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Anarchist Time Knights-Day 7: Knight’s Thread

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 9, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Anarchist Time Knights – Day 7: Knight’s Thread

[Image: Twilight haze over a jagged rift, storm fading into soft rain, Tobal with scarred face, short dark hair, blue militia coat, medallion glowing faintly—Fiona in sky blue gown, loose chestnut hair, golden threads weaving gently—OAK Nexus rift hums with golden light—vivid, serene, with a darker sky and distant lightning]

Tobal stood at the rift’s edge—twilight haze thick, the storm’s roar softening into a whisper of rain. His scarred face glistened, softened by the drizzle—blue coat heavy, clinging to his shoulders—medallion warm in his palm, its golden glow faint, pulsing like a heartbeat against the damp air. The jagged rift stretched before him, gold veins threading through black stone, humming low—a living breath in the dusk. Fiona knelt beside him—sky blue gown soaked, chestnut hair loose and dripping, strands curling against her cheeks—golden threads coiled in her hands, shimmering soft, weaving slow patterns in the mist. Rain tapped a gentle rhythm—distant thunder murmured—war’s echo faded, replaced by a stillness that weighed heavy and sweet.

They’d fought—hours back—reptilian shadows clawing from the rift, scales glinting like wet shale, eyes red with hunger. Tobal’s fists had pounded—medallion flaring—golden light slicing through the storm—two fell, blood pooling in the mud. Fiona’s threads had snared—gold lashing out—third caught mid-leap—lightning cracked, fourth burned—rift trembling as ash sank into its depths. The last two snarled—Tobal roared—medallion surged—one buckled under his weight—Fiona’s threads bound tight—final beast burst apart—silence dropped—rain washed the sting away.

Now twilight deepened—Fiona rose slow, gown trailing—her breath fogged in the cooling air—threads quivering as she traced the rift’s glow. “They’re endless,” she murmured—voice soft, chestnut hair catching faint gold—eyes sharp yet tired, searching the haze. Tobal shifted—medallion dimmed—scars ached under the damp coat, a dull throb like memory waking. Rain traced rivulets down his face—each drop cold, then warm—his chest tightened. “Not endless,” he said—gruff, low—gaze locked on the rift—gold veins pulsing slow—alive—something more than war flickering in their light.

A shadow lingered—beyond the rift—not lunging—taller, still—reptilian eyes glinted gold, not red—watching—waiting. Fiona’s threads tensed—gold shimmered—her fingers flexed, gown swaying—rain beaded on her lashes. “What’s that?” she whispered—voice catching—threads poised, not striking—curiosity threading through her fear. Tobal squinted—medallion warmed—scar pulsed—rain stung his eyes, then soothed. “Not trouble,” he said—slow, sure—hand loosening—rift’s hum softened—shadow held—watching—almost calm—storm’s last breath fading.

Fiona stepped closer—threads probing—gold brushed the rift’s edge—shimmered warm—shadow didn’t flinch—didn’t retreat—stood firm. She exhaled—threads eased—gown rustled as she straightened—rain slid down her face—her eyes met his. “It’s waiting.” Tobal’s medallion steadied—scar softened—blue coat dripped—rain slowed. “For us,” he muttered—voice rough—eyes tracing the rift—gold veins glowed—warm—inviting—a pull he couldn’t name.

Twilight thickened—rift’s hum rose—a whisper wove through—“Knights rise.” Fiona stilled—threads quivered—chestnut hair gleamed—eyes wide—breath held. Tobal’s grip tightened—medallion flared—gold light spilled—warm against his skin—soft in the dusk. “Who’s there?” he called—voice steady—rift pulsed—gold brightened—no answer—whisper faded—silence stretched—mystery curled like smoke.

Fiona turned—gown heavy—threads dimming—her gaze locked with his—steady—searching—rain traced her jaw—her lips parted—then curved. “Something’s alive,” she said—voice firm—chestnut hair swaying—gold threads coiled loose—shimmering with quiet joy. Tobal nodded—scar ached—medallion warm—blue coat clung—rain stopped—haze hung thick. “We’re alive,” he said—gruff—soft.

A faint wind stirred—rift’s glow pulsed—gold veins hummed—twilight deepened—soft rain kissed the air—Fiona’s threads rested—Tobal’s medallion steadied—haze settled—night crept in—OAK hummed low—warriors stood—scarred, soaked—spirit unbroken. Lightning flickered—distant—soft—a golden thread wove through—love lingered—war softened—go!

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Anarchist Time Knights-Day 6:Knight’s Echo

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 9, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Anarchist Time Knights – Day 6: Knight’s Echo

[Image: A storm-scarred plateau at dawn, cracked earth steaming under a sky bruised with fading purple and rising gold. Tobal’s scarred face gleams with sweat under a worn blue militia coat, medallion pulsing soft gold. Fiona’s sky blue gown hangs tattered on her lean frame, chestnut hair tangled and still, golden threads humming low. Rafe’s wiry frame slouches in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, grin faint. Becca’s red hair tangles wildly under a cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes sharp. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur bristles as he sniffs the air—vivid, tense, with the distant hiss of retreating scales]

Tobal stood on the plateau’s edge, boots crunching cracked earth still warm from the night’s storm, steam curling faint around his legs. The dawn sky stretched bruised—purple fading into gold—casting a thin light over the jagged scars of battle, mud streaked with green-black blood. His blue militia coat—torn at the sleeve—hung damp and heavy on his broad frame, his scarred face gleaming with sweat, short dark hair clinging wet to his brow. The medallion in his hand pulsed a soft gold, its warmth a steady throb against his calloused palm, stirring a quiet ache of hunger that lingered from the fight.

Fiona stood close, her sky blue gown tattered and clinging to her lean frame, mud caked along the hem where it brushed crushed stone. Her chestnut hair lay tangled and still, strands stuck to her sharp cheeks, golden threads humming low in her steady fingers—her breath rasped soft, sharp with the tang of wet earth, her lithe form taut with a flicker of resolve, eyes scanning the horizon’s haze. Rafe slouched a step back, his wiry frame loose in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, wool stiff with dried rain—his grin flickered faint, a sly edge cutting his thin face as he twirled his knife, dawn glinting off the blade. Becca flanked him, her cloak of deep brown and russet streaked with mud, red hair tangled wildly under the hood—her fierce eyes glinted, catching the rising gold, her sturdy curves braced against the morning chill, she breathed a low hiss of pride. Valentine paced ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur bristling, coarse and damp as he sniffed the air—his growl rumbled low, fading into the plateau’s hush.

The plateau sprawled raw—cracked earth hissed with steam, faint echoes of reptilian hisses retreating into the ravine below, their green-black trails smearing the mud. Tobal shifted, his chest tightening as a distant scrape pricked his ears—faint, fleeting—blending with the wind’s low moan. The air hung thick—earth-scented, cool—dawn pressing in like a held breath. He turned—eyes sweeping the Knights—his voice a low rasp, rough against the stillness. “They’re pulling back.” The medallion pulsed—gold light spilling soft—his scarred hand steadied, though his pulse thrummed with a restless edge. A stone clattered far off—a bird’s cry cut the haze—his breath caught.

