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Dead Scribe

Thoughts from a grave.

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Category: The Wind and the Rider

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

VI. The Departure 

September 9, 2017January 9, 2018 ~ Dead Scribe ~ 1 Comment

The Sodom mornings and Gomorrah nights; sky fire frames a town trapped in the enclosure of primitive mountains which have seen stranger things in the dust of their eyes. They look on casting long shadows and swaying reflections under their god the white desert sun. A drunk cannot see them it is to dark but … Continue reading VI. The Departure 

V. The Burning

September 9, 2017 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

The dried up field had marks of black ash laid out to the horizon. In the distance, the reaping fire devoured those wheat straw that polluted the field. It was early afternoon when they set the blaze and the two men stood on the white dirt and watched the smoke veil over the blue sky … Continue reading V. The Burning

IV. The Wendigo

August 8, 2017December 14, 2017 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

It's a timeless hour of the day. The sun is muted white and the snow, falling in great clumps, snaps the gnarled limbs of a black tree. The rider hears not a single bird just the heavy meandering steps of his appaloosa. His journey has again brought him to the silence of nature; he feels … Continue reading IV. The Wendigo

III. The Shooting

August 3, 2017August 3, 2017 ~ Dead Scribe ~ Leave a comment

The war has ended. Months have passed and the rider, with a great sin on his back, stops his horse at the crest of a hill. It slopes down near a river and is made of mostly dirt and dried grass. He dismounts the appaloosa, and he takes his rifle out of the saddle and … Continue reading III. The Shooting

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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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