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Dead Scribe

Thoughts from a grave.

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XII. The Train

March 10, 2018March 10, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ 1 Comment

The rider sits in the aisle seat as the woman insisted on the window. She feels the cloth of the dress he bought her; it is cotton and blue. Though she hates it she does not protest and simply retains her silence as the town begins to fade to the slow, heavy breaths of the … Continue reading XII. The Train

XI. The Road Agent

March 10, 2018March 10, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

Miles go without words and the sun passes to the moon then again to the sun. It is as it was; cycles of silence where the breath of the wind is loud and disturbing. The rider chews on his last cheroot and exhales the smoke from his nose. The woman is behind him and frowns … Continue reading XI. The Road Agent

X. The Deer Woman

March 9, 2018March 9, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

The rider once heard a story of the deer woman. It is said she has lived in the mountains for a thousand years and appears only to feed on travelers. She lures men from the path as they journey and, upon their approach, tramples them to death. The rider made no plans for such a … Continue reading X. The Deer Woman

IX. The Vision

March 9, 2018March 8, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

This is the passage; a fanged tunnel where the stalactites drip with something not water and burns on his palm which caught a drop. He looks down the tunnel and hears his voice again. It is a dream or he has died, at last, and proceeds toward the darkness knowing it is as strongly behind … Continue reading IX. The Vision

VIII. The Serpents

March 9, 2018March 8, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

He awakes in the swamp but it is not the swamp. The rider wipes from his mouth a poisonous green substance and staggers to his feet. Essence fills his eyes with clouds. Where is the road? Where is the horse? The gun, still at his hip, he smells the bullets and the gunpowder. Where is … Continue reading VIII. The Serpents

VII. The Swamp

March 9, 2018March 8, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

He knows that soon it will be dark. The rider passes beneath a massive root which spurns the earth and falls into the depths of the murky water. The swamp seems endless and fog toils on the surface of the deep primordial recess; the only semblance of active life. He regrets now the absence of … Continue reading VII. The Swamp

Death and the Hawk – IV. Gravitation

March 7, 2018March 8, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

The darkness doesn’t go away. It stays even when she opens her eyes. Cheek flush against the damp, cold ground. The rain has passed and she sits up on her knees, hand touching the tender swelling above her left eye. Ankle sprained. Finger broken. Ribs split in four places. She grasps the bent digit tightly … Continue reading Death and the Hawk – IV. Gravitation

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Recent Posts

  • A Hint of the Occult II – Drawing the Wheel, and other things about Tarot.
  • Some Are Dead – 4. The Day of Jupiter
  • Some Are Dead – 3. Dying in Carpocrates
  • A Hint of the Occult I – The Kabbalah of Monster Hunter
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Dead Scribe is a writer from rural Ohio attempting to work on his craft and keep his head above dark water.

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