Tag Archives: Writing

Serial Fiction- The New Dark. (Part- 2.)

I will write this while fire grants me the comfort to do so. A square of chocolate and a crudely brewed black coffee barely provide me the energy with which to wield this pen. They are a limited delicacy in this time. A delicacy that will quickly fade. To consume such is a celebration. A celebration of being able to put pen to paper in a world such as what has become. I am alive. Somehow… I am alive… still…

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My Chaotic Mind- Back To My Old Self.

I guess I should tune out of my writer brain for a moment to say hey to you all, and maybe explain exactly what this is about. Those of you that have followed my blog for while know of my struggles with my mental wellbeing. In fact, I blogged about my experience with therapy right here. I like to be open about what I went through, in a hope to aid those going through the same thing. Well, this month marks a year of completing therapy. I guess this post is a follow up from that, to let you all know how I’m doing now. As you can probably tell, I’m doing great. As you can probably gather from the title, I feel back to my old self. But what exactly was my old self…

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Serial Fiction- The Hunter: Demonic Uprising. (Part- 2)

After the events in the mansion, Azerius and zero made their way toward a well-deserved drink. They both had things that needed explaining with the aid of some strong liquor. The cold was bitter as it kissed their partly exposed faces. The footfalls of their heavy boots crunched in the thick snow beneath. The dim grey light of a full moon only enhanced the beauty of the white covered town of Terafal. Only a few civilians passed them on that street, but none dared look at the hunters. Their long black cloaks and shadowed faces made for an imposing visage in such a place where everybody knows everybody…

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Serial Fiction- The Hunter: Demonic Uprising. (Part- 1)

“Is there nothing more you can do for her?” She asked. Her eyes were weary from a severe lack of sleep and ringed red from the sting of tears. Her name was Tira. She was the mother of the child that writhed and screamed in a bed just through the door behind her. She spoke to a man. He was tall, muscular and looked far too rough to be in such a place. He wore a hooded, long black coat that covered him entirely. He went by the name of Zero, but she knew that this was not his true name. They stood in a long corridor, its walls lined with fine art and furnishings that only a life of opportunity would allow…

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