FridayFlash, The Newscast

•April 23, 2010 • 20 Comments

This week I’m participating in something called #FridayFlash for the very first time. It’s a weekly compilation of flash fiction by several writers. If you like a good read I can recommend that you check out the full list at, http://jmstrother.com/MadUtopia/

If you like, or dislike, my story please take a moment to comment. Feedback is always more than welcome.

The Newscast

”The footage you are watching is real” the lady on the news said. Her voice was trembling as she continued, “I assure you viewers, this is real live feed from Time Square. It appears as if there has been some kind of mass hysteria” her voice trailed off. The TV-screen showed a scrambled video feed caught on one of the security cameras at Time Square. The scene was violent and fast.

The news-lady cleared her throat and continued, “People are attacking people on random” she said. The news lady just sat there besides the monitor that showed the rolling live feed of the grotesque violence. Despite the feed being broadcasted in black and white you could clearly see pools of blood forming under the people lying still on the sidewalks and in the streets.

“The footage is real, this footage is real. It’s really happening” the news-lady continued, more to confirm it herself then to assure the viewers at home. “And we had reports” she continued. “This isn’t isolated to New York. This is happening all over America” she stopped, her jaw sank down to her chest and she swallowed hard. For a moment her eyes flickered to the side, away from the camera and from the viewer. She continued, “This is happening all over the world—”

“What are you watching?” Stacey asked James. He startled when she put her warm hand on his bare shoulder. “What is it honey?” she asked. Her voice filling up with dread when she saw James face, the expression of complete emptiness. James didn’t reply, didn’t even look at her, he just nodded towards the TV. Stacey was suddenly too afraid to turn her head and look. Whatever was showing on the TV that made her husband react like this couldn’t be good. Then she heard the news-lady.

“The government refuses to comment” she said. Her voice was weak and barely audible but Stacey heard it, like a whisper of doom. “So far there has been no official word, no one knows what is happening.” Tears became to streak down the cheeks of the news lady. “People are just killing people everywhere—” she said.

James and Stacey both began to cry in silence. Stacey had turned around and was staring at the feed from Time Square. There were less people in the streets now than there had been a few minutes ago. And that was the worst part. People that had fallen victim from the furious violence had risen from their pools of blood and begun to exact their own bloody vengeance.

For what seemed like hours the news-lady sat silent by the monitor. The silence was overwhelming. Then the news-lady broke down in huge sobs. She began to shake and buried her face in her hands. “The footage is real” she repeated silently through sobs.

After a while the news-cast cut to commercial that seemed way to mundane now, how could such things matter at all in a world that had broken down into blood gorged hysterics.

When the commercials ended and the news-cast returned to the screen the news-lady had been replaced by a small and tired looking man dressed in a police officer’s uniform.

“Are we on?” the man asked. He was looking away from the camera with raised eyebrows. “Oh okay” he continued. “Good morning fellow New Yorkers” the man began tentatively. “I don’t quite know how to begin telling you this. The rioting that begun in Time Square this morning have spiraled out of hand.”

“The number of rioters is only to increasing, despite our every effort to stem the flow of this event. We are running out of options. Citizens of New York, your streets are no longer safe. We urge you to stay in your homes. Lock all doors and windows, and if you’re not in your home we strongly suggest that you seek out somewhere to hide while this situation is being resolved” the man said. He cleared his throat, “If you have guns, we suggest that you get them. Things are a bit crazy right now.”

James turned off the TV. He took Stacey’s hand and pulled her with him. He walked over to the balcony of their fifth-floor apartment. With the TV turned off they could hear the muffled sound of screams and distant gunshots through the glass of the windows.

James opened the balcony door and stepped outside. Stacey refused and pulled free from his grip.

“What do you see baby?” Her voice was rimmed with fear and anxiety. This was all too surreal, but as the news-lady had said over and over, the footage was real, it was happening.

James looked out over the park that stood in the center of his four-building block. He could see a group of men chase down and start to beat a young girl. He saw a group of children sitting in the street eating the dead. There was blood everywhere. James felt like his gut was going to explode. He lifted his eyes towards the distant city and saw dozens of thick black pillars of smoke rise to the sky.

“Yeah—” he said. “It’s pretty crazy out there.” He stepped inside and closed the balcony door. For a moment he struggled to keep his breakfast.

From the apartment below there came sudden shouts and screams. They could hear the sound of a struggle followed by the deafening thunder of a shotgun going off. The shouting stopped. Stacey fell down to her knees shaking and crying wildly,

“What the fuck is going on James?” she asked helplessly.

James didn’t reply. He walked over to the sofa and slumped down. They could hear the sound of screams from everywhere. Whatever was going on being inside didn’t seem to be any safer than out in the streets. After a few moments Stacey joined him in the sofa. Together they listened to the world going insane.

