Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Ars Magna #5 - "Slither"

Act II to my "Wicked Game" storyline!

Ars Magna #5
By Ashley Corgan


The scream defiant and unmistakable.

Rule released the pink, hardened nipple from his teeth and looked into a stare of green rage.

Sheila’s forehead connected with her husband’s nose. Blood spray found purchase on her face and bare chest as he snorted in surprise and pain. Sheila Rule shoved his aching form off her frame and in the same movement a swath of shadow wrapped itself about herself, cloaking her no longer in a form hugging robe but a scarlet and onyx armor.

“I am no MAN’S WHORE!”

Monday, September 1, 2008

Ars Magna #4 - "The End Is The Beginning Is The End"

The first Act of my storyline "Wicked Game". Enjoy!
There is no television where I’ve been. No phone, no Internet, no radio. Nothing about the outside world has been made available to me. Confined for the last few years in laboratories, examination rooms, and an darkened gymnasium; my hair is longer, my body is lean and fit: taut, pale flesh pulled over toned muscle free of blemish, atrophy or decay.

But my soul…

Blackened, faded to nothing but shadow.

In isolation I am kept, prepared for what is to come by people who tell me they love me. People who wear bits of my features like a mask.

The darkness envelopes me when I am alone. My eyes go unshut but still I see nothing. The moment the technicians or masqueraders depart from my immediate presence, the shadows coalesce before my sight. The warmth of the halogen examination lamps, the barely perceptible flicker of the fluorescent lighting, turns to a muted cold and my sight gives way to dark.

The weariness that comes of timeless days allows me to welcome the comfort of slumber as it takes me and I welcome the knowledge that my eyes shut of my own accord as dreams spirit me away. In the arms of sleep I can still feel his cold, dry lips on my own. Weisz, my former master, my equal, my memory. He cannot redeem me nor love me. His heart is not my own.

My mother, dead and gone, for which I am thankful. Paul, a daydream of a daft girl. But it is is the perceived screams of Aunt Nicky and Mikey that haunt my slumber. A city died, and they with it.

My home is gone. Forever a scorched earth.

My heroes, dead. Or gone. Or both.