Oh boy. Here we go.

I think I tricked myself. You see, I decided to participate in NaNoWriMo this year. And you’re probably thinking, “tiredhamster, why would you do that to yourself? Especially you, since you’re a horrible procrastinator and not even your short stories are good so what makes you think you can sustain a novel-length narrative and do you even have an outline prepared tomorrow’s November did you get drunk?”

No, I don’t have an outline prepared, but I do have an idea of what I’m going to do. Okay, it’s going to be about a guy named Harold Shrum (original character, do not steal, please) and he’s just an average guy. However, he needs money for some reason I’m not sure yet so he decides to become part of an experiment that somehow allows him to experience different lives: the life of a rockstar, the life of a high-fantasy adventurer, and the life of a star captain. However, the corporation that is running the experiment may have some ulterior motives. What are they? Hmmm. Don’t know. Anyway, I basically had several ideas so I decided to toss them all together. That’s always a good idea, right? Like most of my writing, it probably won’t take itself too seriously but then suddenly go into a mope-fest. I’m hoping it will also be more than that, but we will see.

So, probably won’t be posting as much next month. I may decide to toss up any notable updates regarding progress on the novel. And I guess that’s it. Ok bye.

Written for Stream of Conscious Saturday hence why it sounds like I’m a bit off my rocker, more than usual. If anyone is also participating in NaNoWriMo this year, good luck! Don’t die!

The Final Voice

No one thanked me
When I opened the veil
And allowed our lost
Ones to fall from the sun
And back into our arms.
Many of them were
Friends, family members,
But they were different
When they came back,
Drifting as thin shadows
Through our rooms,
Murmuring memories
Across the dust.
At first, it was welcoming,
The touch of long-gone
Voices, but even the grandest
Things turn old, twisted.

Now, no one truly dies.
They wander with us,
Wisps of air, soft chatterings
Unbound to meaning.
There are no ends,
Just a lowering. Soon
The air will be crowded
With a voice merged
From all, moving
Beneath the leaves,
Through the halls
It once named.

Written for 13 Days of Samhain. Today was the final prompt. I really enjoyed this series of prompts.

A Halloween Miracle

Arnie, Joseph, and Jamie stopped and inspected the contents of their candy bags. 

“What did you guys get?”

“I got…black licorice. And tic-tacs.”

“I got oatmeal raisin cookies. And a breath mint.”

“Geez. Halloween sucks this year,” Arnie said as he tossed his bag onto the ground and stomped on it. 

“Yeah. Maybe Mrs. Oldsen has some good candy this year.”

“You must be joking. Last year she handed out fried cauliflower. She’s so lame.”

They all looked at each other in their sad costumes. Trick-or-treating has been getting worse each year it seems. 

“Hey,” Arnie’s eyes lit-up. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go over to that creepy old house at the end of the street.”



“Does anyone actually live there?”

“I dunno.”

“Then how do you know they’ll have candy?”

“I dunno. But as my dad says, ‘greater risk often yields greater reward.’ Let’s go!”


“What, are you two a couple of babies?”

“No. I’m a pirate.”

“And I’m a walrus.”

“Pfft. Whatever. Guess all the more Baby Ruths for me!” 

“Arnie! Wait!”

“No. Let him go. This is something he has to do. He’s a man now. A man on a mission.”


Arnie walked towards the creepy, old, dilapidated house at the end of the street. He knocked on the door. “Trick or treat!”

No response. 

He knocked again. “Trick or treat!” 

No response. He then decided to ring the door bell. He listened as the bell reverberated through the walls throughout the house. The door then opened. 

“Hello?” Arnie peaked inside, but all he saw was the shadowy outlines of a foyer and hallway. He stepped over the threshold and listened to the creak of the floorboard beneath his foot. 

“Trick or treat?” He squinted and saw something move at the end of the hallway. He froze. A cold wave washed over him. He saw the movement again. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. But he was frozen to that spot. Watching as a black shape shifted and turned and moved towards him, closer and closer. 

That’s when he saw it. The pale face emerged from the darkness and into the dim moonlight hanging from a hole in the roof. 

“…tri…trick or treat?” 

The pale face hovered above Arnie. Its eyes shifted downward. “Where…” A voice slithered out. “Where…is your bag?”

Arnie then realized that he forgot to pick up his bag after stomping on it. “oh…um…”

Suddenly, a white hand found its way into the light holding something. It turned and opened, revealing a candy bar sitting in its palm. A Baby Ruth.

Arnie shuffled closer, the floorboards creaking underneath. As soon as he got closed enough he quickly snatched the candy bar from the claw. 


“um…you too…”

And the face slipped back into the blackness of the house. 

Arnie emerged from the house and into the largeness of night, a little light-headed and confused, unable to piece together what had just occurred. But at least he got some actual candy this year. Heck yeah! He rushed over to meet up with his friends and in less than an hour he had almost completely forgotten about the face hidden in the old, abandoned house. 

Written for 13 Days of Samhain.

