Tag Archives: Fiction

Angel of Mercy- #Fantasy #WIP #Teaser

11 Thursday Jul 2019

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My current WIP Angel of Mercy just passed 100K words today!  I’m really excited because none of my previous 3 books even came close to that many. No diss to Dark Fey, I love my trilogy, though I do often wish I could go back and add more to the story, but right now I’m focused entirely on Angel.  What is this new story about?  I’m so glad you asked….

Its a Post Apocalyptic Fantasy Romance. It tells the story of life after the first 3 Horsemen, Pestilence, War and Famine, have ridden. In the 4th Era after the Great Cataclysm, (roughly 400 years in the future) the final horseman, Death, is caged and waiting on the Archangel of Mercy to release him. Tzadkiel has been sent to earth in human form to find one human who still understands Mercy. He has been given 100 years, after which Death must be released. With only 4 years remaining, he finds her; a servant named Lourdes, but they must escape the harsh dictatorship of the Eminent Protectorate and find a place of sanctuary before the appointed hundred years are spent and Death is freed from the abyss.

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Intrigued?  Me too!  So in honor of this momentous occasion I’m sharing a short teaser too!

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Her moan drew him out of the dark well of agony he had become so accustomed to and he opened his eyes to look around uncertainly.  He thought he had heard speaking, but could not combat the heavy darkness pulling him downward; yet this soft sound drew him back. Surely it had not been a manifestation of his mind.  Had it?  Was this sound some indication that his mind was attempting to disengage from his tortured body?  Was it like the screams he had heard only moments ago, just a figment of his imagination? Had it been only moments ago or had he slipped into unconsciousness and they had actually been nothing but a dream?  Or perhaps days ago?

His thoughts were a tangle of pain and confusion that made him doubt himself, but then another soft noise beside the table captured his full attention.  Was it crying?  Was it an animal that had found its way into the chamber or had the young servant returned? His thoughts spun for a moment as he considered. Was this even the same day as when he had seen her?  He had no point of reference; his memory was a disjointed haze of anguish, torment, and severing isolation that fragmented his thought into pools of jagged darkness.  They spun slowly, reaching for him, drawing him inward and the quiet calm at its center was irresistible.

He closed his eyes again.

Silence deep and soothing.

Stillness.

“You do not need to suffer this.”  A deep, resonant voice filled the obscurity surrounding him. It encircled his essence like spiraling water, pulling him up from the pit into which he had fallen.  He was himself again, vibrant and strong, the spiritual embodiment of mercy in its purest form. Turning slowly, he searched the blackness for the one who spoke.

“I know.”  His voice echoed as well.

“They only hurt you because you allow it.”  Again, the deep voice echoed into the gloom.  He nodded distractedly, the sensation of the absence of pain euphoric.

“I know.”  The diffuse light surrounding him shifted from golden-white to murky red.

“I wait.” He suddenly understood. It was the one behind him, waiting to be released, waiting for him to be satisfied that there were no longer any living souls of mercy left among the lost throng of humanity, but he wasn’t convinced this was true.  Not yet.  He repeated himself more assertively.

“I know.”

“Time grows short.”  He understood this as well.  He had been given 100 years.  If a single soul could not be found in so vast a stretch of time, then it would be accepted that none remained and the final Horseman, Death, would be released. He had waited all this time, but was obviously growing impatient.  Squaring his shoulders, Tzadkiel pierced the darkness with his deep violet gaze and spoke formidably.

“100 years has been appointed and I shall not be rushed.”  Slowly the murky-red haze diminished back into darkness as a low growl acknowledged the final Horseman’s acceptance that he would continue to wait.

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

Angel of Mercy #Preview of a #FantasyCharacter

30 Tuesday Apr 2019

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As a result of the recent poll I took on WP, as well as Facebook, I was finally able to dress my main character from Angel of Mercy.

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The uniform Lévesque had given him was that of a regimental officer made of black leather that did not immediately impress, particularly when folded up lying upon a blood-stained table.  The black leather pants were snug, trimmed with gold embroidery and dressed by a triplet of golden buttons embossed with the Eminent Protectorate’s seal on either side of this trim just below the hip.  The snug-fitting coat was also embroidered with golden trim, set off smartly by a double row of similar golden buttons that ran along the outside length of the coat and collar. Individual straps of black leather closed the coat by crossing the front of it from one button to the other, while epaulettes, which also bore the EP seal and looping golden fringes, were set off by two golden cords ornamentally draping the neckline.