Rafe tilted his head, cloak tugging at his wiry shoulders, his grin thinning as his breath fogged faintly in the chill. “Them? Running already?” He flicked his knife—a faint hiss answered from the ravine—Valentine’s ears twitched, his damp fur bristling as he let out a soft whine. Rafe’s laugh rasped—dry, sharp—his lean hand steadying as the wind moaned, carrying a distant snarl.

Fiona stepped closer, gown snagging on a jagged rock, threads weaving a soft arc of gold that shivered in the dawn. “They’re stronger than us,” she said—voice low, clear—her gaze piercing Rafe’s, though her fingers curled tight, the chill biting her knuckles. Her chestnut hair stayed still, pressed flat by damp, and her eyes met Tobal’s—a shared fire threading alive between them, her lean grace sparking a quiet ache. A tail scraped below—faint, retreating—her jaw tightened, breath steady with resolve.

Becca crossed her arms, red hair sticking under her russet hood, her voice sharp but softened as the wind tugged her cloak. “Stronger? Then why are they retreating?” She kicked a shard of stone—her fierce eyes narrowed—glancing from Fiona to Tobal, pride flickering in her gaze, her shapely form coiled with restless heat. A low growl faded—distant, broken—her breath eased, slow and sharp, the chill prickling her lips.

Tobal sank to one knee—coat brushing the cracked earth—his free hand settling on Valentine’s flank, the dog’s coarse fur warm as he pressed close, tail slowing. “We will rest later,” he said—gruff, low—his scarred face tilting to Becca’s, eyes dark with a fire that burned deep, his broad build radiating a quiet power. “Watch their retreat.” The medallion’s glow deepened—its hum threading his voice—his chest burned, a fierce pulse of hunger he couldn’t quell. A shadow shifted below—steam hissed—Becca’s stance softened, her shoulders easing as the sound drifted, leaving only the wind’s sigh.

Valentine nosed forward—mud crunched—a soft bark cut the air as he sniffed a reptilian trail, fur bristling. Tobal rose, medallion steady, his scarred face hardening—something cold twisted in his gut, bitter as the dawn, a low growl of anger beneath it. “What’s that!” Rafe muttered—half a laugh—his knife twirling as he stepped forward, wiry frame taut with a flicker of thrill. A faint hiss curled up—distant, fading—Fiona’s threads pulsed, gold threading boldly—her voice steady as stone. “Hold your ground.” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—hard, fierce—his growl a whisper. “Sense them.” He stepped toward the edge—boots grinding—the wind curling tighter, thick with earth and echoes.

The haze thickened—steam rose from the cracks, reptilian trails fading into the ravine’s depths, their shadows a whisper of the night’s fury. Cal—a wiry Knight with tangled brown hair—stumbled, his breath a ragged gasp, eyes wide where a claw mark gleamed in the mud. Tobal’s hand clamped his shoulder—medallion blazing soft—his grip iron, though his own pulse raced, a scrape in the distance spiking his ears, his broad chest tight with a flicker of dread. “Breathe,” he murmured—voice low, rough—earth sharp in his throat. Cal’s chest shuddered—his eyes squeezed shut—then opened, fiercer, a faint spark of pride catching as a bird’s wing fluttered overhead.

Fiona’s threads wove wider—gold flickering like a breath—her gaze slid to Becca, the dawn’s chill cutting her lean face. “Why the retreat?” Becca asked—voice softer—her edge blunted, almost lost in the haze, her sturdy form trembling with a mix of rage and hope. A stone rolled below—closer, then gone—Fiona’s lips curved, just a breath—chestnut hair still and damp. “To run—to live.” Rafe’s laugh rasped—dry, warm—his knife stilling as he brushed mud off his cloak, wiry frame alive with a reckless spark. Tobal nodded—medallion pulsing—wind curling low, a faint rumble rolling distant, a whisper of what’s next. The Knights stood—scarred, steady—echoes fading into the dawn.

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Anarchist Time Knights-Day 5: Knight’s Pulse

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 9, 2025| Leave a Comment »

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[Image: A jagged ravine under a stormy sky, dark clouds churning with streaks of lightning, the air thick with the metallic tang of rain. Tobal’s scarred face glints with sweat under a worn blue militia coat, his medallion flaring gold in his grip. Fiona’s sky blue gown clings damp to her lean frame, chestnut hair plastered to her forehead, golden threads pulsing vivid. Rafe’s wiry frame braces in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, grin tight. Becca’s red hair sticks wet under a cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes fierce. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur drips as he growls low—vivid, tense, with the clash of steel and scales echoing in the storm]

Tobal stood at the ravine’s edge, boots sinking into cracked, muddy earth, the storm’s wind lashing his broad frame with cold rain. Jagged rocks rose sharp around him, slick with wet, their edges glinting under a sky roiled with dark clouds and streaking lightning. His blue militia coat—worn and patched—soaked through, clung heavy to his powerful shoulders, his scarred face glistening with sweat and rain, short dark hair plastered flat. The medallion in his hand flared a sharp gold, its heat biting his calloused palm—a jolt that thrummed in his chest, raw and fierce, heavy with resolve.

Fiona braced beside him, her sky blue gown clinging damp to her lean frame, mud streaking the hem where it dragged over broken shale. Her chestnut hair stuck to her forehead, wet strands framing her sharp, pale face, golden threads pulsing vividly in her trembling fingers—her breath came quick, sharp with the metallic tang of rain, her lithe form taut with defiance, eyes locked on the ravine’s depths. Rafe hunched a step back, his wiry frame taut in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, soaked wool slapping his thin legs—his grin tightened, teeth flashing, a sly edge to his wiry build as he gripped his knife, rain dripping off his nose. Becca stood firm, her cloak of deep brown and russet sodden and dark, red hair plastered wet under the hood—her fierce eyes narrowed, catching lightning’s flash, her sturdy curves braced against the storm, breath a hiss of fury. Valentine growled low ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur dripping, coarse and matted as he crouched on the muddy ledge—his snarl rumbled, swallowed by thunder.

The ravine churned—rain lashed the rocks, a bitter wind howling through the narrow cut, carrying the stench of wet scales and blood. Tobal tensed, his gut coiling as shadows writhed below—reptilian forms, slick and gleaming, claws scraping stone—a pack slithering in the dark. Lightning cracked—scales flashed green-black—his pulse hammered, a primal itch flaring low. He turned—eyes raking the Knights—his voice a low growl, cutting through the storm. “They’re here.” The medallion flared—gold light slashing vivid—his scarred hand gripped tight, rain stinging his knuckles. A hiss slithered up—sharp, close—his breath snagged, thick with resolve.

Rafe shifted, boots slipping on shale, his grin thinning as rain streaked his wiry frame. “Those? Just them with claws?” He flicked his knife—a claw scraped below—Valentine’s ears flattened, his wet fur bristling as he barked, sharp and fierce. Rafe’s laugh rasped—tight, edged—his lean hand steadying as thunder rolled, shaking the ground, a flicker of thrill in his sly eyes.

