Still kick'n

Hi all, thought I'd take a minutes to say hello. I've had such a busy few months. My brother passed away and he was only 45. I flew to the US to ensure the burial went well and pay my respects.

The job is as busy as always and I find I have little time for anything but job and family. I am sorry my writing has paid for this lack of time but I'll try and write more soon.

Thanks for your patience and friendly mails.

Chris

The Gift

The Gift

A short story by Christopher S. Silva


It was a sunny summer weekend and I was outside working in the garden when something wonderful happened .The change was almost unnoticeable, then a rush of heat and a loud bellow, moist, acrid and hot.

My garden changed from a simple plot into a vast green field with huge craggy rocks and cliffs. I was behind a great boulder and could feel the heat of the beast on the other side. It bellowed again, I ducked, knees knocking. “Come man, grab your sword and shield ‘n we’ll go at him again.” Yelled an armored figure hunched next to me. I looked down and realized that I too was clad in rough armor.

“Heave up your sword, man! We must attack.” Again I searched and saw no sword just an old wooden branch lying at my feet. It was a mere twig. “Yes”, he yelled over the rancid breath of the thing opposite the boulder. I reached down and lifted the stick and it changed instantly, morphing into a heavy sword. I could smell the metal oil, and the hard leather grip felt just right in my iron clad hand. I gave it short swing and its balance was sweet and true. The armor clad knight made the sign of the cross over his chest and gave me a hard shove.

Stunned at the sight before me, I ducked, feet moving to gain solid ground. The giant dragon was awful, with huge yellow teeth and a kind of smelly mucus dripping from its bitter smile. Its voluminous body was all scales and rigid edges, sharp and dangerous. Its Stumpy giant legs ended in frightful talons.

The knight moved fast and sure, he struck like lightning and his blade reverberated off the beast’s scales with a mighty clang. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye as if to say, move! Instinct took over and I leapt, swinging my blade with all my might. Surprised at my own speed, my broadsword landed hard, sinking deep between its scales just below its angular jaw line. It yelped and sent me flying with a shake of its huge head. Hitting the ground rolling, I came to my feet quick and stood stunned for a second. The right side of my armor was badly scratched and dented but held.

The beast teetered and I saw crimson blood ooze from the gash. It let out a scream. The smell of rotten eggs and a billow of smoke rose from its ragged maw. My comrade moved fast and swung hard at the dragon’s underbelly, the smell was awful as it fell with a heavy thud and began shaking uncontrollably.

“Aaha, we’ve beaten him mate!” said the knight pulling at his helm. He had thick dirty blonde hair. His worn silver helm now under his left arm, his right shot out all iron and leather. “Emanuel Silva, Knight of the Portuguese realm at your service sir.” What a great blow you dealt the beast today.” I smiled for our last names were the same. I took his hand and felt his strong handshake. His eyes showed the love for a comrade in arms after a rugged battle.

The ground spun and my hand was no longer in Emanuel’s but on an oar and I was rowing slowly and quietly.

The small boat hit the wooden dock and the other two passengers silently tossed the line securing the boat. Climbing out they looked down at me as if to say, are you coming? I nodded and climbed out, slowly looking about. We were near a huge French style castle and I could barely make out the towers in the soft fog and pre-dawn light. I reached down and felt a sword at my belt; I had knee high thick leather boots with a heavy flap on top. Soft worn leather gloves adorned my hands with an emblem on top, an M embroidered in the rich bordeaux leather. The palms of my gloves were worn and much lighter in color than the back. The right’s leather was worn thin in some places. I was obviously a swordsman, and it seemed, a Musketeer.

The large Musketeer leaned in close and whispered “we’ll have to scale the tower, and then somehow get Pathos through the bars. Our escape must be silent and fast.” I nodded and followed the two swordsmen. Both musketeers were similar in features one slightly bigger than the other and both had the same dusty blonde hair that the Knight had. The one on the right had a long rolled rope over his left shoulder and the grapple held loosely in his right gloved hand.

