Posted by: lordkyler | August 13, 2016

Random Writing Snippets – Part Two

Here are some more of the random snippets I sometimes use to get myself started writing. They’re not connected to anything, but they’re fun to do, totally off the cuff. Previous entry here.


“Heaven waits not for our coming,” said Father. “And hell shall not mind if we tarry a moment longer.”

Flames licked through the gaps in the door, fiery orange tongues seeking something to devour. Devilish black smoke filled the room, obscuring its contents and making me cough until I could scarcely breathe.

“Shepherd guide our souls,” Father prayed, somehow unaffected by the fumes. The axe in his hands trembled from the force of his white-knuckle grip, anxious for use. “Lead us from wild fields to sweet pastures and good water, from wolves to high walls, where none may come with ill intent or evil ambitions…”

He turned toward me, and I could see the madness of cruel sanity upon him, the crazed look of a man with only unthinkable options remaining to him. He raised the axe high overhead, tears cutting through the soot on his cheeks. “Or, good Shepherd, if you will not take a stubborn old ram into your fold, at least watch over a poor lamb.”

Down came the axe, and I could not stop coughing to scream. The fire-weakened floor shattered under the force of his blow, and I fell through, catching only a glimpse of the flames rushing to consume my father before I was plunged into cold water and dark oblivion.



“You know the real problem with procrastination, don’t you?”

The woman lecturing me is tall, with short hair dyed a metallic silver. She’s gilded in matching tattoos, elegant curves and spirals twisting around her neck and arms like vines of platinum. On most women it would have seemed flashy, ostentatious. Not on her. She had an aura of success about her, the sort of presence that had no need to bargain or beg – everything she said was simple, undeniable fact, whether it was true or not.

I hated her already.

“What makes procrastination so deadly,” she continued, pacing behind her desk, “is not just the cost of delays and broken deadlines. It’s more than the lazy attitude or lack of foresight.”

She paused, turning to stare out the vast, curved window that formed one wall of her office. Outside, the city smoldered in neon colors, skimmers drifting through the sky like purposeful sparks. The skyscrapers were living up to their names, stabbing upward into the heart of the smoke-black stormclouds, spilling torrents over the eastern sector. It would reach us within the hour.

She was quiet long enough that I felt I could safely interject. “If you don’t like my work, Ms. Hall–”

“No, the real poison is something else entirely,” she continued, as though I hadn’t spoken, “something far more subtle and sinister.” She looked at me for the first time since the meeting began, and flashed a serpent’s grin. “Would you like to know what it is?”



“Are you okay, Trevor?” My mom looked concerned, eyes filled with worry.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to sound upbeat despite being beat-up. “Just a little tired.”

It was an understatement, not a falsehood, but it felt like one. I was beyond tired, exhausted. I was weary to my bones, sluggish in a way that had nothing to do with lost sleep. Even my thoughts felt weak and muzzy, more like the slow crackle of static than real sparks.

I could move around, work on autopilot, but anything more complicated than tying my shoes was on par with climbing Everest. I just needed a dull, quiet day, and I would be alright. Coast through my classes, ditch practice, and spend the evening with ice cream and mindless video games. I could do that, and tomorrow I could take another stab at killing the wanderghast.

Just one day.

The phone rang.



The thing about skyscrapers is that they’re very tall. Like, way the hell up there, you know? When you’re standing in the middle of one, surrounded by cubicles and potted plants and blinking computer lights, you kind of forget that you’re standing a few hundred feet in the air. You’ve got nice thick windows to keep out the wind and indoor lighting to make you forget the sun and central heating to make sure everything is nice and toasty.

But when you go out on the roof, you don’t have any of that. All of a sudden you’re outside and there are birds flying past and the wind whispers how easy it would be to climb that flimsy metal fence and just fall. You remember that people weren’t meant to be up this high without a nice sturdy mountain underfoot. Maybe not even then. And that’s not even getting into vertigo.

Have I mentioned I don’t like heights?

I’m stupid, so when Matt called and arranged the meeting on top of the CTI tower, I came.

Since I’m exceptionally stupid, I came alone and unarmed.

But apparently I’m even dumber than that, because when things went sour and Matt pushed Lisa off the roof, I jumped after her.



Crash. The gates shuddered in their housing, spilling dust from cracks and crevices that hadn’t been disturbed for generations.

Bang. Ancient wood cracked and bent. Rusted hinges screamed, holding on defiant to the last. Even the stones quaked with the impact, groaning as they ground against each other.

Crack. Timber and iron and stone abandoned their previous forms, becoming so much powder and dust. So it was true. They had claimed the Hammer of Annihilation. If I did not find a way to escape at once, I would soon suffer the same fate. One blow to shake me, two blows to break me, and three blows to utterly end me, mind, body, and soul.

There was only one way to escape from this nightmarish place. Screaming, I turned, leapt, and plunged into a sea of devil’s ink.

Let me know if you found any of this interesting. I’m specifically writing these since they’re not tied to anything I’m working on, but I’d be surprised if any of them didn’t eventually get away from me and become a short story or something.


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