Black leather boots with lacings and a wide leather belt completed the ensemble and after putting everything on, he walked with a purposeful stride to the small dais upon which Jshunamir was displayed.  Taking up his own baldric of soft gray leather, the only thing that remained from what he had been wearing on the day he encountered Lévesque, he cinched it loosely round his hips and picked up his sword.  Unstained and untarnished, though it had not been cleaned, it glittered as beautifully as it did on the day it was forged; it’s inlaid runes glimmering with a silvery light all their own. Sheathing it, he turned back toward the table, noticing Lourdes at last who stood watching him with an unguarded stare.

Smiling subtly, he met her gaze, the deep lavender of his eyes searching hers, but she closed her and looked down at the bundle she carried, clearly unable to express herself.  Crossing the floor with an unhurried stride, he looked down at himself and then back to her with an openly curious expression.

“Does it suit me? I think it’s a bit,” he paused, seeking the correct word, but she finished his sentence for him, her tone openly approving.

“Magnificent.”

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Tzadkiel is the Archangel of Mercy, sent to earth in the 4th era after the first of the Four Horsemen have ridden. He is looking for one human among those who remain who still understands Mercy.  He’s been looking for nearly 100 years, but he’s finally found her…a young servant named Lourdes.

Just a taste of the work in progress….

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

Input Requested – #MainCharacter Polll

26 Friday Apr 2019

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I’m looking for a bit of fun input. My main character in Angel of Mercy needs to wear a military uniform during a portion of the story. It’s 400 years in the future and I’m going for a goth military look.  Oh, and just for clarity, in the story his wings are not visible.

I’ve narrowed it down to these. Which one do you like best?

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Thanks !

~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

Angel of Mercy – A #Post-Apocalyptic #Fantasy #Fiction #Book #Teaser

09 Tuesday Apr 2019

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My current work in progress is practically telling itself.  Though I started it about a year ago, and then had nearly a year long hiatus from writing of any kind while I moved, found a decent job, and got sorted, the story has recently re-captured my attention.  So much so, in fact, that I almost feel like I’m taking dictation.  Already 22K words and only at Chapter 5, Angel of Mercy is more than filling my thoughts, it’s renewed a true passion within me I feared I lost. Words flow again in beautiful abundance and I am overjoyed!

Overjoyed….and eager to share some of the growing tale! It tells the story of life after the first 3 Horsemen, Pestilence, War and Famine, have ridden.  In the 4 Era after the Great Cataclysm,(roughly 400 years in the future)  the final horseman, Death is accompanied by the Archangel of Mercy, who is sent to find at least one person among those who remain who is merciful.  He has been searching for almost 100 years….

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Patience was his essence, clemency his soul.  He had never known resentfulness, rage, or pain.  All the years of his long life, which numbered in countless eons, he had been the personification of compassion, empathy, and forgiveness; yet now as the dark hours of agony and harrowing loneliness he endured drug on, his thoughts twisted in a tumultuous commotion of wrath and determination. Those who abused him deserved the wrath that pierced his benevolent essence with its ferocity, and the one he had been sent to find merited the determination that implored him to wait, despite the intensifying desire to pour out the ferocity of his wrath on those who abused him.  The horrifying cycle of tempestuous emotion became a maelstrom that threatened to undo him, separate him from everything he knew about himself, and create in the void a monster of abhorrent violence.

His brothers, those who had preceded him, wrought justice for all who had been victimized during the ages that had passed since the beginning.  All of beautiful creation was not subject to the trials they unleashed.  During the cataclysms, the earth’s population diminished on a vast scale, but the plant and animal-life of the planet recovered from the subjugation it had suffered under the ungainly rule of the humans. Those who felt the full extent of the justice his brothers released had sown the seeds of their destruction through their own despicable actions.  Whether through the sickness they poured from their souls like plague, through the violence they perpetrated on the meek, or through the deprivation of their cruel disregard, Pestilence, War, and Famine were sent to match their own.

He had been sent to find one that matched himself; one kindred spirit among the multitudes that was the embodiment of mercy. Although he had searched unsuccessfully for nearly a century, he could not accept there was no one. None, but him?  It was incomprehensible.  So he continued to search, to wait, and through waiting, he accepted the abuse forced upon him by the children of the lost.

