Die Writing

The muddy end

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 28, 2011


Play a blues song in reverse. Get your life back.

Drinks all around

A man lies in the middle of the road, and he’s bled out his last breath. Street lamps are tiny specks of lights on the smooth black steel. There’s ringing still in everyone’s ears.

“Stand down for fuck’s sake!” The world spins up. “Leave me be! I ain’t even got nothing!” Spinning faster and faster. “On your knees!” Roar – thunder thunder thunder.

Bones connecting with bones, tearing the flesh in between. Blood in the eyes. Broken chairs, broken glass, broken everything. A suffocating knee to the stomach. A blinding fist to the temple.

“Pour it.” – “There ain’t no credit here.” A handful of crushed bills and coins smacks the stained bar. “Just fucking pour it already.”

No sunshine. Just rain slapping, scratching across the face, splashing ice-cold water from the sky and mud from the ground. Wind whipping about, snuffing out the fucking cigarette over and over. And that storm just roaring and thundering, roaring and thundering. Can’t sleep, can’t think, slipping that grip.

“Goodbye, Jim.”


Lord Kuerich

Posted in Ezra Haley by erdaron on July 26, 2011


Man, what if I actually put one of these categories into a full story. That’d be something.


The heavy door creaked and swung open before Lord Kuerich. His tall, gaunt stature and movements, so precise they seemed mechanical, gave him a marionette-like appearance. His manner was exact and deliberate. Commanded, the guards left and closed the door behind them.

Ezra could just barely see him in his side vision. He tried to turn his head, but the restraints and the searing pain in his neck stopped him.

Slowly, gracefully Kuerich walked into Ezra’s view. He set down his doctor’s satchel. Something sharp and metal clanked inside. Then he carefully sat down and directed his gaze at Ezra. Kuerich was stretching, savoring every moment of the long pause.

Panic was rising in Ezra. He could feel it come up from his stomach. A churning, suffocating ball of fear was filling his chest.

“My name is Kuerich. What’s yours?” He sounded polite and gentle. He gathered his hands, leaned back in the chair, and smiled.

“Ezra… Ezra Haley…” Words came with a struggle.

“Right. Pleasure to meet you, Ezra.” Kuerich continued to smile and leaned forward, studying Ezra’s eyes. His expression was focused, as if he meticulously studied an artifact rather than a living person. His long fingers vaguely traced over Ezra’s facial features in midair.

“Are you frightened by me, Ezra?” The boy said nothing, and Kuerich smiled even wider. “You are rather frightened. That fear… this panic.” He pointed at Ezra’s chest. “It is quite alright, though. You have every right to feel this way. I am a frightening creature.”

Kuerich sat on the edge of his chair, leaning even further forward, just inches from Ezra, his long fingers almost touching the boy’s face. Ezra shut his eyes, tried to sink himself into the hard back of his chair.

“My my my…” Kuerich mumbled to himself and stood up. He closed his eyes for a second, and began to slowly gesture, speaking quietly in an ancient tongue. His fingers left traces on the air, lines of thin black smoke. In a few stroke, he wove a symbol. Its lines solidified for a moment, and then the symbol dispersed.

Smoke began to pour out of the sleeves of Kuerich’s robe, pooling around Ezra’s legs, climbing up his body. The boy struggled helplessly in his binds.

“Time to rest, young Haley,” Kuerich uttered. Ezra began to lose consciousness.


Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 25, 2011


Approaching a hundred posts!


Brothers. They weren’t bound by blood. Well… there’s been plenty of blood spilled and shared. Along with sweat and songs and long, endless nights. It was a harsh and wicked world, but it was made a lot easier by always having a brother near.

You couldn’t find siblings that shared a roof since birth who’d have a bond as tight as these two. Maybe because theirs wasn’t given, it was earned. Through miles and miles of winding roads and surging seas, through last coins and loaves, through searing pain and honest laughter. They built it year by year, rock by rock into something indestructible.

This wicked world, after all, is lighter with a brother in it.

Black and white and in color

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 23, 2011


Odd how the mind can take the smallest fraction of an unrelated information and turn it into a detailed, complete image. Odd and wonderful.


The air in this hallway, it’s a strange mixture of sterile air-conditioning and concentrated, stale sweat. It is both chilly and swampy, clammy, with a dose of old tobacco and a laminate of spilled alcohol. Really, it is less a hallway and more a tunnel. The same arcane weaving structure connecting the back areas of all the world’s dives, punk clubs, and cabarets. Peeling black paint revealing other layers of black paint. Peeling posters… who would even advertise a show in this place?

