thecalimack

Ellis's mother did him spite, she harried thieves in the dead of night. Put her son and his child to flight, they slew the babe, they slew his knight. Through ill fate, he'd survived, but with this, his loves had died, And now alone he must endure the days without child and paramour.

Neal brushed aside some of the grime that had gathered at the engraving and pulled away the weeds around the gravestone. Brad appreciated the effort Neal had been putting in ever since they moved into the city. At the grave of his old boss, not for the first time, he wondered if anyone from his old gang left behind a family and if they managed to pass on to whatever afterlife there was. That was one thing about Brad; he never believed in an afterlife. His neighbors would call him a heathen for b

When Neal was three, he always had a friend no one else saw. No one believed him, so they were scared when he knew things a three-year old had no business knowing. He had no business knowing swear words, or the Great Depression, or the second World War. He even spoke like someone from Brooklyn for a time, despite being three states over. It didn't make sense. As he grew older, he knew his friend was imaginary, in a sense. He was always by his side, giving advice, asking questions, and even tel

His soul was not his own, and whoever made it wanted it back. How could he just give something like that back?

It had been two weeks since Arden’s attempted kidnapping. Roland was expending as much resources as he could trying to find answers. Their prisoner was unwilling to cooperate, however, and all they had were a few leads from their camp just outside the city. He was filing away paperwork when there was a gentle, rhythmic rap on the door. Arden let himself in, still in his ‘Elliot Goulding’ disguise. His mask concealed most of his face and his garments were generally a different color from his regu

I'm back, getting my creative juices flowing and trying to earn discreetly online. A lot has been happening at home and it's been driving me up the wall. It hasn't been the most pleasant experience and it makes me sad that I've been on and off with all my projects mainly because I'm in hiding with my family. But, I refuse to just stop and give up. I keep holding onto these little bits of myself that I feel matter. In the society I'm in, creativity is a waste of time most of the time. It's rather half-assed. I'd like to believe in the potential of a creative and adaptive mind. I'm definitely brooding something personal. Fights and arguments with my folks just fuel this fire to just be better than all of them, and hopefully step on them when the time comes. I've lost most sympathies for them, which I didn't plan and yet can't help but feel. So I came back with a few story updates. I'd been revising the flow and pacing for some of them, so I hope they're to your liking. I posted updates to my long-running series A Frigid Grasp and His Happiness. So have a read and enjoy! I'm aiming for weekly updates so please follow the stories if you enjoy them.

Arden tested his magic on their way to the noble house, thankful to feel it coursing through him again. They didn't waste any time in making their move. Arden wore an unrecognizable outfit under his cloak and hood, his face hidden under a white half-mask that fitted neatly over his face. He was the very essence of the Mysterious Stranger. He shuddered when a nostalgic memory rushed him. That memory, he didn't need to recall. It was a traumatizing experience in its own right. Roland led them to

I'd follow a story but I'd end up so sad when that's the last I heard from them. Although as a writer, I'm on and off, but there's a difference. But yeah, I Follow stories only when they're still in progress but I like the premise (so far). Finished ones get a like, sometimes with a follow in case they update that story to include an update for a sequel or something.

Nathan studied the meal before him, a beautiful batch of lemon chicken with lemon-kiwi iced tea. Noel was gingerly cutting slices for them both, humming to the tune playing on the radio. It was serene. Too serene. "Babe, did something happen?" Noel looked up at Nathan with a soft smile. "Just in a good mood." That didn't answer anything for him, so he asked again. "Why in such a good mood, babe?" "Oh, just something went according to plan." He was serving them both slices of the chicke

I could learn so much from you. The writing was phenomenal and I cant wait for more.

Alone, in my childhood home, I rummaged through the remnants of my past as the radio station spoke of the anniversary of a brutal incident. "For ten years, the mysterious fire that had plagued our town has continued to baffle investigators. Just a year after the case was opened, it was closed, the result truly believed to be an incident with electricity or one of their lamps. The family made use of candles and oil lamps, so viewing it as a dreaded tragedy was..." I sifted through the old pap

"Must be nice being back, huh?" I looked over my shoulder, and the radio sat there on the ground, a little red light glaring at me. "Ten years, and the prodigal son returns to the scene of the crime."

Actually, the talisman was supposed to imply temporary silencing of spells. Like a flash grenade messes with yer senses. And I'm glad you're enjoying this story.

It was mid-morning when Arden woke. When he went down for breakfast, Sven passed him two envelopes. One was a letter from the Duke, expressing his sincerest apologies and a future audience. Another was the permit Arden had left behind that would make his operations valid. Along with that was a note that said they would cover tax charges, seeing as Arden’s space was already owned by Sven, who was on-the-dot with paying taxes. Arden wasn’t sure how legal that was, but he was a bit too strung up to

"What did he just say?" Noel looked up from his book and saw Nathan braced on their table in the booth, ready to launch himself at the offender. "Let it go, Nathan. He just called us faggots." "No one calls my boy a faggot." Nathan gritted his teeth. As an off-duty Marine, he didn't take that kind of shit from anybody. That wasn't an affectionate 'faggot' call; it was a hiss, a derisive remark that would earn the poor bastard a new set of dentures. "Babe, wait here. I'm gonna give him a piec

I'm glad you think so. I wanted to keep things vague but relatable. I have to give credit to my editors/beta-readers for helping me make things clearer and realizing my aim early on.

I'm not even sure what mental illness I used, because this is sort of a confession. I dragged imaginary friends until I got into college. And my family don't believe in therapy. Like how we pray the gay away. WHOOO!

Glad you feel that way, though I could have gone with a better summary for the story. I'm glad you took a chance.

Glad you feel that way, though I could have gone with a better description. I'm glad you took a chance.

Hey, I'm just glad you helped me edit this thing in the first place. I wrote it since high school and you helped me re-heat it. Like leftover lasagna. And you deserve as much credit as I do, Valkyrie.

Oh joy oh joy! My work. I feel (somewhat) accomplished.

We sat down on a bench in the park, enjoying the cool breeze as the sun set. The leaves were dancing all around us as they swayed and glided to the ground. The entire place was painted with the leaves—hues of crimson, orange, and gold making a vivid display on the trees and the earth. I appreciated his company. He was always there for me, since I was a little kid until even now as I just celebrated my twentieth birthday. His brown hair, usually let down to just graze the nape of his neck, was t

Your thoughts are always your own. That's what makes letting go so hard.

Thank you! It took me a long while to find a name for a guide to gay relationships. )

Thanks for the remarks! I was worried about it, actually. Reading over it, I realized how rushed I must have been writing this.