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I would love to hear what you think…and if this entices you to want more 🙂

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by aenaluck

#WorkInProgress – Angel of Mercy – A #PostApocalyptic #Psychological #Romantic #Fantasy #Mystery?

10 Sunday Mar 2019

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Two brief excerpts from my current – well, one of two current – Works In Progress. Not entirely sure how to categorize it yet, maybe you can tell me…Its set in the future, AFTER the beginning of the Biblical Apocalypse. It’s about mortals and Immortals, Hate and Love, Fear and Romance. Yes it will have STEAM, Violence, Spirituality and a hint of Dsytopian flair. It tells the story of life after the first 3 Horsemen, Pestilence, War and Famine, have ridden.  In the 4 Era after the Great Cataclysm, the final horseman, Death is accompanied by the Archangel of Mercy, who is sent to find at least one person among those who remain who is merciful.  He has been searching for almost 100 years….

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Year 96 of the 4th Era after the Great Cataclysm: Le Bastion de la Résolution, – Marçais, Olde France

She was only a scullery maid. Nothing. No one. She was as unimportant as the scraps she cleaned up and just as forgettable. She had been her entire life and nothing would ever change that. She knew it and she expected nothing. Ever since she was five years old she understood that those around her were far better than she. Her life was trivial and meaningless; she accepted it.

Those she served were as far above her as she was above the barn rats. Her betters were interesting, beautiful, wealthy, and above all, powerful. When they spoke, others rushed to serve; where they wished to go, others made way. They were inaccessible and inescapable. Officers of the Eminent Protectorate and their families, they outranked even the nobles of the land and none questioned them. The Eminent Protectorate were the elite of society and to serve them was a privilege most could only dream of in a world where poverty was common-place, where being healthy was a rare distinction among the masses of Mortal Plague, and where Time had stopped……..

Every night she could hear the screams. Harrowing, they kept her awake many long nights while she leaned from her small window in the servant’s tower desperately trying to locate their source, but the stone walls of the bastion sent echoes pealing in all directions. They broke her heart, at first, but after many weeks of hearing them she’d grown accustomed to the noise. It wasn’t so much that they didn’t affect her anymore, but she accepted them, just as she accepted her own plight. The Eminent Protectorate could not and would not be questioned about them, or about anything they did, so whoever the poor soul was, they were doomed to bear whatever was happening without any more hope of rescue than she might wish for. Less. ……

Year 86 of the 4th Era after the Great Cataclysm: The Coast of Calais, Olde France

He stood on the vast ocean shore, his back to what was left of a once vibrant land as his brilliant, violet gaze searched the empty miles of gray ocean. His essence listened for any sign of life, a heartbeat remaining among the silence of the deeps, but not a single pulse broke the deathly hush. Pestilence had done his job too well. Nothing remained. All that was once beautiful, colorful and diverse was gone.

The thought pained him and he closed his eyes, bowing his head to mourn what had been sacrificed and all that had been lost. No terns cried upon the ocean breeze; no laughing gulls sang praise to the skies, there was only the sound of the waves rushing and breaking upon the rocky shore and the hollow moan of the wind. Without wings to dance upon it, the air itself seemed barren and grief-stricken. Without the song of the lark to cheer the entrance of the day or the carol of the robin to serenade the evening, the entire earth grieved in heavy silence. The ruddy glimmer of the late day sun, slowly fading into a crimson haze, played through the lengths of his blonde hair and sparkled across the perfection of his features. Standing there at the beginning of such a vast emptiness, he was the most beautiful sight for countless miles.

Behind him, a thunder of hooves pounded across the beach and the curses of men accosted the quietness.  He did not turn to face them as they formed a perimeter around him, barricading him against the sea, nor did he immediately answer when they demanded to know who he was; instead, he closed his violet eyes and sighed wearily.  Nothing had changed, even after three horrifying cataclysms had shaken the foundations of the world; hate, suspicion and fear still ruled those who remained.

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I welcome your thoughts and feedback 😉

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~Morgan~

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Beautiful Original Artwork by Jules-Joseph-Augustin Laurens (top) and by aenaluck.deviantart.com (bottom)

Passage Finale- Soul Mates – #FlashFiction

04 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by in Flash Fiction and Shorts

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Passage time stands still

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His senses spun; his heart hammered; he was irresistibly drawn to her. She no longer whispered, but he could hear her still; the beguiling sound of that which made her exquisitely her resounded within him.

