A Decade Short: Stories

 As I ventured into the Valley of the Kings I recalled the story of the Pharaohs Curse.   People who plundered the tombs would die from a shaving cut. Thieves would have their material lives ripped away from them much like they ripped away the material lives of the kings.   I walked with caution, believing it possible to somehow upset the tomb, for a pebble to fall in my shoe, arriving home to shave, the blood to never cease till I’m blue and breathless. Passing the vendors selling statuettes of Anubis and Ra, it was as though I was sinking into Duat.   The Underworld in Egyptian mythology where souls went to be judged, Ra acquiescently waiting on his boat for his passenger, whilst the eyes of Anubis judged debating if I was worthy to go into the realm of the dead.   I walked over ramps, and through scurrying tourists to finally reach the majestic Valley.   A sand storm abruptly began and I was forced to shelter my face from the brilliant winds that picked...

She leaned in closer, feeling a breeze from a zephyr. Eyes blue, emerald and reflective, her face dimpled and formed perfectly.   Whispering in his ear a passing word, lulling him, tickling a craving for desire he had long suppressed. Asking him-self if he had at all an idea of his own mortal restraints, clinging on to her word with both ears he whispered in sounds, his vocabulary incoherent. Hoping his eyes would do a dance his words failed to step.   Her lips waited impatiently in front of his, never asking for his attention but asserting their dominance over his passion.   Her lips, tender, made by creation, made for him, made for kissing, made for observing, made for love, designed by fate and crafted by a force with too much lust.   Her lips, that held him by his pulse, hoping that between beats he would reach for their grounds. Her lips, that sang melodies like sirens, that forced him to listen for every syllable attentively and passionately, entwining his sig...

There were days when it would consume him.   Swallowing his blissful imagination that took head of his hopes in one whole gulp.   Timothy Argyle was having one of those days.   Sadness that would not end and pursued him, letting him awake with that never parting sorrow, knowing the day ahead of him would continually keep him in the grasp of despair.   Timothy did not want to feel this way, nor did he intend to feel pity for himself, knowing that if he were then it would surely eat him from the inside out.   Timothy journeyed looking for peace.   After losing his one and only treasure, his bride Abigail he felt like his life could never be new.   So he set on a voyage of discovery in search of something different, if not entirely unfamiliar, for change, for that is the one thing Timothy desperately needed.   Today he had traveled east of Spain to Barcelona.   He was discouraged often at the tourist destinations, fearing that so many traveling...

Spoken Statement from Andre Scout 22 nd February 1867 Transcribed to text by Sheriff Peter Frances. It wasn’t unusual for me to me found in a bar surrounded by girls.   True, they may have already been there, and true again, they may not be there for me, but regardless, it was never unusual.   Yeah there were some unusual events that occurred but you don't need to know about that. What you do need to know is that it was a cold night, and I needed to get warm.   Without an open fire and a sure lack of company I went to the warmest thought I knew: a bottle of bourbon and few shots of brandy.     I’m a drinking man, but you could say that night I was practicing on the hard stuff.   I wasn’t inexperienced but I certainly didn’t know the ropes, how was I to know that I was going to act that way? You should be arresting that bar tender that poured the poison, not the man who drank it.   Something Fixby was his name, dirty bastard, never washes. ...

The sky wanted to be every colour, confused it settled for a flamed red stretch upon the dying day.   The sun was tired, bored of the land it slowly walked across it moved to another, as it forever does, leaving darkness and moonlight in its wake.   The land turned begging again for its light but it was too late, the nocturnal creatures that lived on its back woke up to the starlit universe above them.   If it were to catch up with the sun they would surely go insane.   Regardless, the land wanted its light; it chased the sun trying to make the night go away.   Begging for another chance of a clear day, it shouted to the sun that there won’t be clouds to block its light this time, it asked if it would return.   But the sun kept moving, as did the land hoping that the sun would hear its words.   The land cried.   Water leaked from the clouds creating a downpour of rain, the crops suckled up the moisture allowing their roots to grow, the roots them...