Rainbows Preceded By Raindrops

It was raining. The days I remember best are always in the rain.

I was tired. I was trudging through the gray and the wet in search of a place that was neither of those things. The rain poured off of the rim of my top hat, giving me the illusion of perpetually walking through a waterfall. My black suit and pants were drenched and heavy.

I came upon a small café and purchased a black coffee to warm my insides, having given up utterly on saving my outsides. I sat at a little round table and drank my steaming beverage. I was alone in the establishment—the only one dumb enough to venture outside.

Why had I been outside? I don’t remember, and it doesn’t matter, really.

The pitter-pattering of the gray drops on the brown brick walkways drummed a melancholy rhythm into my eardrums. I tapped along to the beat with my fingers on the table, and then the sound of footsteps entered the song.

An elderly man entered the café wearing a bright yellow raincoat, a red shirt underneath, and green and purple striped pants. He had a thick white beard and curly white hair which hung down in front of his uncomfortably large glasses. He ordered a type of drink that I’d never heard of and sat down across the table from me and drank it in enthusiastic gulps.

“I couldn’t help but notice the drumming as I walked in,” the man said, motioning to my fingers. “Are you a musician?”

“Ha!” I chuckled. “No, I’ve never touched an instrument in my life.”

“What’s funny about that?” the old man was taken aback. “In fact, I find that quite sad.”

“Well, it isn’t intentional,” I replied. “I’ve just never found the time.”

“Busy with what?”

“School at first. Then girls. Then college. Now work. You know… life.”

“Pshaw! How proper,” he said as he looked up at my top hat. “Do you at least draw?”

“No,” I told him.

“Paint?”

“No.”

“Write?”

“No.”

“So tragic,” he sighed as he stood up. “Why don’t you stop following the path you’re expected to take, and just wander?” He snagged my hat and walked out the door.

I smiled for reasons I’m still not sure of. Something was different, and it was good. The rain stopped, but the beat carried on in my head. I started to drum again, and began humming a little tune along with it. The sun pushed the clouds aside and turned the puddles into pools of gold. I whistled my song and took my jacket off and untied my tie. I left them on my chair and rolled up my sleeves as I walked outside.

Whatever surface my whistling echoed off of seemed to brighten up. The red bricks of the café building, the emerald pines on the side of the street, the cerulean sky. It all seemed brighter now that I had my song.

I whistled…

                I walked…

                                I wandered…

Working the Late Shift

He watched as a subgalactic whaleshark breached the dark matter veil. It twirled in the vacuum of space as it emerged, flinging subatomic particles off of its five-dimensional dorsal fin. As it dove back out of the timestream, the chronal splash tore millions of black holes in the reality pool, which dissipated immediately before they began.

The watchman yawned.

It wasn't exactly a rare occurrence to see that species out there. The Andromeda XIV Cosmic Observatory was stationed on the moon of a gas giant that orbited right off of their migration axis, and the watchman had been working the night shift long enough that the local cosmofauna no longer held his attention as it used to. He straightened the back of his chair so that he was sitting upright, and with a click on his control panel, he hovered to the edge of the observation dome, where the central computer was located. He began to recite his observations to the monitors, detailing the whaleshark and the time and location of sighting. He then sighed, lifted his glasses from his face, and rubbed his forehead with his fingers in an attempt to rid himself of his boredom-induced headache. He returned his chair to the center of the room once more, laid back, and stared out the observation dome once again.

There was a flash of brilliant blue light and a sound like a band-aid being torn off. The watchman sat back up casually and looked to his left.

"Hello Ajax," the watchman said to the man that was now standing in the observation dome next to him. He wore a white jumpsuit with plated armor over it. He held a strange looking gun, which he looked down at, and then clicked a dial a few notches counter-clockwise before holstering it.

"Are you really so jaded," Ajax said, "that seeing yourself from the future doesn't amaze you?"

"Maybe if you'd stop visiting so often it would be more exciting," the watchman said.

Ajax sighed. "Isn't it about time for your break?"

Annoyed, the watchman glared at him and then entered a code on his control panel. The screens in the observation deck turned off and the door opened with a hiss of compressed air. The watchman stood up and walked out, and Ajax followed.