Unconcerned about the watching star-beings, who no longer laughed, but shimmered their light as if smiling, he stepped forward and gazed down into her upturned face. Drinking in the soft blush of her cheek, the delicate smile turning her lips, and the lush glimmer in her eyes, he reached to touch her and, with that contact, his heart blazed with passionate yearning.

He Remembered Her.

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The End.

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~Morgan~

Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

Part Six – Laughter

Part Seven – His Aura

Part Eight – Transfixed

Part Nine – Bathed In Light

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Nine- Bathed In Light – #FlashFiction

04 Monday Jun 2018

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Passage time stands still

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Never had she seen another being like him. Blue eyes, pale skin, and yellow hair proclaimed he was far from his own realm and more astonishing than she ever could have imagined. Tall and strong, with odd cloth ornamentation covering his body and bizarre black embellishments in his skin, he was both handsome and bewildering.

He returned her shocked stare, the liquescent blue of his gaze skating away repeatedly, then returning. Lissome and beautiful, she stood bathed in translucent light he had not noticed from the distance; a star-being in humanesque form, yet entirely unclothed.

His aura shifted; she smiled.

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~Morgan~

Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

Part Six – Laughter

Part Seven – His Aura

Part Eight – Transfixed

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Seven- His Aura – #FlashFiction

03 Sunday Jun 2018

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aura

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The intensity of his ire radiated outward through his aura, gleaming into the shadowlight. The scarlet glimmer muffled the insidious laughter assaulting him and many of the lights streaked back into the safety of the sky like stars falling in reverse. Others danced round his head like moths drawn to a flame and these he cursed at brazenly, though his unintelligible words only provoked choruses of additional laughter.

Glancing past the annoying entities, he scanned the horizon for the female who had ceased to sing and saw her lithe silhouette lingering amidst the shadows of barren rock.

His aura shifted.

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~Morgan~

Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

Part Six – Laughter

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Stock artwork found on google images. Credit Gratefully Acknowledged to the original artist. Thank You~

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Passage Part Six- Laughter – #FlashFiction

03 Sunday Jun 2018

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Looking round, he realized the stars had drawn closer, much closer. No longer shimmering in the distance, they hovered round him, pressing inward as the cacophony of laughter intensified. His ears rang with the tumult; his senses spun, but worse than the dizzying discordance was the scourge of anger that flared within him.

He didn’t like being laughed at, particularly by unseen phantoms lingering in the ethereal void into which he had plunged. Growling with ire, he pushed himself up from the parched ground and glared upward at the stars, which glared back, diverted by his blunder.

Breaths became blades…

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~Morgan~

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Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

Part Five – Beguiling

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Stock Image found at HD Backgrounds

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Passage Part Five- Beguiling – #FlashFiction

03 Sunday Jun 2018

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Passage time stands still

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Focused on the lissome silhouette in the distance, outlined against an ocean of night, his quickened pace mirrored his rushing pulse. She continued to whisper, her voice beguilingly close, as if she stood beside right him, speaking ever so softly in his ear and his thoughts spun.

Unable to concentrate upon the rocky terrain as her curves and slender limbs came more fully into view, he stumbled more than once, cursed at his clumsiness; then went sprawling into the dust.

An onslaught of vicious laughter ensued; echoing round him from nowhere and everywhere, and when it began, her whispers ceased.

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~Morgan~

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Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

Part Four – Her Voice

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Four – Her Voice – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

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Passage time stands still

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Her voice filled his mind; a soliloquy of sound unlike anything he had ever heard. Temptation borne upon the breeze, her whispers spun his thoughts and made his heart hammer; in spite of the fact he could neither understand the language nor hear her intelligibly.

The barren terrain stretched out before him; an expanse as empty as his life had been, up until the moment he had chosen to step through the portal, anyway. The sky over head seemed the only thing to shift as he trudged across fields of pebbles and shale, but her voice drew him onward.

Then, in the distance, a shape appeared against the star-jeweled horizon.

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~Morgan~

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Part One – This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

Part Three – The Void

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Three- The Void – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

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Passage time stands still

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Stepping into the shimmering darkness of the landscape, he cast about him seeking the speaker whose voice seemed to echo from the distance louder than it spoke from the nearby. Soft, subtle, a whisper drifting on the insubstantial breeze; her voice drew him like an intoxication he could not deny and serrated through him, as chilling as ice drawn across exposed skin.