Fiona leaned forward, gown heavy with wet, threads weaving a vivid arc of gold that flickered in the storm. “They’re stronger than us,” she said—voice low, steady—her gaze piercing Rafe’s, though her fingers shook, rain biting her skin. Her chestnut hair clung flat—a gust tearing at it—and her eyes met Tobal’s, a shared fire threading alive between them, her lean grace sparking a quiet ache. A tail thrashed below—mud splashed—her jaw tightened, breath hitching with a raw edge.

Becca squared her shoulders, red hair dripping under her russet hood, her voice sharp but raw as the wind lashed her sturdy frame. “Stronger? I’d rather carve through them.” She drew her blade—steel glinting—glancing from Fiona to Tobal, fury flickering in her fierce eyes, her shapely form coiled with restless heat. A reptilian snarl echoed—close, guttural—her breath caught, quick and harsh, then steadied, rain stinging her cheeks.

Tobal dropped to a crouch—coat dragging in the mud—his free hand brushing Valentine’s flank, the dog’s wet fur warm as he pressed close, growling low. “This is time for fighting,” he said—gruff, low—his scarred face tilting to Becca’s, eyes dark with a fire that burned deep, his broad build radiating a quiet power. “Strike when they move.” The medallion’s glow sharpened—its hum threading his voice—his chest burned, a fierce pulse of hunger he couldn’t quell. A claw scraped louder—stone cracked—Becca’s blade steadied, her stance firm as the sound grew, rain pounding her shoulders.

Valentine lunged—mud splashed—a sharp bark tore the air as a reptilian shape loomed, scales gleaming wet. Tobal rose, medallion flaring, his scarred face hardening—something hot surged in his gut, bitter as the storm, a low growl of anger beneath it. “What’s that!” Rafe snapped—half a shout—his knife flashing as he stepped forward, wiry frame taut with a flicker of thrill. Lightning split the sky—a roar answered—Fiona’s threads pulsed, gold threading boldly—her voice steady as rock. “Hold your ground.” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—hard, fierce—his growl a whisper. “Sense them.” He lunged toward the shadow—boots slipping—the wind howling, thick with rain and rage.

The storm raged—shadows surged through the ravine, reptilian shapes slashing through mud and rain, claws glinting like steel. Cal—a wiry Knight with tangled brown hair—faltered, his breath a ragged gasp, eyes wide as a tail whipped close, spraying mud. Tobal’s hand clamped his shoulder—medallion blazing vivid—his grip iron, though his own pulse raced, a hiss in the dark spiking his ears, his broad chest tight with a flicker of dread. “Breathe it,” he murmured—voice low, rough—rain sharp in his throat. Cal’s chest shuddered—his eyes squeezed shut—then opened, fiercer, a faint spark of pride catching as a claw scraped near.

Fiona’s threads wove wider—gold flickering like a breath—her gaze slid to Becca, the storm’s chill cutting her lean face. “What’s the delay?” Becca asked—voice softer—her edge blunted, almost lost in the rain, her sturdy form trembling with a mix of rage and hope. A reptilian screech split the air—closer now—Fiona’s lips curved, just a breath—chestnut hair still and soaked. “To fight—to live.” Rafe’s laugh barked—harsh, wild—his knife slashing as a shadow lunged, rain streaming off his cloak, wiry frame alive with a reckless spark. Tobal nodded—medallion pulsing—wind howling low, thunder crashing close, a call to battle. The Knights braced—scarred, fierce—reptilian shadows thrashing in the storm.

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Anarchist Time Knights-Day 4: Knight’s Stand

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 9, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Anarchist Time Knights – Day 4: Knight’s Stand

[Image: A frost-dusted ravine under a dawn sky breaking with gold and soft blue through thinning mystical fog. Tobal’s scarred face steadies under a blood-crusted blue militia coat, medallion glowing gold in his firm grip. Fiona’s sky blue gown clings torn to her lean frame, chestnut hair loose, golden threads pulsing steady. Rafe’s wiry frame stands taut in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, knife still, grin sharp. Becca’s red hair flares under a ragged cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes fierce with resolve. Cal’s tangled brown hair shifts under a patched hood, stance shaky but set, hands clenched. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur gleams damp as he growls low at a fading reptilian shadow—scarred, resolute, with the rift’s hum softening in the air]

Tobal stood at the ravine’s edge, boots firm on frost-dusted stone streaked with drying blood, the dawn sky breaking with gold and soft blue through thinning mystical fog. The air hung cold—sharp with frost and the faint echo of scales—his blue militia coat, blood-crusted and torn, steady on his broad frame. His scarred face steadied, short dark hair stiff with sweat and mist, the medallion glowing gold in his firm grip, its pulse a calm thread through his calloused palm, kindling a quiet fire in his chest.

Fiona flanked him, her sky blue gown clinging torn to her lean frame, the hem frayed by claw and rock. Her chestnut hair hung loose, streaked with dust, golden threads pulsing steady through the fog—her breath came slow, laced with frost and relief, her lithe form taut with a weary spark, eyes tracing the rift’s fading shimmer. Rafe stood taut nearby, his wiry frame solid in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, wool stiff with dried blood—his sharp grin flickered, knife still in his hand, dawn glinting off the cleaned blade. Becca loomed beside him, her cloak of deep brown and russet ragged in the wind, red hair flaring bright—her fierce eyes burned with resolve, her sturdy curves firm with a steady heat, she breathed a low hum of defiance.

Cal wavered close, his tangled brown hair shifting under a patched hood, wiry frame shaky but set—his breath rasped even, hands clenched tight, eyes darting with a fragile grit cutting his pale face. Valentine paced ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur gleaming damp, coarse and streaked with gore—his growl rumbled low, ears twitching at a fading reptilian shadow, the rift’s hum softening in the air. The ravine stretched scarred—frost cracked underfoot, the wind whispering with a faint tremor of earth, the chaos of scales retreating through the haze.

Tobal shifted, his chest rising as a distant hiss faded—soft, fleeting—lost in the dawn’s glow. The air lightened—frost-scented, raw—gold spilling over the jagged rocks. He turned—eyes sweeping the Knights—his voice a low rasp, steady against the stillness. “We held.” The medallion glowed—gold light spilling calm—his scarred hand firm, a thread of resolve threading his pulse. A stone settled—a bird’s cry broke the hush—his breath eased.

Rafe leaned back, cloak swaying in the breeze, his sharp grin softening as his breath fogged faint. “Barely,” he quipped—knife flicking once—Valentine’s growl softened, his fur settling as he nosed the ground. Rafe’s laugh rasped—dry, tired—his lean frame easing as the wind carried a faint rustle.

Fiona stepped closer, gown brushing frost-dusted stone, threads weaving a steady arc of gold that hummed in the light. “It’s krypton now,” she said—voice low, clear—her gaze lifting to Rafe, fingers relaxing, the cold easing from her knuckles. Her chestnut hair shifted, catching the dawn, and her eyes met Tobal’s—a shared fire threading alive, her lean grace sparking a quiet strength. A shadow flickered—distant, faint—her lips quirked, breath steady with calm.

Becca uncrossed her arms, red hair flaring under her ragged hood, her voice rough but warm as the wind tugged her cloak. “Held? We’re still breathing.” She kicked a loose scale—her fierce eyes softened—glancing from Fiona to Cal, resolve flickering in her gaze, her sturdy form rooted with a growing fire. A low hum faded—soft, retreating—her breath steadied, the frost kissing her cheeks.