"What do you want this time?" the watchman groaned as they entered the cafeteria.

"I want to change you, same as I always have," Ajax said as they took a seat in the deserted room. "I want you to see how important this is. I want you to turn out better than I did."

"Well, considering that you're me," the watchman said with a roll of his eyes, "I don't think that you're going to have much luck with that. I'm going to turn out to be you."

"You sure about that? I wouldn't claim to know a lot about time travel, considering it hasn't been invented yet."

The watchman took a cup of coffee from the android waitress and sipped it in silence.

"So are you going to collect on your promise you made?" the watchman asked.

"Yes."

"So you're going to kill me. Because I wouldn't 'cheer up.'"

"Yes I am," Ajax said as he pulled out his gun. He clicked the dial clockwise a few notches. "Unless you can be persuaded."

"Persuaded of what? That this job doesn't suck? That my life isn't meaningless and repetitive?"

"The job is what you make of it. And life is a precious thing."

"I don't need to be lectured by myself," the watchman said.

"Apparently you do. I never forgot that whaleshark you saw today," Ajax pleaded. "That was a beautiful thing. To not find joy in that is to waste what you've been given."

"So you're going to kill me for it? And won't this kill you too?"

"Not growing is the same thing as being dead." Ajax lifted the gun and pointed it at the watchman's forehead.

"And stop thinking you understand time travel."

Ajax pulled the trigger and the watchman erupted in a flash of cerulean radiation. Ajax stood up calmly, picked up his coffee, and walked toward the cafeteria exit. He stopped as he reached the door and pulled his gun out its holster, then tossed it into a garbage can. The door slid open with a hiss and he entered the observation dome. He sat down in his chair and punched in a code on the control panel and the screens came back on. As the chair hovered back to the center of the room, Ajax reclined and looked up out of the dome.

As he watched, a dark nebula tarantula emerged from its hiding place behind a cloud of gamma photons to devour the cometbird that it had caught in its bosonic web.

"I love this job," said the watchman.

Night Skies

There were two skies that night, and both were filled with stars. The one above—static and reassuring—and the one below—a fluid and uncertain reflection, destroying itself and reforming as it crashed against the Corinthian cliffs.

“I couldn’t save her,” the weary man said.

“I know,” said the woman in the flowing robes. Her tattered garments danced in the wind, giving her an appearance as ever-changing as that of the sky below. “But you can do nothing about that now.”

“I need answers, Pythia!” the chiseled and bearded man demanded. “I must know why.”

“You are not asking the correct questions, hero.”

“I don’t care. I have to know. Why would the gods give me all of my strength—surpassing that of any other man!—and make it still not enough?”

“I am but a guide for the way forward. I am not an interpreter of history.”

The man sat silent. As he looked up, a comet flew passed a galaxy. In the sky above, its tail was a clean and confident arc. Below, an aimless line tossed at the whims of black waves.

“I’ve been told that I will be among the stars someday. Is that true?”

“It could be,” said the servant of Apollo.

His eyes fell slowly below the horizon, and the bearded man examined the ambiguity of the sky below as he ran his fingers—thick and calloused with violence—through his curly black hair.

“I killed her,” he said quietly after a long while. 

“I know,” she whispered.

“I don’t know how or why. But I did.”

Tears began to run down his cheeks in torrents that glittered with the images of stars.

“I couldn’t control it. I don’t remember all of it, but I do remember not being in control. I know it happened. I know it was me. But somehow…”

He wiped the back of his hand across his face and looked up at the woman in the flowing robe.

“Somehow I know it wasn’t my fault.”

The man looked at the sky above. Photons bounce off his retina that came from a star that had died before the world was born.

The man looked at the sky below. He felt the cool salty mist against his cheeks as a nebula exploded into a billion droplets against the cliff.

“It’s your choice,” said the woman. “You may remember.” She motioned to the sky above. “Or you may find what lies ahead.” She motioned to the sky below.

He stood and removed his clothes.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

He dove off the cliff.