The barren surroundings offered no evidence of her existence. Stretching outward toward a rose-hued horizon awash with stars, the rocky terrain undulated like a serpent, beguiling perception and tempting intrepidity. Her voice compelled him into the void.

He followed.

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~Morgan~

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. This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

Part Two – Time Stood Still

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part Two-Time Stood Still – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

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Passage time stands still

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Time stood still, a product of perception; perhaps a fragment of the imagination only, which was neither tangible nor incorporeal. He stood looking into the figment, wonder expanding through his thoughts like a mirror replicating that which he saw, stretching, reaching into the unknown.

Where had he come? What place filled his gaze? A dark encapsulation of mystery sparkled in his eyes; innumerable points of light filling what once stood empty, alone; and that bejeweled cacophony of silence reflected in his liquescent gaze as a whisper just above the point of perception hinted he was not alone.

A feminine voice.

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~Morgan~

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. This Flash Fiction piece is a sequel to Passage, which I wrote in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

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Beautiful Original Photograph by: Matt Payne

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Passage Part One – #FlashFiction

02 Saturday Jun 2018

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Passage

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The well stood waiting, pristine, ready. A passage into the beyond; a portal primed and dedicated to its cause. The mystery of its magic drew him to its glistening side and enraptured his stare as musings tumbled in a myriad directions.

Where would this lost vestige of time transport him and what race of people would he encounter after crossing?

A doorway into the past; an entrance into realms unknown; the portal sparkled in the morning light’s splendor, awaiting his decision. Step into the precariously unfamiliar or remain amid the languid familiarity of his present reality.

Smiling, he stepped within.

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~Morgan~

This 100-word Flash Fiction story was written in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto weekly photoprompt.

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Submerged – A #ShortStory #Collaboration – Finale

15 Tuesday Nov 2016

Posted by in Collaborations, Flash Fiction and Shorts

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submerged2

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We were parked in the midst of what appeared to be a giant junkyard. Row after row of wrecked cars of every color and model sat in various states of disrepair for as far as the eye could see.

Behind me, I heard the unmistakable crunch of gravel under boots but, before I could turn, I felt the barrel of a gun pressed between my shoulder blades. Instinctively, I put my hands in the air. Then a voice I recognized said: “We meet again.”

Julie smiled evilly. “You really are an idiot,” she said. “You actually thought I’d let you steal from my cousin?” My face must have revealed my shock because she followed that with an affirmation. “Yes Josh, Brad’s my cousin!” she spat. “If you were a little less into you and a little more into other people you probably would have remembered that.”

Brad punched me hard in the back of the head and I dropped to my knees. “If Mande wouldn’t have posted about you on Facebook, you’d be dead right now!” he said. “I’m tempted to do you anyway and take my chances. Put you in a trunk and put the car through the crusher. They’d never find you.”

Julie’s eyes were suddenly worried. “Brad, you promised me. No violence.”

“Where are the rocks?” he demanded and she ran to the car and returned with the bag. He was pressing the gun hard into the back of my head.

“I have them here,” she said.

“All of them?”

“Yes, they’re all here. Every one.”

He lowered his mouth to my ear and growled: “Steal from me again and I’ll kill you and there won’t be a body at your funeral. Are we clear?”

I nodded.

“ARE WE CLEAR?!”

“We’re clear, Brad,” I said. “We’re clear. I’ll never steal from you again.”

“Damn right,” he said. Then he cracked me in the skull with the pistol. It didn’t knock me unconscious but I wished it had. I lay in the gravel holding my head, blood running through my fingers. They walked away, got in their vehicles, and drove off.

Julie said: “So long, Romeo,” through her open window as she sped away throwing dust and rocks into my face.

I laid there for a long time before my vision had cleared enough to stand. Then I staggered about trying to find my balance. I leaned against an old truck and stuck my hands in my pockets. Then I smiled.

“Should have checked my pockets, Brad.” I said sifting emeralds through my fingers. “You really should have checked my pockets.”
The End!

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Hope You enjoyed this Short Story Collaboration as much as I enjoyed writing it with Fred.  Always diverting to go down a new road and test my wings with something different.  Should you feel inclined, have a notion or idea for a collaboration, please feel free to contact me via my Write With Me page or Contact information.

Part Five

Part Four

Part Three

Part Two

Part One

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~Morgan~