© Isaac Liljedahl

A Flux in Words.

•April 22, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I’ve begun to notice a creeping shift in where my focus lay. Before, I was set with working on my novel, and almost all of my free time was poured into it. But since I started blogging I’ve found that writing my novel has become harder. I spend more and more time thinking about what to write for the blog and less on what is going to happen next to my novel’s dear protagonist.

What this means is that the blog is going to change. Instead of posting daily I will be posting weekly. I will post complete stories instead of splitting it up in pieces. The first story will actually be posted tomorrow. So be sure to check in during the weekend.

I hope this new direction will sit well with my few and dedicated readers. And if not, you know where to send your complaints 😉

Musings of a Fallen Angel, Part 2

•April 19, 2010 • 8 Comments

I’m sick with fever, and it has turned my brain into peanut butter. It was a hard struggle to write today’s segment. I just hope me not having a functioning brain at the moment didn’t impede my writing too much.

This is the last part in a short interlude. I hope you enjoyed it and tune in tomorrow for the third story in the Blackville mythos.

Musings of a Fallen Angel, Part 2

A tall figure was walking towards him, thick dark robes billowing in the wind. The hood was deep and shadows concealed the figures face.

“Is the daylight bothering you?” Uriel grinned. The figure did not reply but only kept walking with long determined strides towards the dark angel. Uriel laughed. Thin smoke tendrils rose like snakes from the brim of the hood.

“Yes” the figure hissed when he approached Uriel. “It pains me.” Another hiss, barely audible in the crashing howl of the wind.

“These robes fascinate me.” Uriel reached for the robe and drew his clawed hand over the soft fabric. He could feel, taste, the figure tense underneath the flowing garment. Uriel purred and pulled back his lips to display perfect and deadly fangs.

“Don’t worry” Uriel mused. “I’ve seen your kind burn a thousand times. It’s nothing that interests me anymore.”

The figure hissed and Uriel knew it was clenching its own crooked fangs together in hatred and fear. Hatred was good, fear better. A soldier that feared his masters bite was the best soldier. Vampires were despicable creatures, so easy to tease and control.

Uriel turned away from the vampire and looked out over the city. “Is everything ready for tonight?” he asked.

“Yes” the figure answered. “I assure you, the Hounds will not live.”

“That’s all, Louis” Uriel said after a moment, “Don’t fail the Red Lord.”

“Thank you Uriel, Black Wing” Louis hissed. The vampire bowed deeply and left the fallen angel to his musings.

THE END

© Isaac Liljedahl

Musings of a Fallen Angel, Part 1

•April 18, 2010 • 8 Comments

Here comes the second story in the Blackville mythos. I hope you’ll enjoy it!

Musings of a Fallen Angel, Part 1

Blackville, the last playground for Heaven and Hell, the last wager between two crooked old men. Uriel stood atop the Empire Tower and watched people scurry from their homes to their workplaces and back, never leaving the illusion of safety daylight instilled. They feared all the wrong things, and they worshiped false idols. Money over justice, consumption over love.

Uriel felt pride swell in his chest when he thought about all these things. It was he that whispered to the people about dark things, dark thoughts. For millennia he had whispered poison into their ears. He alone was the voice of the red lord, and oh what a mighty lord. The others were fools not to see the strength in his lord.

Gabriel, voice of the enemy, was the greatest of all fools. How he loathed Gabriel and his incorruptible righteousness. A dark image simmered into his mind’s eye and he could see himself grasping the fragile roots of Gabriel’s oh so white wings. His hands clenched and crushed until the other howled in agony, and then he would pull with the will of the red lord, pull the wings from Gabriel’s back and watch him fall to the earth a ruin.

Uriel stretched his own black wings and screamed in silent rage until the image of the enemy subsided into the shadow of his mind. He heard footsteps behind him and turned around.

© Isaac Liljedahl

The Hounds of Blackville, Part 9

•April 17, 2010 • 7 Comments

Today’s post is by far the longest yet, a whopping 442 words. But I felt that I had raised a lot of questions in the previous segments and I wanted to answer as many as I felt was possible within the limitations of this short story. I feel that I did a pretty decent job of it but I realize that a whole bunch of questions were left unsolved. All I can say is keep reading, answers will come as we delve deeper into the Blackville mythos.

Enjoy the conclusion to the Hounds of Blackville. And don’t forget to tune in tomorrow for the first part of the next story 🙂

The Hounds of Blackville, Part 9

“What did he say?” the older vampire shrieked.

“Nothing, father” the younger vampire hissed. There was nervous excitement in his voice, William could hear it.

“Fool!”

From the darkening edges of his vision William saw the tall vampire stride quickly forward, eyes staring with surprised horror at him. Razor sharp claws slapped with blurred speed at the younger vampire and sent a thin spray of blood in William’s face. He felt the icy fingers release their iron grip and air rushed into his lungs with crushing speed. He collapsed into a sobbing, gasping heap on the floor.