We sneaked slowly to the moss covered base of the high tower and the large musketeer turned and put a gloved index finger to his lips to ensure silence. He pulled off the long rope and began to swing the grapple in a wide arc. The oval of rope and iron made a soft whirring sound and with a light grunt he let it fly. I could hardly see where it went as it disappeared into the mist toward the top of the tower. With a soft clang it never returned. The smaller one pushed his larger comrade aside and pulled on the rope testing its seat on the tower. Like a monkey he scurried up the rope and his larger companion nodded for me to go up. I am an overweight IT manager not an athletic sprite, but here, I was lean and fit. I grabbed hold of the rope and hand over hand went easily up into the mist. I felt the rope being held taut by our giant companion below.

I quickly came to an oval shaped window with a thick stone sill. The window had two rusty bars running horizontally down its middle. The Musketeer balanced precariously and pulled out a long iron lever. He placed it in my hand and with one foot on the sill and the other wrapped around the rope I moved the lever between the bars and heaved. Snap, I grinned, surprised at how easily I broke the bars.

I heard a whistle from below and knew we had to move fast. I squeezed through the window and landed cat-like in a dark room that smelt of mold and food. There was a small dais in the corner with a blanket covered person sleeping. I walked up and leaned down to shake the man awake and to my surprise is was again Emanuel Silva, this time with the pointed goatee and sharp mustache preferred by the French of the time. I shook him twice and he looked up startled at first then smiled warmly when he saw me. He put out a hand and helped him to his feet just as the whistle came again. The whistle changed to a call and again everything spun softly.

What was a whistle became the soft voice of my wife “come on boys, dinner is ready.” In my hand was my sons hand and I was pulling him from a long cardboard box stood on end and cut in the shape of a castle tower. Alex my other son held a string tight in his little hand, one foot firmly pressed to the box smiling.

“Come on, the food is getting cold.” Again my wife, I realized there and then the gift of children.. The chance to re-live youth, to study a butterfly or an anthill for more than an hour, to be excited about the smallest thing and notice the trivial and all the simple wonders we have filtered with age.

This is truly a wonderful gift indeed.

Hi everyone, yes, I am still alive.

Just thought I would say hello. I have been real busy lately. My sons both had a birthday in the last two months and I have been working at a frightening pace.

I have been traveling a lot and was in North Africa and England recently, busy, busy.

I hope to take some time and write this week. I'll post soon.

Chrisopher

Latest published work

All,

the latest issue of Forgotten Worlds just came out; issue 8.

They are running my serial, feel free to go in and purchase the issue.

Here is the link: http://www.forgotten-worlds.co.uk/ hit the button latest issue.


Enjoy

CS

Lost Time

A short story by Christopher Scott Silva



He was a cranky old soul and no one listened to him anymore. He'd lost his grant years ago and was already lean and stooped when he moved in next door.

One day while mowing the lawn I noticed a bit of smoke swirling out of his small basement window in slow wispy loops. I let go the mower's emergency bar and ran to find out if the old man was in need of assistance.

The weathered door was unlocked with paint peeling and coming off in flakes. I pushed it open and called, "Hello, Professor Lenstein?" There was an odd smell, sweet and chemical coming from the rear and the room had a yellowish haze.

I let off toward the basement and hit the stairs at speed knowing the old teacher never left the house and I was fearing for his well being. The haze was thicker here and I coughed a bit pulling my t-shirt up to cover my mouth, my eyes stinging. The lights were on and to my surprise, the basement was empty. In the middle of the floor was a huge round burn mark with colored rings. I quickly ran and opened the two small windows hoping to let out the dangerously sweet yellow smoke.

As the haze cleared, I saw an old oak roll top desk with some papers laying on it in tidy little stacks. I had a look, now very curious and worried as to the professor’s whereabouts.

There were designs in pencil on the parchment and next to objects complex mathematical formulas. The documents showed a cylindrical object large with a type of command center at its crux.

Under the stack of undecipherable papers was a worn leather bound journal. Flipping through it, there were many references to chemicals and equations, metals and elements. I flipped quickly to the end. The last page was in a clean almost beautiful script.

"Time can be folded, and I have finally proved them all wrong!"

I called the police and fire department. The old professor was never seen or heard from again.

#

Just this morning, there was a bothersome knock on my front door and two men in clean cut black suits were there displaying government service badges. They asked about my craggy old neighbor and I told them some of the odd tale of that day.

Sadly, I explained, I was in a hurry and had little time to discuss the issue more. They left suspiciously and I returned to the door.