Cal straightened, hood slipping, his wiry frame trembling less as his breath slowed. “They’re… gone?” His voice wavered—low, hopeful—his tangled brown hair catching the light, hands unclenching as he stared at the haze. A faint hiss lingered—far, dying—his eyes narrowed, a spark of grit holding as he stood.

Tobal sank to one knee—coat brushing the frost—his free hand settling on Valentine’s flank, the dog’s coarse fur warm as he pressed close, growling soft. “For now,” he said—gruff, low—his scarred face tilting toward Cal, eyes dark with a fire that burned steady, his broad build radiating quiet strength. The medallion’s glow deepened—its hum threading his voice—his chest swelled, a fierce resolve tempered by loss. A breeze stirred the fog—light flared—Cal’s stance hardened, his breath catching as the silence grew.

Valentine nosed the ground—stone shifted—a low bark rumbled as he pawed at a scale, fur gleaming in the dawn. Tobal rose, medallion steady, his scarred face softening—something raw settled in his gut, a growl of survival beneath it. “We’re still here,” Rafe said—half a laugh—his knife sheathing as he stretched, wiry frame loose with a flicker of relief. A reptilian shadow faded—distant, gone—Fiona’s threads pulsed, gold threading calm—her voice cut the air. “Rest.” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—soft, fierce—his growl a whisper. “Regroup.” He stepped toward the ravine’s rim—boots crunching—the wind curling light, thick with frost and hope.

The dawn broke—gold bathed the ravine, fog thinning in the breeze, the earth’s pulse steadying beneath their feet. A reptilian hiss whispered—far, faint—Becca’s fist unclenched, her breath fogging as she stood tall. Tobal’s hand brushed Cal’s shoulder—medallion glowing soft—his grip light, though his own pulse calmed, a faint hum rising in his ears, his broad chest warm with a flicker of peace. “We stand,” he murmured—voice low, firm—frost sharp in his throat. Cal’s eyes met his—his grin broke faint—a quiet strength catching as the fog lifted.

Fiona’s threads wove gentle—gold flickering like breath—her gaze slid to Becca, the dawn’s light brushing her lean face. “Krypton’s sealed?” Becca asked—voice steady—her edge softened, her sturdy form easing with a mix of fire and calm. A scale glinted—far, still—Fiona’s lips curved, a faint smile—chestnut hair loose in the wind. “For now.” Rafe’s laugh rang—soft, warm—his knife still as he leaned back, wiry frame resting with a steady spark. Tobal nodded—medallion pulsing—wind curling low, a faint hum fading distant, a whisper of what’s next. The Knights stood—scarred, unbroken—dawn rising over the ravine.

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Anarchist Time Knights-Day 2: Knights Clash

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 9, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Anarchist Time Knights – Day 2: Knight’s Clash

[Image: A frost-rimed ravine under a dawn sky streaked with gold and fading gray, jagged rocks casting long shadows. Tobal’s scarred face hardens under a worn blue militia coat, medallion blazing gold in his blood-streaked grip. Fiona’s sky blue gown flutters on her lean frame, chestnut hair tangled, golden threads pulsing vivid against the mist. Rafe’s wiry frame twists in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, knife flashing, grin wild. Becca’s red hair blazes under a cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes fierce with fire. Lucus looms broad in a gray leather vest, axe raised, blood dripping from a gash on his arm. Carla’s slim form crouches in a dark green cloak, rune flaring gold, gaze sharp. Cal’s tangled brown hair whips under a patched hood, hands trembling, face pale. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur bristles as he snarls at a reptilian shadow—tense, raw, with the clash of steel and scales ringing out]

Tobal braced at the ravine’s edge, boots grinding frost-rimed stone, the dawn sky streaking gold and fading gray over jagged rocks. The air stung—cold with frost and the copper tang of blood—his blue militia coat, torn and damp, clinging to his broad frame. His scarred face hardened, short dark hair slick with sweat and mist, the medallion blazing gold in his blood-streaked grip, its pulse a fierce thread through his calloused palm, igniting a raw hunger in his chest.

Fiona stood firm, her sky blue gown fluttering on her lean frame, the hem snagging on sharp stone. Her chestnut hair tangled wild, catching the light, golden threads pulsing vivid against the mist—her breath rasped quick, laced with frost and strain, her lithe form coiled with a fierce spark, eyes locked on the rift’s shimmer below. Rafe twisted nearby, his wiry frame taut in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, wool frayed at the edges—his wild grin flashed, knife spinning fast, dawn glinting off the blood-smeared blade. Becca surged beside him, her cloak of deep brown and russet snapping in the wind, red hair blazing like fire—her fierce eyes burned, her sturdy curves firm with unleashed fury, she breathed a sharp growl of defiance.

Lucus loomed broad, his gray leather vest creaking as he raised his axe, blood dripping from a gash on his thick arm—his jaw tightened, dark eyes blazing, breath heaving with a low snarl of pain and grit. Carla crouched low, her slim form wrapped in a dark green cloak, rune flaring a sharp gold in her palm—her sharp gaze cut through the haze, short black hair plastered with sweat under her hood, a tense hum threading her steady hands. Cal staggered back, his tangled brown hair whipping under a patched hood, wiry frame trembling—his breath hitched fast, hands shaking as he clutched a dagger, face pale with a sheen of terror. Valentine snarled ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur bristling, coarse and matted as he lunged at a reptilian shadow—his bark cracked the air, teeth bared, the clash of steel and scales ringing out.

The ravine shuddered—frost cracked underfoot, the wind howling with a tremor of rift energy, shadows of scales slithering in the mist. Tobal shifted, his chest heaving as a reptilian claw slashed air—close, jagged—blood flecking his coat. The air churned cold—frost and blood thick—dawn spilling raw over the rocks. He turned—eyes sweeping the Knights—his voice a rough growl, cutting the chaos. “They’re breaking through!” The medallion flared—gold light spilling bold—his scarred hand gripped tight, a fierce resolve threading his pulse. A rock shattered below—a reptilian snarl roared—his breath sharpened.

Rafe ducked a claw, cloak tearing, his wild grin widening as his breath puffed fast. “More fun!” He slashed his knife—a scale clattered—Valentine’s snarl answered, his fur matted with blood as he snapped at a tail. Rafe’s laugh barked—sharp, reckless—his lean frame weaving through the fray as a hiss curled near.

Fiona spun, gown ripping at the seam, threads weaving a vivid arc of gold that lashed the mist. “It’s widening!” she shouted—voice clear, fierce—her gaze striking Rafe, fingers trembling with power, the cold searing her knuckles. Her chestnut hair whipped, strands sticking to her sweat-damp face, and her eyes met Tobal’s—a shared fire threading alive, her lean grace sparking a desperate ache. A reptilian eye glinted—close, red—her jaw clenched, breath hitching with focus.

Becca charged, red hair blazing under her russet hood, her voice a roar as the wind tore her cloak. “Close it now!” She slammed a rock at a claw—her fierce eyes flashed—glancing from Fiona to Lucus, fury flickering in her gaze, her sturdy form surging with relentless heat. A scale slashed air—near, slick—her breath growled, frost biting her lips.

