he removed a handful and placed them into his pants pocket.
A shadow appeared near the stone entrance. Tall in black shawls and silver blades covered in scarlet. The figure yelled like a wild banshee, “YIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!” the figure grimaced and swung his knife blade at Sables neck. Sable stepped back and swung the triple edge of his sword. The air parted as did the flesh of the banshee. Blood and a thick viscous spray of ash filled the air and stained his sword. The figure fell to the grassy ground and an awareness stole over Sable.
In his dream he remembered, he remembered the gallows, the knots, the fare of a blood thirsty throng. He remembered the face of the aggressor, hung months earlier. He touched his cheek, hesitant, cold covered by the executioners hood. Sable groaned again remembering his wife and son, the reason he had become what he desired in hate.
Near the end of his dream he cried and a single tear tempered his blade, then he awoke.
The sky was dark outside and the sound of cicadas’ filled the space between his ears. He looked at the blade next to his bed and the black hood he had worn since their deaths, his wife and son.
Reaching into his pocket Sable pulled out a handful of pealed acorns. He whispered, “let it be at an end.” as he chewed the bitter acorns. Leaving the castle keep he moved on toward what he wonted, life, rebirth and new days bought by the hope that he could regain what had been lost.
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