I went down the stairs leading to my basement and again was pleasantly amazed by the clean yellow green glow. The shining cylinder was reflecting the tungsten lamps in an phosphorescent metallic way, causing refraction.

I wiped off a bead of sweat and realized that I had just a few tweaks left.

A Comets Tail

A Comets Tale

By Christopher S. Silva

It was just getting dark and James was eagerly going through his tackle box looking for just the right hook and lure. He loved night fishing and the thrill of catching a large Catfish always outweighed the long waits and sometimes fruitless evenings.

His small rowboat was taking on a bit of water and he would have to bail soon. Normally his son James Jr. was with him and bailed the water every hour or so, but tonight Jr. was ill and he was sorely missed. Nights like this were when James and his son would and could talk about anything, girls, drugs and school problems. He treasured such chances and checked the water level again as he tossed his line in and turned the reel three times, never more never less.

Setting the dented pail down and leaning back, he raised his jacket’s zipper a bit to fight the chilly night. James opened a beer twisting the top off as quietly as possible and waited watching the line and the sign, a bit of vibration and a pull. Smiling and thinking again of his son and the quiet time were they would watch the line together for stretches, just fixed on the thin line that disappeared into the onyx water.

The line had gathered some dew and it was running down it in rivulets, the moonlight softly refracting causing the dew to look colored and oily.

James saw the twitch, a soft jerk he leaned forward and took the rod in his hands, finger on the line waiting, sensing the bite two meters below. He felt a vibration and gave the pole a quick jerk to set the hook and with a grin began to reel hard and fast. The rod bent a lovely arc that told of a heavy cat and a good dinner tomorrow with the family.

The placid lake lit-up with and orange glow and at first James didn’t notice, so concentrated he was on his catch. When he noticed, it was fast and frightening. A ball of fire seem to be coming strait for him. The fishing rod fell from his grasp to the bottom of the boat landing in the rising water. Stunned, turning to follow the fireball’s trail he almost fell overboard.

With a whump, the ground shook and the whole lake seemed to vibrate for a few seconds.

“Holy shit!” “What in the hell was that?” James sat down, fishing rod forgotten; he began to row with all his might in the direction of the sound and the fireball.

Jumping out of the boat winded from the effort a bit of water going in over his rubbers he rushed pulling the boat ashore. Reaching into his tackle box he fumbled a bit swearing when he hooked his own hand trying to find his flashlight. Pulling the flashlight out and putting his finger to his mouth he ignored the copper taste and moved forward toward the soft glow in the wood line just a short distance away.

Branches pushed aside and rubbing his high rubber boots making an odd noise James noticed how quiet it was. An outdoorsman, he knew the woods were many things at night but quiet was not one of them. As a child he’d had to overcome the cacophony of insects and animals to be a good woodsman like his father.

Pushing through the soft ferns he approached something he had never seen before, stunned, he looked down. There was a warm heat and the thing glowed soft orange like an old coal by a fire. The comet or meteor (all his mind could think of) had penetrated deep into the ground and there was a huge crater with sizzling and burning trees at its extremities. He knew he should run and inform someone or get help but his legs were frozen in place.