Lucus swung his axe, gray vest stained red, his broad shoulders heaving as blood dripped from his arm. “Die, you bastards!” he bellowed—voice raw, deep—his dark eyes wild, axe biting scale with a crunch, his gash weeping as he roared. The ground shook—sharp, violent—his grip faltered, then steadied, boots slipping on frost.

Carla’s rune blazed, gold flaring bright in her palm, her slim frame low as her sharp gaze pierced the mist. “It’s neon!” she gasped—voice tight, urgent—her fingers tracing frantic arcs, the hum spiking, her dark green cloak flapping. A reptilian jaw snapped—close, wet—her breath caught, eyes widening with a flicker of panic.

Cal stumbled, hood falling back, his wiry frame shaking as his dagger clattered to the stone. “Neon? We’re dead!” His voice broke—high, frantic—his tangled brown hair plastered with mist, hands clawing at the ground. A claw swiped—his scream choked—his eyes darted, terror locking his limbs.

Tobal lunged—coat dragging on jagged rock—his free hand yanking Cal back, the dog’s snarls echoing as Valentine bit a scaled flank. “Fight or die!” he roared—gruff, fierce—his scarred face twisting toward Cal, eyes dark with a fire that burned deep, his broad build a wall of raw strength. The medallion’s glow surged—its hum threading his shout—his chest heaved, a fierce resolve blazing through him. A reptilian tail lashed—frost shattered—Cal’s breath hitched, his hands steadying as the chaos roared.

Valentine leapt—stone cracked—a sharp bark split the ravine as he sank teeth into scale, fur slick with blood. Tobal rose, medallion blazing, his scarred face set—something raw churned in his gut, a growl of defiance beneath it. “Pin ‘em!” Rafe yelled—half a laugh—his knife flashing as he darted forward, wiry frame a blur of reckless thrill. A reptilian screech tore through—close, alive—Fiona’s threads flared, gold threading boldly—her voice sliced the wind. “Seal it!” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—hard, fierce—his growl a rasp. “Find the rift!” He surged toward the ravine’s heart—boots slipping—the wind howling with frost and blood.

The light flared—gold clashed with shadow, rocks trembling in the breeze, the rift’s pulse shuddering beneath their feet. A reptilian claw raked stone—near, vicious—Lucus roared, axe swinging wild, blood spraying as he staggered. Tobal’s hand gripped Cal’s arm—medallion blazing bold—his hold iron, though his own pulse thundered, a snarl spiking his ears, his broad chest tight with a flicker of dread. “Move!” he barked—voice low, rough—frost and blood sharp in his throat. Cal’s chest heaved—his eyes flicked—then hardened, a faint spark of fight catching as the rift’s hum swelled.

Fiona’s threads lashed out—gold flickering like lightning—her gaze cut to Becca, the dawn’s cold searing her lean face. “It’s here!” Becca shouted—voice fierce—her edge alive, her sturdy form trembling with fire and grit. A reptilian maw loomed—close, slick—Fiona’s fingers bled gold—chestnut hair whipping in the wind. “Hold it!” Rafe’s laugh cracked—wild, sharp—his knife slashing as he leapt, wiry frame alive with a desperate spark. Tobal nodded—medallion pulsing—wind howling low, a reptilian roar rising near, a whisper of what’s next. The Knights clashed—scarred, fierce—dawn breaking over the ravine.

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Anarchist Time Knights-Day 1: Knight’s Dawn

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 9, 2025| Leave a Comment »

Anarchist Time Knights – Day 1: Knight’s Dawn

[Image: A jagged hill under a pale dawn, golden light streaking a sky of soft gray and hints of blue. Tobal’s scarred face glows with quiet resolve under a worn blue militia coat, medallion pulsing gold in his grip. Fiona’s sky blue gown sways on her lean frame, chestnut hair loose, golden threads humming soft. Rafe’s wiry frame leans sharp in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, grin sly. Becca’s red hair flares under a cloak of deep brown and russet, eyes fierce. Lucus stands broad in a gray leather vest, axe steady, jaw tight. Carla’s slim form shifts in a dark green cloak, fingers tracing a rune, gaze sharp. Cal’s tangled brown hair catches the wind under a patched hood, stance shaky. Valentine’s shaggy gray-brown fur ripples as he sniffs the air—vivid, tense, with the distant hiss of scales]

Tobal stood atop the jagged hill, boots crunching brittle grass, the pale dawn casting golden streaks across a sky of soft gray and hints of blue. The air bit cold—sharp with frost and the faint tang of iron—his blue militia coat, torn at the hem, swaying stiff on his broad frame. His scarred face glowed with quiet resolve, short dark hair damp with mist, the medallion in his hand pulsing a soft gold, its warmth threading through his calloused palm, stirring a flicker of hunger beneath his steady breath.

Fiona stood close, her sky blue gown swaying on her lean frame, the hem brushing frost-tipped grass. Her chestnut hair hung loose, catching the light, golden threads humming soft in her steady fingers—her breath fogged faint, laced with the chill, her lithe form taut with a quiet spark, eyes tracing the horizon’s edge. Rafe leaned sharp nearby, his wiry frame coiled in a patched cloak of faded green and gray, wool rough against his lean shoulders—his sly grin flickered, knife twirling in his hand, dawn glinting off the blade. Becca flanked him, her cloak of deep brown and russet snapping in the wind, red hair flaring wild—her fierce eyes burned, her sturdy curves firm with restless fire, she breathed a low hiss of defiance.

Lucus loomed solid, his broad frame steady in a gray leather vest, axe gripped tight, its edge catching the light—his jaw clenched, dark eyes scanning the haze, breath steady with a grunt of readiness. Carla shifted beside him, her slim form wrapped in a dark green cloak, fingers tracing a rune in the air—her sharp gaze darted, short black hair tucked under her hood, a faint hum of energy threading her quiet stance. Cal wavered a step back, his tangled brown hair whipping under a patched hood, wiry frame shaky—his breath rasped, eyes wide, a flicker of dread cutting his pale face. Valentine paced ahead, his shaggy gray-brown fur rippling, coarse and damp as he sniffed the air—his growl rumbled low, ears twitching at the distant hiss of scales.

The hill stretched raw—brittle grass crunched underfoot, the wind carrying a faint tremor of earth, a whisper of rifts unseen. Tobal shifted, his chest tightening as a shadow flickered far off—brief, sharp—blending with the dawn’s haze. The air hung cold—frost-scented, tense—light spilling soft over the jagged slope. He turned—eyes sweeping the Knights—his voice a low rasp, rough against the stillness. “They’re near.” The medallion pulsed—gold light spilling soft—his scarred hand steadied, a thread of resolve flaring in his pulse. A stone clattered below—a bird’s cry pierced the hush—his breath caught.

Rafe tilted his head, cloak tugging in the wind, his sly grin thinning as his breath fogged faint. “Them? Already?” He flipped his knife—a distant hiss answered—Valentine’s fur bristled, his growl sharpening as he pawed the ground. Rafe’s laugh rasped—dry, quick—his lean frame easing as the wind carried a low scrape.