Pantheon: Born in Fire

Johnathan stumbled from the chair he'd fallen asleep in toward his coat and helmet. He was in a daze, still unsure of whether he was waking up or whether he was beginning to dream. He suited up in a matter of seconds, and slid down the pole to the truck just as the sirens came to life and screamed at him, ordering him to wake. He climbed in and sat down as he rubbed his eyes.

Pantheon: Beginnings

Note About This Story: This is part of the whole story I've been developing over the abandoned A-Z Challenge. It's title is tentatively "Pantheon." As is hopefully obvious by now, the story isn't being told chronologically at all. I'll shall compile a post explaining my method and the order and whatnot whenever it strikes me to do so (probably soon). I'm going to try to resume regular updating as of this post, sorry for the long break.


Johnathan Pax climbed the stairs in no direction and every. Like he did most nights, he was visiting his friend Mr. Escher at his immense house. That night, unbeknown to Johnathan, would be the last time he would visit the house. The last time for a very long time, at least.

H is for Hades

So close to being caught up! One more tonight? We'll see. For now, we follow Seven Macaw on his first assignment for his new master...


The screams of the damned echoed off of the cavern walls. The ghostly form coiled in the terrifying throne made of human skulls was motionless, save for the tatters of his night-black cloak waving in the gentle breeze. He had the shape of a man, but it was as if he was made of shadow. The only part of skin that was visible was his hands, and they were pale nearly to the point of being translucent. His cloak was torn and ripped in a tangled mess of shadowy cloth. His breathing was slow, gravelly and pained.

G is for Gucup-Cakix

Another tale of myth, this one set farther into the future of our little tale. This story stars a deity of the ancient Maya. A character from their holy book, the Popul Vuh...

Poor Gucup-Cakix. The one they call Seven Macaw lays there, a fallen star, a bird that has been knocked out of his tree. The Popul Vuh tells us of the Hero Twins, and how they found Seven Macaw in his tree, pretending to be the sun. Poor Seven Macaw. Poor false sun. He is a demon of folly. He should not pretend to be the sun. The Hero Twins shot him out of his tree with their blowguns, and he fell to the ground. But he took one of the Hero Twins' arms with him with his sharp beak. The Hero Twins have stolen his eyes and his teeth, and he can no longer pretend to be the sun. Poor Seven Macaw.

F is for the Fates

I'm almost caught up! We'll see if I can pull this off with another post tonight and I can be back on schedule after tomorrow. This story is a direct follow-up to the last one, just starting the next scene from a slightly different perspective...


His body was young and chiseled, but his withered face and platinum white beard betrayed his age. The whiskers on his face sparked with blue electricity, and his eyes were glowing grey like storm clouds. He sat in the throne at the end of the hall that was built onto the top of the unclimbable Mount Olympus. The hall was lined with five chairs on either side and another across from where Zeus sat. Thunder shook the hall and he rose from his seat to greet his guests.

E is for Egypt

I apologize for falling behind with my stories. I'm going to the best I can to catch up. There are going to be quite a few mythology themed stories, and they're all building up to something bigger. The groundwork of the idea has been in my head for a long while, and the first story written in this universe was my story from last year, "Stormclouds and Chariots." The "A" story featuring Atlas may or may not tie into it, I'll decide later. Now, please allow me to shift your attention to Cairo in the early days of civilization...


The man stood casually in the shadows of the Cairo alleyway, leaning, unnoticeable, against the warm wall. He wore nothing but a white cloth around his waste and sandals. He was bald, and had darker skin, and there was a falcon perched upon his left shoulder.The man peered distractedly down the alley at nothing in particular, while the falcon stared intently down the busy main street that ran perpendicular. The street was lined with food vendors on either side, trying to pass their product off to the shoppers that filled always the markets at that time of day.

D is for Depth

I'm taking part in a blogging challenge where each post is themed off the letters of the alphabet. Today is a tale from the depths of the ocean...


"Command, we have just reached a depth of 35,810 feet and are still diving," said the captain into the radio. "We are now partaking in the deepest manned submarine dive in history."

C is for Circus Cosmic

I'm taking part in a blogging challenge that requires a theme each day that begins with the letters of the alphabet. Today's is a concept I've had gestating in my head for a while, and I'll almost certainly come back to it at some point. 