Seeking To Exorcise The Demon

The beginning of a short story by Funwriter Seeking To Exorcise the Demon The pain was excruciating and the usual ache in my joints was there in spades. My mouth was dry and I was covered in a dark red almost black coppery crust. I rose painfully from the dais and stumbled to the mirror. My long black hair was full of burrs and encrusted with dark dried blood. I reeked of death. Stretching, my body cracked loudly and I noticed the scratches already beginning to heal. The full moon gone and I would now have just over three weeks to continue my research. The hot bath felt wonderful and I always wondered how something so simple could bring such pleasure. Scrubbing hard with an old volcanic stone the thick red crust became slime and washed away. Lying back, I tried to remember the last few days. It was never easy when the transformation took over; my mind reverted back to its animal basics. Over the centuries I was able to remember more and more and function better, now always able to return home. # I was bitten while on a Portuguese ship charting the new world. We had anchored at a lovely cove off what is now an Island South of Goa and made land to begin essaying the island. We were well into it when night came and that is when the demon attacked. We had eaten well, enjoyed a port too many and sleep came fast. The smell of the sea always makes a man sleep deep. I was young then only 22 and the lead essayer. Back then we achieved much early in life and lived short hard lives. My crew had done well and I saw no reason to worry for we had seen none of the unusual dragons and tigers we had heard tales of. I was wrong though, for what came was much worse than any giant lizard or tiger, it was a monster. # The screaming woke me with a start and I saw it, a flash of fur and gaping jaws. My faithful crew fell fast though hardened by travel and well trained. One got off a shot with his flint and another slashed well with his blade, but both were quickly taken down. I'd been sleeping next to the fire and was struggling to exit my thick cape. It came at me with lithe arrogant speed; I raised my arm in defense. I fell back over a log we had used to sit on and somehow the beast and I cart wheeled over with it landing in the middle of the coals and what was left of the fire. Emitting a strange preternatural howl the giant animal disappeared in a wash of thick hair and an odor of rotten flesh. # Vomiting, I gathered my senses and looked around, a throbbing pain in my forearm. Our camp was mess and my crew down and most half eaten. The monster had started silently and got its fill before the rest of us awoke. The rest was a blur; I gathered what I could of our provisions and headed back to our ship in the landing craft. The skeleton crew we had left on the ship was shocked at my tale and we hurriedly set sail for Lisbon. They eyed me strangely for the first few days but were back to normal after awhile. The captain who worked under my orders as head essayer was more than happy to make the voyage home. # Three and a half later weeks with Southern Europe not yet in sight, things began to change and I fell ill. I remember looking up and seeing a moon almost full and shuddering. # The Spanish found our ship afloat with me the lone survivor. I told a tale of Turkish raiders and of a battle lost to viscous pirates. Somehow the pirates had left me for dead. Somehow the Spanish believed me; maybe because the truth was simply more unbelievable. That is how I made my way back to the mainland and the rest is history. # So, here I was in the bath contemplating my next step. Over the centuries I have studied the phenomena that blighted me and came up with one solution. After reading one arcane book after another, I finally had a lead. ____________________________________________ Chapter two: I have a lead. I came up with something that cross-referenced possible cures for my dark illness. The problem is, the cure is a mystery it is a myth and one that everyone believes in but no one can prove. This could be the only chance I have of becoming mortal again of putting an end to my anguish. This cure, well, is the cup of Christ. Yes, I know it brings a smile to ones face but the fact is, I have to believe in something and this is surely my solution my repast. It is said in arcane writings that the cup, the chalice of Christ can cure. Here is the good part now, listen close; it is said the cup of Christ can exorcise the demon. Is that not what I am, what I became on that island long ago off the Indian coast? So, I am seeking the Grail and have been for nearly a hundred years, ninety eight to be exact. It started as a lucky find a small mention of the healing powers of the cup; the more I dug the more I found hope. According to legend, the cup Jesus Christ used at the Last Supper (when exhorting his apostles to vampirism) was saved by a certain Joseph of Arimathea. Joseph, for reasons incomprehensible to anyone but himself, used the cup to catch some stray blood dripping from Jesus during the Crucifixion. Subsequent to this, Joseph took off for parts unknown, where he eventually deposited this cup in a weirdly unreachable location for safekeeping... Against whomever. * Over the centuries I have accumulated and spent many a fortune. Now I will use my vast wealth and experience to mount a search, the most incredible search of all time; the search for the Holy Grail. I will find the chalice and when I do, I will rescue my soul! *** Pin-ping, a sound wakes me from a red nightmare that is the bitter reflection of my life. The Captain turned off the seat belt warning and now we can move around on my private jet; it’s of medium size and full of leather, polished wood and luxury. I never took to flying and hate being in the air. I am afraid this is the result of my ancient sensibilities at play. I have a good crew who I’ve come to trust and of course Sahmir, my faithful assistant. I found Sahmir in the dusty ghettos of Marrakech. A young Berber waif who was living off pick pocketing tourists and the sale of anything he could get his hands on. He was only eleven then and had mastered four languages. His savvy streetwise toughness and quick honest smile made me give him a chance. I took him in and honed his talents and offered only friendship, education and respect. He took to honest work and research fast. He truly enjoyed reading scrolls and manuscripts and became a proper student. Soon he was doing translations at an amazing rate and became an invaluable resource to my cause. I got him into Oxford and over the years he has aged and become a companion of sorts. Now he is greyed and in good shape for a man in his early sixties. Long, lean and dark, there is wisdom in his lined face and onyx eyes. He is perhaps the only human alive who knows my secret. Sahmir would assist in all my affairs and sadly gave up the life of a scholar to help me with my search. He never had time for a wife though there were women. He somehow remained stalwart and true in his promise to help cure me and give me back my mortality. I got up and stretched noticing Sahmir still sleeping snoring a bit more than I remembered. I went to the bar and poured cold water and squeezed a lemon into the glass, seeds flying. Ninety eight sears of research and finally the beginning. Our first stop would be Israel, Palestine to be exact. * Landing in Tel Aviv was like dropping into a shoddy dust bowl, with a bump and a screech we were safely on the ground. The tower had given us clear orders and had set a hangar