~ essay on the primordial terror of the xenomorph and the Alien series.

https://fatal-fiction-fanon.fandom.com/wiki/Xenomorph

For years now I have had dreams featuring the xenomorph in some form and capacity. That is, THE monstrous, cosmic horror-inducing alien from the Alien series.

I have been ardently keeping a dream journal since 2015…

~ a poem

It is ALL in your eyes:
The world
Your soul
Our love
My reflection

I can’t get enough
Addicted to those windows
Like a bird to the cleanest pane on a ‘scraper

So hungry for those eyes
That I have taken to looking passing drivers in the eye

At every crosswalk,
I let my gaze turn into a staring contest
Awkward and unnerving and relentless
I lock in which those vessels behind the wheels

But even more than any kind of World-Soul-Love,
I do it so that if one of ’em ever runs me down
They’ll have my final visage haunt them forever :)

~ a short story

“The siren calls and the world spins.”

That is what they say. The old legends. Myths and stories about that which we cannot explain with materials and sciences. One way or another, they’re all about who She is and what She does.

My story isn’t so…

~ three short tales to terrify, as told by ME! A despicable kook known as The Grim Writer.

Welcome to another — no, the first! — edition of Tales To Tartarus… hehehe.

What you are about to read is a trio of tales about terrible talkers suddenly silenced. These pages…

~ a short story

Naked in bed, I lay staring. At it.

Every night was like this. For minutes, sometimes hours, I drank in the magnificence. “Bloodghast” was the name of the piece. A painting of a ghostly, vampiric, daemonic creature; a beautiful friend. I’d purchased, framed and mounted it…

~ a reimagining of the poem “Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley x Zsoro

I met a snake from a dune shade,
Who said — “Two cold eyes gaze from here
Stand before the immortal … near His feet in the sand,
Gleaming in sun above, a grinning grimace heralds gloom,
And lipless cavity, and jeer of candid command,
Tell that its sculptor full those passions fell
Which yet survive, stamped forever on this lively icon,
The hand that struck them, and the heart that blackened;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Cain, King of Killers;
Leer on my Form, ye Guilty, and rejoice!
Nothing inside remains. Circle the void
Of that colossal Daemon, baleful and brazen
His bountifully bloody sands vein through vanity,
Stretching far to empire humanity.”

~ a short story

The group circled a skull on the carpet, seated equidistant from one another with eyes closed and hearts uncentered.

Andy was humming something insufferable. Johnny played a banjo, badly.

Ro opened his eyes. He was seated in a “prayer circle” next to some old friends, and…

One of the best aspects of anime is how defined the powers are. …