C.T. Piatt
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Everything posted by C.T. Piatt
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I always thought they'd work it out, eventually. I 'got' bits and pieces of their future story, but never enough to be something to publish.
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Thank you. I like strange, not normal, so to have you think it that is good.
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I never had an idea of what creature Kinston was, he never explained. Thank you for reading
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Thank you. I enjoyed writing them.
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The Sergeant turned to him and Kingston swore beneath his breath. "Colonel Highbrow wants you." He stared at Kingston. "On the double, Private." Nothing good ever came from being noticed by an officer. Nothing good. His section was filled with men, returned from whatever mission they had been sent on. Silent and fearful. Fear of the night, of sleep, and the terrors held within. And of the next day with its even worse terrors. He walked through, twisting to avoid touching their bod
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For three years Kingston has hidden within the trenches, in plain sight, using the mud and uncertainty as a cover, only possible because he refuses to let his internal beast out for any length of time. But what will happen when he is given the chance to let the beast free?
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Thank you. Wrote that a while ago, been a while since I've written anything consistently. I'm now trying to entice the Muse to be more active within me. The encouragement helps.
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There is a solitude in taking photos that overrides the movement, the noise that encompass me. As I stand apart from the crowd I'm in their depths, taking photos of the action, the people, the crowds. Trying to capture the movement and the noise in still, silent photos. I'm not too bad at it. I make enough money to help pay off an apartment on the edge of the city, enough money to buy a more-than-decent camera and lens. Enough money to take a friend to a show. If I ever had the time to meet
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The lens of the camera is shallow. It sees colour and shape. It gives the illusion of motion in two dimensions. It draws the light from the dark. In that space between lens and subject, between picture and reality, lies solitude. Jonah lived in that solitude, content within its embrace. Until Michael.