aside for us to disembark in. Coming out the door and onto the steps I was hit by a blanket of dry heat. At the bottom of the stairs the customs folks were there and the crew were already handing over papers. I rarely ever had any interaction with officials. The sun reflected off the tinted glass of the low slung armoured limousine and I looked out at the wash of humanity seeing nothing. I broke from my daydream surprised by a huge wall and gate system, the driver bickering, Sahmir was offering cash to the guard. We were now moving away from the West Bank and into the Palestinian zone, the kingdom of Judea, in my day Canaan. * Our meeting was with an Imam named El Hasar Bamihr, he was to double check an ancient codex we obtained with we hoped a clue. It was written in old Arabic and there were only a handful of freelancers that could translate it properly for us. There were many scholars who could do this but they tended to be curious and jaded. The old Imam was stooped with Rheumatism and had an odd limp. He looked to be over a hundred but the hard life and potent sun here made one age fast. He stooped over his marble table shakily holding a magnifying glass. He muttered something. Though good with Arabic I could not understand him. Sahmir leaned in close and whispered back, “What holy one, what did you say?” The ancient little Imam turned and said in clear modern Arabic “in Petra lies the cornerstone, when Allah shines be supine and the way to redemption is clear.” He smiled a toothless grin and placed a shaking hand on my shoulder. With shocking speed he withdrew his hand from my shoulder as if being burnt. His face went ashen and he turned as if to run then collapsed to the stone floor. I quickly reached down to examine the Imam and felt a slow but steady pulse. The door opened with a crash and a group of clerics stormed in “What has happened here?” they demanded quickly surrounding Sahmir and me. Sahmir spoke quickly in Arabic explaining how the elderly Imam had simply collapsed, but I knew different, I knew exactly what had happened for it had happened to me before. Some mortals, very few indeed, are mediums and with a touch they see what I truly am, what I became those many centuries ago. They see a demon. The Imam is very old and he simply fainted from the fear of what he saw. I was afraid I have to use my preternatural powers to assist in our escape when the Old man stirred and began to mumble in Arabic about modern monsters. We carefully and diplomatically made a quick retreat mentioning I had another appointment, at first I thought they would attempt to hold us captive but a young cleric looked me in the eyes searching and delegated in loud clear Arabic, “they may go: get our brother some cold water.” * Cruising at a decent speed through the ghettos, the sleek limousine filtered the cacophony of sounds and smells. I was lost in thought when the wall and gates appeared, we were moving back into the west bank now and towards the airport. Our next destination was Petra in the country of Jordon. ___________________________ Chapter 3 Darkness and the howl of my pack, I must join them for their call is instinctive and indelible. Rushing through the forest I am closer, picking up their scent. The cold wind rattles through the trees and I run with it, almost soundless. There is another scent now one fearsome and strong, bittersweet, I feel my blood rush a female; finally I have found her and she will be mine, I put on more speed. I woke from my haunting dream, Sahmir softly touching my shoulder. “Old one, we’ll arrive soon.” I nodded rubbing my eyes. “The dream again?” he asked. “Yes, I was close this time and her scent was so strong.” “Old one, do you really believe there is a female, one of your kind out there somewhere?” “Sahmir, I know there is, and like the chalice, I will find her!” ** Lithe and elegant, she glided across the room with shocking speed, not walking but floating, in a blur she was there; her skin was light brown and her hair full, dark as a stormy night. In the old language she spoke and it sounded like haunting music coming from her mouth. She held him above her, one thin beautiful hand around his bullish neck. His feet kicking and eyes bulging with fear; “If we are not in Petra on time, I’ll squeeze the miserable life out of you, you mortal dog,” she whispered in Armenian. With a flick of her delicate wrist the large man went flying across the room hitting a wall and crumbling to the floor. A brush of wind she was back at the table reading a leather bound book. The book was ancient and worn. On one side it was ideograms and symbols on the other is looked to be Hebrew or Farsi. “Is the airplane ready Mahit?” “Yes mistress,” a soft answer came from a shadow in the corner. "Then get the things ready and have us in the air within an hour or I’ll flay your hide." Mahit stood and quickly left the room heading towards the exit of her mistress’s luxurious offices in Dubai. She too had dark lovely hair but there were streaks of grey now. She moved towards the elevator with sure solid steps, fit and graceful. Only when you looked into her sad onyx eyes did you see her true age and suffering. She had been a slave since childhood and obeyed her mistress with an accuracy none could approach. For this discipline and attention to detail had kept her alive where many had fallen. She stepped out of the air-conditioned lobby, soft leather shoes making no sound on the polished granite floor. The heat hit her hard and she ducked quickly into a wide Bentley, “the airport please,” the driver nodded and drove the shining shuttle forward. Mahit always was respectful to those around her and through this had a loyal team, something her mistress never understood. * The sleek Lear jet was fueled and ready. Mahit turned from the cockpit and her mistress was standing behind her a marble statue, not breathing or blinking. She could never get used to her speed and soundless movement. She informed her that the plane was ready and the doors open. They could take off at her command. “Let it be done.” Mahit leaned in and kindly informed the pilot he could exit the hanger and begin take off procedures. She turned around to see her leader’s response but she was no longer there, she had already retired to her private chamber in the rear of the plane. Sitting down and clicking her seatbelt shut Mahit took a deep breath and relaxed. She closed her eyes and was soon dreaming of freedom. The flight to Jordon would be quick. *** Kahlandra felt the mist creep up around her limbs. The smell of the male was getting stronger. With the graceful lunge of her hind legs she leapt and attained the cliff top. Closing her eyes she sensed him and she felt warmth flood her body. She was older than him that she knew for sure. She saw what he saw now and felt him fighting the power, he had not accepted what he was, the fool. His thoughts hers now she knew he was seeking her and wanted contact. A chill struck her; he was searching for more than just her, he was looking for the cup, the chalice. He mustn’t get it, it was her destiny not his. At that moment the decision was made. This Demon, this one like her was an enemy and must be removed from this world, nothing could stand in Kahlandra’s way, nothing. ** A bump of turbulence woke her up, the pilot would pay for this insolence she thought. The thought of him begging for mercy made her smile. She went back to sleep, and again she was beautiful, truly beautiful. ________________- Fw : I hope you like the start, if you do I'll finish it up