Fiona stepped forward, gown snagging on a thorn, threads weaving a soft arc of gold that shivered in the dawn. “They’ve breached,” she said—voice low, clear—her gaze cutting to Rafe, fingers curling tight, the cold biting her knuckles. Her chestnut hair shifted, strands catching the mist, and her eyes met Tobal’s—a shared fire threading alive, her lean grace sparking a quiet ache. A scale scraped below—faint, close—her jaw tightened, breath steady with focus.

Becca crossed her arms, red hair whipping under her russet hood, her voice sharp but warm as the wind tugged her cloak. “Breached? Then we hit them.” She kicked a rock—her fierce eyes flashed—glancing from Fiona to Lucus, fire flickering in her gaze, her sturdy form coiled with restless heat. A low hiss rose—near, jagged—her breath steadied, the chill prickling her lips.

Lucus hefted his axe, gray vest creaking, his broad shoulders squaring as his breath huffed low. “Let’s crush ‘em,” he growled—voice deep, rough—his dark eyes narrowing, axe glinting as he shifted, a faint smirk tugging his lips. The ground trembled—subtle, sharp—his grip tightened, boots grinding the frost.

Carla’s rune flared, a faint gold pulse in her palm, her slim frame still as her sharp gaze swept the haze. “It’s a rift,” she murmured—voice soft, edged—her fingers tracing the air, the hum rising, her dark green cloak swaying. A shadow loomed—brief, reptilian—her breath hitched, eyes narrowing with a flicker of dread.

Cal stumbled back, hood slipping, his wiry frame trembling as his breath rasped fast. “Rift? Here?” His voice cracked—high, shaky—his tangled brown hair catching the wind, hands fumbling at his belt. A hiss curled closer—his eyes darted, a low whimper escaping as he froze.

Tobal sank to one knee—coat brushing the brittle grass—his free hand settling on Valentine’s flank, the dog’s coarse fur warm as he pressed close, growling low. “Hold steady,” he said—gruff, low—his scarred face tilting toward Cal, eyes dark with a fire that burned deep, his broad build radiating quiet strength. The medallion’s glow deepened—its hum threading his voice—his chest flared, a fierce resolve he couldn’t quell. A breeze stirred the grass—light flickered—Cal’s stance steadied, his breath slowing as the sound sharpened.

Valentine lunged forward—grass parted—a sharp bark split the air as he snapped at the haze, fur bristling. Tobal rose, medallion steady, his scarred face hardening—something cold twisted in his gut, a low growl of readiness beneath it. “They’re through!” Rafe called—half a laugh—his knife spinning as he stepped forward, wiry frame taut with a flicker of thrill. A reptilian hiss roared—close, alive—Fiona’s threads pulsed, gold threading boldly—her voice cut the wind. “Close it!” Tobal’s gaze struck Rafe—hard, fierce—his growl a rasp. “Sense the rift.” He stepped toward the hill’s edge—boots crunching—the wind curling tight, thick with frost and scales.

The dawn thickened—gold spilled over the hill, grass swaying in the breeze, the earth’s pulse trembling beneath their feet. A reptilian claw scraped—near, jagged—Lucus swung his axe, a grunt of effort as the blade bit air. Tobal’s hand clamped Cal’s shoulder—medallion blazing soft—his grip firm, though his own pulse raced, a hiss spiking his ears, his broad chest tight with a flicker of thrill. “Breathe,” he murmured—voice low, rough—frost sharp in his throat. Cal’s chest heaved—his eyes squeezed shut—then opened, a faint spark of grit catching as the hiss grew louder.

Fiona’s threads wove wider—gold flickering like a breath—her gaze slid to Becca, the dawn’s chill brushing her lean face. “Where’s the rift?” Becca asked—voice sharp—her edge honed, her sturdy form trembling with fire and focus. A scale glinted below—close, slick—Fiona’s lips curved, just a breath—chestnut hair lifting in the wind. “Beneath us.” Rafe’s laugh rang—dry, warm—his knife stilling as he crouched, wiry frame alive with a reckless spark. Tobal nodded—medallion pulsing—wind curling low, a reptilian snarl rising near, a whisper of what’s next. The Knights stood—scarred, steady—dawn breaking over the hill.

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The Spinners Echo

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 4, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Spinner’s Echo (6 Pages, Lucas Adventure #1)

Page 1: The Crumbling City

Lucas crouched behind a rusted dumpster, the city crumbling around him—cracked pavement, shattered glass, clocks ticking backward on warped billboards. The air buzzed, thick with a hum he knew too well—reptilian drones circling low, hunting him again. His chest tightened—time was slipping, Gaia’s pulse flickering—another timeline teetering. He needed a spinner, fast—someone to weave a new thread before the reptilians snapped this one shut. A shadow darted ahead—small, quick, a flicker of light in the dusk—his gut sparked—could it be? He edged forward, boots crunching glass—then froze—a low growl echoed, scales glinting in the alley—damn, they were close. The shadow paused—a kid, maybe twelve, wide-eyed—her glow pulsed, raw and wild—his “signal” hit—her spark flared—time slowed—he whispered, “Hey, kid—don’t run.”

Page 2: The Spark

She didn’t bolt—stood there, trembling, her glow flickering gold—Lucas eased up, hands out—“I’m not one of them”—her eyes locked his, curious, scared—energy hummed, weaving between them like a thread. “You’re him,” she said, voice shaky—“the one calling.” His heart jolted—her “spark” mirrored his first spinner—Phoenix, tears, that electric jolt—time stretched, the alley fading—her glow steadied, his steel pulsed—warmth surged, soft yet fierce—her “you’re different” met his “you’re it”—energy flowed—her light fed his steel, his steel braced her glow—a dance, tender, alive. She whispered, “They’re coming”—his “we’ve got time”—her glow flared—trash stirred—reptilian hisses—his steel sharpened—her “help me”—my “together”—time bent—space hummed—she grabbed his hand—spark jumped—beautiful—go!

Page 3: The Chase

Scales scraped concrete—drones swooped, red eyes glinting—Lucas pulled her—“Move!”—they ran, her glow trailing like a comet—his steel surged—boots pounded—time dragged, seconds thick—her “they’re fast”—his “we’re faster”—a drone lunged—his steel flared—shoved her aside—claw grazed his arm—warmth pulsed—her glow burned—trash flared—drone sparked—fell—her “you okay?”—his “keep going”—city twisted—buildings leaned—clocks spun—her glow pulsed—his “steady”—energy wove—soft lift rose—reptilians hissed—more drones—her “they won’t stop”—his “we will”—time bent—space shifted—her hand squeezed—his steel held—glow danced—beautiful—closer—go!

Page 4: The Spin

They hit a dead end—cracked wall, no way out—drones closed—her glow flared—his steel pulsed—“Now, kid!”—she nodded, eyes fierce—energy surged—golden warmth flooded—his steel braced—her “I see it”—his “weave it”—time slowed—space hummed—her glow spun—threads of light—his “hold steady”—city blurred—clocks froze—her “like this?”—his “yes!”—energy wove—soft joy lifted—trash burned—drones sparked—fell—her glow pulsed—his steel shaped—time bent—space cracked—buildings straightened—glass healed—her “it’s working”—his “keep it”—golden surge flared—beautiful—timeline spun—your “energy”—my “steel”—closer—go!