“Who sent you gunslinger?” The vampire bent over William. A terrifying grin split his thin face in two.

William turned his face up to see the man. Eyes dark as coal looked down on him, yellow fangs snapped at the air in front of his face.

“Gabriel” William said, “Gabriel did.”

The vampire coiled back as if struck, the grin transformed into a grimace of pain. “That meddlesome fool!” he shrieked. “Leave Hound, get out!” Panic was creeping into his voice.

William could feel the power shift in his favor. The older vampire shrunk back into the darkness pulling the younger with him. Their eyes burned with unbridled hatred.

William rose slowly to his feet, his legs were weak and he had to support himself against the wall as he bent down to pick up the cross and his gun. The pistol felt heavy in his weak hand.

“One day you will be mine Hound” the younger vampire hissed from the darkness behind William.

“No Louis” William shook his head slowly. “You will never get a chance like this again.”

One by one the lights in the hallway flickered on and replaced the darkness with a dull gloom. William could see endless claw marks in the carpet and on the walls. This had been a close call. His bones ached with age. He was getting to old for this.

William shuffled over to Edward and felt for a pulse, he was alive thank God. “Come on partner, time to go.” Edward grunted and nodded weakly. William had to use all of his strength to pull his partner to his feet, together they limped to the elevator and pressed the call button.

Edward had a nasty gash in the back of his head. Blood pumped slowly but deliberately from the wound.

“You hanging in there, partner?” William asked as the elevator doors slid open and they got in.

“Uh-hu” was all Edward managed to reply.

William pressed a button and listened to the soft humming sound of the elevator taking them to the basement car park.

THE END

© Isaac Liljedahl

The Hounds of Blackville, Part 8

•April 16, 2010 • Leave a Comment

Sorry for not posting anything yesterday. But my head was a scrambled mess all day since I barely slept at all on the train — from hell. It turned out that the train had a malfunction that the crew had overseen and as a result I came home five hours later than expected, making it a  14 hour trip.

When I got home I only slept for an hour, since I didn’t want to disturb my sleeping rhythm more than necessary. So I spent the afternoon in zombie-mode and went to bed early.

But I’m very pleased with today’s segment. Hopefully it makes up for having missed a day 🙂

The Hounds of Blackville, Part 8

“Your kind is not welcome here” the man continued. “No man can dictate vampire law” he snarled.

“We were sent —“ William began but before he could finish his sentence a shadow lunged from the darkness. Edward screamed and was thrown back, there was a dull crack as his skull hit the wall. His eyes glazed over and he slid slowly to the floor.

William felt cold fingers wrap around his throat like steel bars. With a violent jerk he was forced down to his knees and tears of pain rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe and panic overtook his mind like a virus.

“I will make you cry blood, human” a voice whispered into his ear. To William it was the voice of death, a slow hiss from behind the throbbing pain in his lungs. And he knew the voice, knew it all too well.

“Gabriel” William whimpered.

The creature standing above him only smiled with scarred and crooked lips. Black eyes looked down on him without mercy. “Father” it spoke. “Let me take his blood.”

“Gabriel.“ William felt the last air leave his lungs and darkness swam over his eyes. “Gabriel—“ it was his only chance.

© Isaac Liljedahl

The Hounds of Blackville, Part 7

•April 14, 2010 • 10 Comments

Okay, my bags are packed and I’m taking the train home tonight. It’s a nine-hour trip and just thinking about it is pretty exhausting, I’ve never been one for sleeping on trains.  I’ve spent two weeks with my family and as always it’s sad to go.

But going home also means that I can get to working on my novel again. For two weeks I’ve known exactly what the next sentence is going to be, but I haven’t found the peace or time to write it down.

The Hounds of Blackville, Part 7

The darkness around them seemed to thicken, become something tangible. They could almost taste the fear in the air. The horrible twisted creatures all fell silent. For a moment they just stood there and watched with hungry eyes. Then they withdrew into the darkness and a man stepped forward. He was tall and thin, dressed in a slim grey suit, his hair and eyes were jet black. The man grinned at William and Edward, displaying two rows of perfect fangs.

Casually he stepped into the globe of light and snatched the cross from William’s hand. He inspected the carvings on the small piece of metal. “Trinkets” he said and his voice was a broken hiss. Thin streaks of smoke rose from the man’s skin were the cross touched his skin. He turned his hand palm down and let it fall to the ground.

The man sniffed the air and snapped his jaw. “The children are a hungry” he said. “Tell me, who are you that possesses such trinkets?” He glanced down at the cross.

“I’m William Idle and this is my partner Edward Stone” William said. He could hear his voice tremble with fear and excitement.

“Ah so, the famous Hounds of Blackville” the man shrieked.

© Isaac Liljedahl