All In A Days Work

A short story by Funwriter

All in a days work:


I followed wondering if she noticed me; she was a beauty and knew it. Her hair so black and legs long and thin, she had a perky walk and clutched her purse nervously like it contained something valuable. As she went down the escalator towards the ground floor I could see the perfect part in her hair.

I moved faster now picking up speed, she slowed to look at some woollen scarves though winter was months away. The exit was in plain site and I was still walking not to raise any attention but picking up speed nonetheless.

Two meters away, I leaned forward and hit the needed tempo for the job. Shoulder and elbow an arrow I caught her hard and snatched with all my might, her wind gone and no sound as she fell. With blood humming in my ears I was passing through the exit a blur to entering customers.

I moved it under my jacket, bringing the pace back to normal, safe zone within sight.

The alley was cramped and dark but I could still see the contents

Pocketing the credits and feeling my pulse pick up I saw it, shiny and small. It was light to the touch, I slipped it in and the images came in a wash, her children and men, her story, her soul.

My legs shaky as I move out the other side of the alley, feeling saturated. A shake of the head and her life’s images drift away, I can’t help but grin..

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year !

All,

just wanted to send out my seasons greetings and thanks for being so patient.

I am sorry that I have been so busy lately and haven't posted much. I hope to work on the site and get some of my new stories up soon.

Thanks again.

Funwriter