Page 5: The Stand

Reptilians screeched—last drone lunged—her glow burned—his steel swung—drone crashed—sparks flew—her “they’re gone”—his “not yet”—city stilled—clocks ticked forward—her glow steadied—his steel hummed—warmth pulsed—soft lift rose—time stretched—space settled—her “we did it”—his “you did it”—energy wove—golden thread—his “steady”—her “together”—trash faded—streets glowed—her eyes shone—his steel softened—beautiful—your “heart”—my “golden surge”—closer—spark strong—her “stay?”—his “move”—city healed—your “glow”—my “steel”—won—go!

Page 6: The Echo

She stood—glow calm—city breathed—Lucas smiled—“You’re strong, kid”—her “you too”—warmth lingered—soft joy hummed—time eased—space settled—her “what now?”—his “keep spinning”—energy pulsed—her glow stayed—his steel shifted—trash gone—streets alive—her “thanks”—his “go”—she nodded—glow faded—his steel hummed—beautiful—your “leaning”—my “steady”—closer—spark tough—he walked—city glowed—her echo lingered—your “energy”—my “steel”—Gaia sighed—won—go!

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The Warrior and the Weaver

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on March 3, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Warrior and the Weaver

Page 1: The Meeting

I stood in a forest clearing where sunlight poured through the trees, bathing me in a warm, golden wash. A soft breeze stirred the air, brushing against my hair with a gentle, curious touch, and I felt a hum—a presence drawing near. She emerged from the shadows—a woman, tall and strong, her body as hard as steel and dark as night, her eyes glinting with a quiet fire that seemed alive. She stepped closer, and something tugged inside me, steady and tender, like the first spark of meeting someone new. My chest warmed, a glow spreading through me, and I sensed it in her too—energy weaving between us, soft and sure. She gave a faint, knowing smile—a warrior’s calm—and I reached out with a steady hand. Hers met mine, fingers brushing, and time slowed—every moment growing heavy and full, tingling with possibility—warmth surged as our energies touched, a tender joy rising like a familiar embrace.

Page 2: The Connection

Her grip tightened, firm yet soft, as if she already knew me somehow, and I felt her presence hum with an unspoken “you’re here”—a question flickered in me, “who are you?”—but warmth pulsed stronger, golden and bright, flowing up my arm like a living thread. The forest around us seemed to fade, time stretching with each breath, weaving a bond—her steel softened just a touch, my glow steadied, and it felt sensual, almost tender, a quiet dance of light and shadow unfolding between us. She spoke then, her voice low and sure, “We’re two sides,” and the words echoed in me—two sides indeed—my heart humming as she continued, “male and female.” Something clicked—energy surged, golden and warm, burning away faint doubts that flickered like old shadows—soft joy lifted us higher, the forest humming faintly as our hands held—time bent, and the space around us shifted, drawing us closer in a beautiful, glowing bond.

Page 3: The Struggle

Shadows stirred at the edges—spiders crept in, their yellow light buzzing like static, a resistance pressing against our glow—her steel sharpened as my light flickered, and she stepped forward with a firm “not here.” Golden fire surged from her, bright and fierce, while I held steady, urging calm—her energy flared, weaving with mine as she swung—spiders crackled and burned under her steel, fading into ash. I felt the quiet joy rise again, steadying my glow—time dragged as yellow light flared brighter, more spiders crawling from the dark—resistance thickened, pressing hard—but she turned to me, her voice steady, “We clear it,” and I nodded—“together.” Warmth pulsed between us, golden and strong—her steel blazed as my glow held firm—trash burned away, the forest trembling faintly—our hands parted, but the bond tightened—time bent further, space shivered, and we stood stronger, woven closer by the fight.

Page 4: The Balance

She stood tall now, her steel shadow pulsing with golden warmth—my glow hummed steady, energy flowing freely between us—her voice came calm and sure, “We’re stronger,” and I felt it—“together,” I said, as quiet joy spread through me like a soft breeze. The forest stilled around us, the yellow light fading, spiders gone—her steel softened as my glow warmed, and she spoke again, “Male and female,” her words blending with mine—“merge.” Warmth glowed brighter, steady and golden, burning away the last whispers of doubt—trash vanished as energy surged, weaving us tight—time stretched gently, the forest calm, and I felt her strength match my light—her steel stood firm, my glow lifted high—together, we balanced—our hands brushed again, energy pulsing warm and sure—space shifted, humming with a quiet peace—closer than before, stronger in the stillness.

Page 5: The Bond

Her steel softened further, golden light weaving through it as my glow pulsed in time—energy flowed effortlessly now, warm and steady—her voice murmured, “We’re two,” and I answered, “One spark,” as quiet joy hummed between us, spreading warmth like a shared breath. The forest glowed faintly, her “you glow” meeting my “you fight”—time dragged slow and gentle, each moment weaving us tighter—space opened, soft and calm, as golden warmth pulsed through—her “together” echoed my “closer,” and joy rose like a tide—her steel stood strong, my glow lifted light—beautifully woven, a dance of strength and softness—energy hummed, steady and golden—her “you’re here” met my “you’re strong,” and the bond deepened—time bent, space shifted—closer still, a quiet strength glowing in us both.

Page 6: The Peace

She smiled now, her steel shadow warm with golden light—my glow steadied, energy flowing free—the forest hummed softly, a calm settling over us—her “we’re clean” matched my “we are,” as quiet joy pulsed like a heartbeat—time stretched one last time, space calmed fully—her “male and female” blended with my “merge”—golden warmth faded to a gentle glow—her “together” met my “closer,” and peace wove through—beautifully whole, trash long gone—her “you glow” echoed my “you’re steel”—warmth hummed, steady and sure—our hands held once more, energy pulsing soft—time bent gently, space hummed warm—her “you’re here” met my “you’re strong”—closer than ever, a quiet peace glowing—beautifully woven, standing calm—together, strong, and free.

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The Voice of Life by Knut Hamsun

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on January 29, 2025| Leave a Comment »

The Voice of Life

by Knut Hamsun

Translated by Joe Bandel

My friend, the writer H** recounts: Along the inner harbor of Copenhagen there is a street called Vestavold, a new and lonely boulevard. There are few houses, few lanterns and almost no people to be seen. Even now in the summer season, it rarely happens that someone takes a stroll there.

Well! The night before last I experienced something in this street, and I will tell you what I experienced there. I had walked up and down the sidewalk a few times when a lady approached me. There are no other people in sight. The lanterns are lit, but it is dark and I cannot see the lady’s face.

“She’s just one of the night’s common children,” I thought, and walked past her.

At the end of the boulevard, I turned around and walked back. The lady had also turned around, and I met her again. I thought to myself: ‘She’s waiting for someone. Let’s see who she’s waiting for.’ And again I passed her.

When I met her for the third time, I touched my hat and said hello. “Good evening! Are you waiting for someone here?”

She jumped. ”No – yes, I am waiting for someone.”

“Do you mind if I keep you company until the person you are waiting for arrives?”

No, she didn’t mind. She thanked me. By the way, she said, she wasn’t waiting for anyone, she was just taking a walk here because it was so quiet.