View at Tolman’s Ledge

The sea is mute, filled
Only with slow waves.
There is no voice, no music
Cascading the grey air.
The only words are murmurs
Left within stones.
They had seen the oceans
Foul with dying life
Years before us,
The skies fall across
Their skin, beasts
Slowing into shadow,
And the swell of fiery walls.

But this day is a silence
Pulsing through my palms.
No more faces, but our own,
And the greyness of sky.
We’re bones that no longer need
To cling to a dance
That every rock has seen.
I don’t close my eyes
When I step into the view.

Written for 13 Days of Samhain.



“Ow. God. My head. Geez…”


“Where am I…?”


“What? Who are you?”



The loud, monotone voice blared from the walls once again. The man slowly stood-up. He was in a small room. No windows. Bright, fluorescent lighting. Clinical, white walls.


“Okay, okay. Fuck. How did I get it? Can you answer me that fi–”


“Okay. Fine. Truth…”

Silence. Finally, the voice came back. 


The man stood there for a moment. “…Orange?”


The man was confused by this. “What? Listen, where am I? Truth or dare. Truth or dare!”


“Let me out.”


“What? How the fuck is that–”


“No. NO!” 


“This is so dumb. Get me out of here! Help! HELP!”




“You already asked me that! I said orange! It’s orange!”


“Yes. I know. Your turn, asshole. Truth or dare.”


“Tell me what’s going on.”


The color faded from his face and he sat down. His eyes staring out into nothingness.


He was stuck here. With the world’s dumbest captor.


And there was nothing he could do. Nothing.



Written for 13 Days of Samhain.

Oh no. What am I doing? NaNoWriMo

I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but fuck it. After reading Sammi Cox’s post I decided to go ahead and participate in this year’s NaNoWriMo. Basically, for the month of November, the goal is to write at least a 50k word novel. And I have no idea what I’m going to write. Well, I have some idea. It’s probably going to be about a guy. Maybe it will be a coming-of-age book. Maybe it will be some weird garbage. Who knows? I certainly don’t. But, fortunately, November’s only a few days away so I have plenty of time to start preparing.

I probably shouldn’t be doing this since I’ve been busy with work and other stuff. But, ehhhhhh, we’ll make it work. We’ll make it work. I’ll probably provide updates on my progress here. It’s gonna be a lot of fun. Gonna be great. Never written a novel before. Gonna be great…

Beyond the Self

Marty watched them. She laughed as the man whispered something in her ear. Marty was tempted to float in there and find out what they were talking about. Hear her laugh. Hear her voice. But, instead, he just remained there. She seemed so happy.

He turned away and floated along the sidewalk, but the image of her face flashed through him still. But he wondered if he really missed her, or something deeper.

“Hey Marty, how’s it going?”

“Oh. Hey.” Marty greeted Samuel. They were both on a rooftop. Marty watched the world below.

“You know it’s not going to work.”


“You know…” Samuel motioned to the ledge. “You know, cause you’re dead.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Believe me. I tried. I knew it wouldn’t work, but I figured what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Yeah…You know, Samuel?”

“What’s up, Marty?”

“Do you think this is punishment? Being something that exists between existence and non-existence?”

“Hmm. Probably.”

“But for what?”

“I dunno. Look, there’s no point in dwelling on it. There’s nothing you can do about it. Look, I try to see this as an opportunity. You can float through walls, through ceilings. You can discover things about people you would never know otherwise–”

“You can watch your loved ones die.”

Samuel was silent. “Yeah. That part isn’t very good. Watching my wife…and not being able to do anything about it.”

Marty looked at Samuel.

“But, the most painful thing was not being able to tell her that everything was okay. That she can move on.”

Marty stared back down at the city streets. He suddenly wished he could speak to anyone and anything. Funnily, he wasn’t much of a “people person” when he was flesh and blood.

“But it’s all in the past now. I’m just glad that she doesn’t have to go through this hell with me. Seems like she was able to ‘pass through’ or whatever.”

“…At least we can see the end of the universe.”

“Yeah, that’ll be cool. And then there’ll just be us.”


“You know, I think they’re gonna have a space launch pretty soon. Wanna come? It’s about 500 miles away, but I think if we go now we can make it and haunt the space shuttle. That’ll be kinda cool.”

Marty didn’t respond.

“Well, guess I’ll see ya in a few months. Take care.”

Marty watched as Samuel slowly floated down from the ledge and along the side of the building, descending into the street. Marty hoped who wouldn’t end-up like that. Marty had known Samuel for years before he started to change. Samuel had been a spirit longer than he had, but in recent years he mentally started to change. He soon forgot his own past. His name wasn’t even Samuel nor did he ever have a wife. But, he forgot himself and, within the void, created a new past. Marty wondered how long it would take for that to happen to him. To lose her face smiling through his bones. Or, whatever he had now…

He shook his head and started to descend after “Samuel.”

Written for 13 Days of Samhain and Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge. Above image courtesy of Renate Vanaga at Unsplash.

The Enemy

There was no sky, just the bending of grey. The upper branches of the trees were obscured, and the soldiers were hardly able to see 10 feet in front of them due to the high grass and thickening mist.