There is a light somewhere down a way, just around a corner, it seems. It’s always just around the next corner. Wandering back here, I’m not sure there actually are any lights in here. Just stray balls of light. Just something flickering…

It’s always crowded in here, even when you are alone. If not with people, then with ghosts. The spirit is thick back here. A thin line between people and ghosts in these tunnels. Hungry roadies and lunatic starlets, obsessive drummers and maniacal lead guitarists, all shuffling or running along, straight or bent, sober or high, slumped against the wall. Watch where you’re stepping – this dude played a mind-blowing set in ’76 once…

Drifting through this murky world, I swim by a room. It glides into my view. Bare walls, bare floor. Almost everything in the room is just stark black, white, and shadows.

The exception is a sun-color yellow spotlight. The beam gently comes down from the ceiling – dust is casually floating through the light – illuminating a beauty clad in an American flag biking reclining on a chair. Her smooth golden skin is wrapped in a soft glow. Long legs, stretched out like a pair of twisting deadly racetracks. Locks light brown hair carelessly – yet precisely – scattered about her round shoulders. And the eyes – lustful American eyes. She is all assured perfection.

Villainy, part 3

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 17, 2011

“But you need me!”

“I do. I need you to die!”

“Be you good or evil?”

“Good. Wicked fucking good.”

“You can’t do this!”

“Sounds like a dare.”

I am

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 16, 2011

I am…

Wet leaves slowly gathering and dancing in a corner. Chilly wind walking by. Old gray bricksĀ  under the gray skies. A dull glistening sheen and drizzle of the languid rain. The lingering aroma of someone not even there, someone long gone.

I am…

The long hallway in the old school at a day’s end. A sunset’s last rays reaching in through the windows. A warm and dusty haze in the soft shadows of the far end. Still air filled with forgotten breaths. Impressions of echoes.

I am…

Ezra Haley

Posted in Ezra Haley by erdaron on July 10, 2011


Actually, a DnD character I wrote up a long time ago. Kind of rewriting from memory.

Such dice

It is a cheery morning drenched in bright sunlight, and there is a loud knock at the front door. Both the mother and the elderly maid move to get up, but the young boy is quicker.

“I’ll get it!” his voice rings, and his feet rush across the creaky old floors.

He grabs the heavy iron handle on the door with both hands, and puts his full weight into pulling it open. Sunlight pours through the doorway, silhouetting a dark figure.

“Ezra Haley?” asks the figure grimly. As the boy’s eyes adjust to the light, he can see a heavy black cape draped over the man’s shoulders. A wide-brimmed hat covers his head, set low over the eyes. Under the cape, the boy can make out thick straps and rivets of leather armor. Within the folds, the dull glimmer of heavy brass pommels of two swords, one at each hip. Everything on this man, including the rough skin on the face, looks worn and weathered.

“Yes… yes sir…” the boy answers unsteadily.

“This is for you, then.” The man hands the boy a small box wrapped in an old, oily rag. It’s heavy in the boy’s hands, and it smells of something old and terribly familiar. He weighs it carefully, feels its texture. Then the shock clears from his mind. The smells connects to a memory. The memory connects to a person, that connects to other memories and certain unresolved facts of the boy’s short life. A sequence of events snaps into shape in his head. He looks up at the stranger.

“Is this from my father?”

“Yes. On his passing.”

Presumed passing.”

“Not presumed, lad.” With that, the stranger turns around sharply and in one easy leap mounts his horse. Before galloping off, he gives the boy one brief look over the shoulder and slightly tips his hat.

Ezra turns around. His mother, pale as a sheet, is leaning on a stair railing, hand over her mouth, eyes red and welling up with tears. The maid rushes toward the boy, offers to take the box for safe-keeping, but he yanks it away from her. “It’s dad’s,” he says sternly to no one in particular.

Contents of the package.

A small wooden box, not three inches across, with a hinged lid and a spring-loaded latch. It’s made of stained fine-grain wood and features a simple relief of a castle on the top. A dragon hugs the sky above the castle. The box is quite old, and shows its age – there are scratches and dents on its edges.

Inside, wrapped in a piece of soft leather is a steel badge in the shape of a five-cornered star. Its dull gray surface also has lots of small dents and marks on it. The front side features the same castle as the wooden box, sans the dragon. The words “Serene Castle Officer of Justice” circle the castle.

On the reverse side, a short verse is etched into the metal.

Through ice and fire
Pursue without tire
A shoulder for the weak
A voice for the meek

Different worlds

Posted in Uncategorized by erdaron on July 1, 2011


Florence + The Machine – Blinding


“You’re in love with a world that doesn’t exist, Frank.” She spoke with tears. Broken voice, cracked, scattered in shards on the floor. “You’re in love with a world that doesn’t exist…”

Languid girl with drowned eyes. Time folded her up, paper-thin, torn at by the winds. Just an echo now. “You’re in love with a world that doesn’t exist, Frank.”

“Why did it have to be a world without you?” Whisper whisper whisper breath. Exhaled.