"Beings of the Andromeda Nebula!" roars the Ringmaster's hologram from the center of the arena. "I hope you have enjoyed the show so far! We here at Circus Cosmic appreciate you all attending today. Now, we have our final act of the night!"

B is for Black Enigma

I'm taking part in a blogging challenge where each day's post is themed by the letters of the alphabet. Today's is a one- off story set in the world of The Black Enigma. Click the Black Enigma tab at the top of the page to read more on the story. The following takes place between the events of Masquerade and Raven.

THE BLACK ENIGMA: SMOKE

Sir Skull's eyes were locked on her legs from across the table. As she tended to do, Sister spider was sitting up on the round table with her one stilettoed foot set flat upon the surface, which curved her fishnet-clad legs seductively up into the skin tight black leotard that she was wearing. Her hair was as black as coal. It was a perfect match for her soul.

A is for Atlas

I'm taking part in a blog challenge where you post each day with the theme being each letter of the alphabet. 


Mine is the burden of all burdens. I hold up the sky. I am Atlas. No one can match my strength, but no one can match my pain either. No one can ever understand the weight of my suffering. I stand atop this hill for all eternity, with the sky heaped upon my aching and weary shoulders, and so I shall remain for eternity. For who would wish to trade places with me? Who would wish to carry the load that I carry?

There Were Pixies Dancing

There were pixies dancing happily about in a circle. In the center of the circle was an intricate design made of the petals of roses and daisies. There were exactly a dozen pixies in all. They were varying shades of glowing pink and purple, and about 4 inches tall. They had beautiful butterfly wings and long flowing hair that was decorated with petals and ivy. Each of them was female, and each of them was naked.

There Was A Troll Under The Bridge

There was a troll under the bridge. He had olive green skin, was the size of a young elephant, and had hair in places he shouldn't. His lower jaw jutted out and two large yellowing canines stuck up out of his mouth like tusks. His bridge wasn't particularly nice. It covered him when it rained, and it hadn't yet collapsed under the weight of the people entering or exiting the village, but there wasn't anything special about it. It was just wood. The babbling brook that flowed under the bridge supplied the troll with water and enough fish to eat to sustain himself. Occasionally a gruff old billy goat or a pig or other farm animal would wander under the bridge and he'd have a treat, and the villagers would become angry with him, but they were too frightened to ever do anything about it.

The Dark Room, part 7

The man sat back down as another, closer still to the boy, stood up. He had a fork in his hand, which he angrily and repeatedly stabbed into the table, creating a dull thud noise. With his free hand, he reached to the lid of the next platter, licked his lips and and lifted it with vigor.

The Dark Room, part 6

The boy could feel himself flipping backwards, and the air rushing by him. Whenever he caught a glimpse of see a circular light above him, and it kept getting smaller and smaller. He righted himself, so his arms and legs were spread in an X shape, and he became aware of the dragon and the raven diving on either side of him.

The Dark Room, part 5

"Flee," the raven whispered to the boy. "Before it's too late."

"Be brave," the dragon said in his other ear.

The Dark Room, part 4

On the other side of that oddly un-assuming door was a dining hall that very much made up for it. It was as long across as a city block, and the table that sat in the center of the hall extended nearly the entire length. It was covered with ornate candelabras, shining silverware and expensive china, fourteen places down either side, and one at each end. At each place along the table there was a solid wood chair with a tall back, and all up and down they were carved with images of monsters devouring children and demons torturing them, and phantoms sucking their souls out. As the boy approached the chair closest to him, he could make out more of the terrible details engraved in the dark ancient wood. He leaned in to examine the horrible art and it made him uneasy.

The Dark Room, part 3

He climbed lower, slower, deeper into the depths of the old dying dark house. The stairs spiraled counter-clockwise downward and were very steep. Every ten steps or so, there was a torch mounted on the wall that feebly flickered a weak orange glow, but they all seemed to have given up trying to keep the shadows at bay centuries ago. The boy went down, down, down. Spiralling into the depths of the house. He wished to leave the staircase, but there were no doors, no windows, no escape. Only the hope that there was a bottom, and that the bottom wasn't worse than the top.