Their rifles were drawn, waiting for a dark figure to fire upon, but the tension was never released. Instead, they kept marching, but always on-guard, anticipating the enemy to take advantage of their predicament.

“Wait!” The captain said. They all stopped, their eyes shifting across the surrounding fog.


“Sh!” The captain tried to listen, but only silence came. He thought he had heard something. Maybe it was this damn jungle getting to him. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been marching. The hours are no longer present, tucked away behind the grey. After a moment, they kept moving.

The shadows kept pushing through the grass, through the dimming jungle. The captain, like the rest of them was getting tired, but they had to keep going. There were in a terrible spot; the enemy could easily swoop in and–

“Hello.” The soldiers stopped. They all pointed their rifles. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone so soon. Um, you want to sit down?” The man sitting on the stool sipped on his herbal tea and nodded. The soldiers were a bit confused. “Man, it’s getting foggy.”

“Sir,” one of the soldiers whispered to the captain, “I think this guy might be a diversion. Or a dumbass.”

“Agreed.” The captain stepped closer to the man, his rifle fixed at the man’s forehead. “Better step aside.” But the man barely budged. He smiled.

“Man, you’re a bit feisty. You know you can step around me.”

The captain was getting annoyed. “Just who the hell do you think you are?” The man was wearing some normal business attire. He looked nothing like the enemy, he thought. “Are you a civilian. Just what the hell are you doing here?”

“Just watchin’. I wanted to get a ground-level perspective. Plus, I put the settings on random.”

“Just what the hell you talking about?”

“Sir, we’ve got to go.”

“You’re right. You better come with us if you want to survive. I doubt you’re with the enemy. Come. Unless you want to be blown to bits.”

The man shrugged. “Sure, I guess.” And he got up from his stool. “Just one thing, have you figured out what this ‘enemy’ is?”

The captain stopped for a moment and looked at the man. “Well, of course we know who the enemy is.” The man grinned and joined the soldiers as they continued their march. But as they moved, the captain couldn’t stop thinking. He knew who the enemy was; yet, he couldn’t recall the name or their faces. Must have been the damn fog getting to him.

Written for 13 Days of Samhain.

Ordinary Folk

She didn’t understand why she had to stand there, why she had to get all dressed-up and with her lips done. Well, she knew why, but she just didn’t understand why things couldn’t be different. Fear and disdain churned in her stomach as she eyed her father.

“Ok. You look good.”

“Father, why do I have to do this?”

“Oh, you know why,” he said emotionlessly as he made some slight adjustments to her dress.

“But, there’s one of him and a hundred of us. Why do we have to put up with him?”

“Well, honey, that’s just the way things are. And plus, he’s all-powerful. And we’re just simple folk.”

She didn’t know how to argue against this.

“Now, when he comes, pretend that you don’t want to go.”

“But I don’t.”

“And start crying. He likes that I hear.”

“Dad,” she sighed. “Will I ever see you again?”

Her father looked down. “I…it will be fine.” There was a knock at the door. Silence fell across the room. The father gulped and nodded to his daughter. “Stand up straight. Get ready to cry. But not right away.”


He stepped over to the door and opened it. A tall, gaunt figure stood there. His eyes were dark and cold.

“Good evening, my lord. Please come in.”

The lord stepped silently into the room. The father shut the door behind him. “Small house…” The lord observed.

“Yes. Um…well, here is my daughter. Ready to be your…well…”

The daughter stood-up straight and watched as the lord slowly moved over to him. She had seen him numerous times before, but always at a distance. A coldness shot through her blood as she saw his eyes cast themselves on her.

His hand suddenly snatched her face, assessing her features.

“I guess she will do. Come.”

“Right, thank you my lord.”

The lord didn’t say anything. The daughter started to follow the lord but stopped to give her father one last hug. But it was brief as the lord’s patience shouldn’t be tested. The lord and his new servant stepped into the darkness and snow and headed towards the castle at the top of the hill.

Written for 13 Days of Samhain.


Imagine this: a sheet of paper
Stretching flat for miles and miles,
For years and years, until
A necessary distortion, a tiny
Scratch with no real owner.
A slight ripple comes, but flatness
Quickly returns, not seeing
The light burp of particulates
Spreading. Years and years,
Miles and miles, the particulates
Escape from the scratch
And tumble among themselves
Until heavy things start to form.
The heavy things are too heavy
For the paper, and start bending
Flatness until gravity and dimensionality
Occur. The flatness is gone.
The paper becomes a misformed
Space. That’s how I often see it.

We believe in the peace
Before the great occurrence,
But it wasn’t even peace.
This complexity is just the face
Of a dying system, you might say,
It will never be whole, never be
Flat again, but this is just another
Feeling that humans have.
We’re not big fans of the chaos
We choose to see. What happened
To Paradise, what happened
To Singularity? We tell ourselves
We can never go back, dressing
Ourselves and distant suns
With the voices of misery.

Written for Reena’s Exploration Challenge #158.