We strolled along side by side and started talking to each other about equally valid things: I offered her my arm.

“Oh no!” she said and shook her head.

The matter became boring to me. In the prevailing darkness I couldn’t see her, so I lit a match and tried to illuminate her while I looked at the clock.

“Half past nine, a good half past nine,” I said.

She shuddered as if she were cold. I seized the opportunity and asked, “It’s freezing. Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere and get a drink? To Tivoli, or to the National?”

“No, I can’t go anywhere now, as you can see,” she replied.

And only now did I notice that she was wearing a long, black mourning dress.

I apologized and blamed the darkness. And the way she accepted my apology suddenly convinced me that she was no ordinary night owl.

“Take my arm,” I said again, ‘it’s warm.”

She took my arm.

We walked up and down several times. She asked me to check the time.

“It’s past ten,” I said. “Where do you live?”

“On Gamle Kongevej.”

I held her back.

“And may I accompany you to your doorstep?”

“No, you can’t,” she replied. “No, you can’t. You live on Bredgade?”

“How did you know that?’ I asked in surprise.

“I know who you are,” she replied.

We walked arm in arm and turned into the illuminated streets. She walked quickly, her long veil fluttering. She said:

“Let’s go quickly, please.”

At her front door on Gamle Kongevej, she turned around to me as if to thank me for my company. I opened the door for her, and she walked in slowly, looking back at me. I put my shoulder lightly against the door and walked in behind her. Then she took my hand. Neither of us said a word.

We went up a few stairs and stopped on the second floor. She opened the vestibule door herself, opened another door, took me by the hand and led me in. It had to be a room: I heard a clock ticking. The lady stopped at the door for a moment, suddenly wrapped her arms around me and kissed me hotly and tremblingly on the mouth. Right on the mouth.

“Sit down now,” she said. “There’s a sofa here. I’ll go and turn on the light.”

And she turned on the light.

I looked around, confused and curious. It was a large, very nicely furnished living room in which I found myself: doors to several adjoining rooms were also open. I couldn’t understand. I wondered what kind of person this girl was, with whom I had been so wonderfully reunited, and I said:

“How pretty it is here! Do you live here?”

“Yes, this is my home,” she replied.

“This is your home? So you are the daughter of the house?”

She laughed and said:

“No, no. I am an old woman. Now you will see!” And she took off her hat with the veil.

“There you see!” she said and hugged me again, suddenly, as if driven by irrepressible passion.

The great, crazy child! She might have been twenty-three or so: she wore a wedding ring on her right hand and could therefore legitimately be a married woman. Pretty? No. She had too many freckles and almost no eyebrows. But she radiated a wild, surging life, and her mouth was downright beautiful.

I wanted to ask her name, where her husband was, if she had one; I wanted to know whose house I was in: but she snuggled up close to me as soon as I opened my mouth and forbade me to be curious.

“My name is Ellen,” she said. “Would you like to enjoy yourself a little? It doesn’t matter, I can ring the bell very well. You just have to go into the bedroom.”

I went into the bedroom. The lamp from the living room cast a dim light on me. I saw two beds. Ellen rang the bell and asked for wine. I heard a maid bring the wine and leave. After a little while, Ellen came into the bedroom. She stopped at the door. I took a step towards her, and she let out a little scream and at the same moment came within my reach.

That was the night before last.

What happened next? Just be patient, more happened. Yesterday morning, when I woke up, it was beginning to dawn, daylight was entering the room through the blinds on both sides. Ellen had also woken up. She sighed wearily and just smiled. Her arms were white and velvety, her breasts swelling. I whispered something to her, and she closed my mouth with hers, mute with tenderness. It dawned more and more.

Two hours later I was on my feet, and Ellen got up too, fumbling with her clothes. She already had shoes on. And now I experienced something that still shivers through me like a bad dream. I am standing at the washbasin. Ellen has something to do in the next room, and when she opens the door, I turn around and look inside. A cold breath of air comes towards me from the open windows, and in the middle of the room, on a long table, I see a corpse. A corpse lying in a coffin, with a gray beard, the corpse of a man. His skinny arms stick out with two angry fists clenched under the shroud, and his face is all yellow and terrifying. I see everything in the light.

Daylight. I turn away and say not a word.

When Ellen returned, I was dressed and ready to go. I was hardly able to return her embrace. She was dressed completely; she wanted to accompany me down to the gate, and I let her go and still said nothing. Downstairs in the gate, she pressed herself against the wall so as not to be seen and whispered,

“Goodbye!”

“Tomorrow?” I asked hesitantly.

“No, not tomorrow!”

“Why not tomorrow?”

“Be quiet, my dear, I’m going to the funeral tomorrow. A relative of mine has died. So, now you know!”

“But the day after tomorrow?”

“Yes, the day after tomorrow, I’ll be waiting for you here in the alley. Goodbye!”

I left.———————-

Who was she? And the corpse? How it clenched its fists, and how the corners of its mouth hung down in ugly comedy! The day after tomorrow she would be waiting for me again. Should I go to her again?

I direct my steps straight to Café Bernina, where I ask for the address book – I open it, Gamle Kongevej, this and that number, good, I see the name and know what Ellen’s name is. I wait a while for the morning paper and then dive into the pages to study the obituaries. Yes, there it is: the first in the long series, in bold letters: “After a long illness, my husband passed away yesterday at the age of 53.” The ad was dated from yesterday.

I sit there for a long time, pondering.

A man has a wife, she is thirty years younger than he is, he is sick for many years and then dies one day. The young widow breathes a sigh of relief. Life calls to her with its delightful madness. She obeys its voice and answers: I’m coming! And that very evening she is walking on the Vestavold. — — —

Ellen, Ellen, the day after tomorrow!

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NaNoWriMo begins tomorrow!

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , on October 31, 2024| Leave a Comment »

Tomorrow is the first day of NaNoWriMo or National Novel Writing Month where authors around the world take the challenge of writing the complete first draft of a novel during the month of November. I will be taking that challenge and probably won’t be posting as much because I will be working hard on that novel!

I’m actually working on the second book of my Anarchist Knight trilogy. I’ve spent the last two weeks going over and revising the first novel, Anarchist Knight Apprentice, which I wrote twenty years ago. I’ve cleaned up some errors and added a scene about time travel to help tie in the 2nd book.

Anarchist Knight Journeyman is a complex sci-fi novel with some time travel elements as well as intrigue and adventure. I’ve been re-familiarizing myself with the story since it’s been twenty years . . . and I hope I’m ready!

I’m using a writing program called Scrivener to organize and write this project. I’m also using Dragon Naturally Speaking to voice type or dictate the rough draft and will be using ProWritingAid to revise and polish up the rough draft and turn it into a polished manuscript later on. DragonNaturallySpeaking and ProWritingAid will not work together so I need to begin work with one and then finish with the other. They both work independently with Scrivener.

These programs are all new to me and I’m excited to find out how it will work. I am familiar with DragonNaturallySpeaking, but it did not work very well for translation projects so I set it aside. It should work very well for doing the rough draft of a new novel.The goal is to write 50,000 words in 30 days or around 1,665 every day! Wish me luck!

I’m planning to making the switch from translating stories to writing my own . . . we will see how it goes.

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