The God of War awoke. Stirred from his long slumber and stretched. He gave a few swings of his hammer and yawned.
“This is it!” His voice rolled through the thunder clouds like a promise.
His minions had had their fun while he slept. Keeping the family business running so to speak.
That was over. The was The War. The Big One.
Those puny little tyrants and heroes would not know what hit them.
The God of War flexed his neck, rolled his head and shook the sleep from his long, flowing hair.
Lightning gleamed dully in his armour.
He looked to his left, to his right. Stretching out on either side were the flanks of his sisters. Mounted – their wings shining in the rain.
The God of War raised his hammer and with a mighty swoop bore it down on the earth.
Lighting smashed open the clouds and unleashed hell.
People were confused. Thrown off their kilter. They could not understand the petty battles, the conflict after conflict. No one seemed able to stop them. No one seemed to care.
The rich and powerful holed up with their gold. The poor were starved and eaten.
The God of War kept at it. Smiling with fury. This was his purpose, his being, his goal. His end.
So confused and fearful the people did not see, the chances they had slip away. The weapons they might use be consumed by war.
While the battles raged the earth burned. And burned and burned. The forests turned to ash and cities fell. The seas boiled away.
Beyond repair, this was the final battle.
After the long age of suffering the God of War surveyed the devastation with satisfaction. He had won. Nothing survived. The earth was too warm for life, nothing breathed.
He had won. And so now he burned with the earth. Raised his arms in fury and triumph in his final pyre.
With no players, there was no more war.
Peace descended. The earth would rest in it until the end.
After an hours silence
He warms our heart
With a carefully crafted picture
Mummy in a tutu
Daddy very tall
Then himself dancing
And his new baby brother – coming soon
And Lucas up in the sky
Looking down from heaven
Not your average family
A collection of short stories concerning ghosts. Some are traditional ghost stories in the tradition of M.R. James and Edgar Allan Poe. Other are not. Some scare, some are fun. Some play with the concept of a ghost. There are ghosts who are out for revenge and the living avenging the spirits that curse them.
Ideal for sitting around a campfire and late at night under the covers. Or maybe not if the stories themselves are any guide.
Made of crystal
It can hardly be seen
The breadth of seven men
The height of the clouds
The top unseen
Sparking and crackling
Bright and pure
It is filled with
For miles around
The land knows no dark
The question might be asked
Why it was built
Were there anyone around
To ask it
Jane is a rebel. Of sorts. She engages in rebellious activity and she is good at it. If anyone had tracked her exploits they might say she was a genius. Because that was correct no one had ever tracked her.
But the truth was that so far in her life she had been a follower, not a rebel. She had followed her brother into rebellion and lent her genius to his to fight whatever foe he chose next.
She knew nothing else. It had been her life. And she did not realise that her heart was not in it. Not until the right catalyst lights up her passion and her anger. Then her genius is given the chance to really shine.