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D.K. Daniels

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About D.K. Daniels

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  1. My exact thought on writing teenage romance. I suppose that is why I am writing dark sh*t at the moment. 😂 Though if I find an idea like the avengers I'll cash in with the concept. It will make the breakfast club look manic.
  2. Sometimes I have control over the story; other times I just follow it whereever it wants to go. In this case I am just the messenger and following my own stream of consciousness on where the story should go without being critical of my own judgments. Since I am a panster, sometimes I don't foresee all corners of where a story is going. Often I have an end sight in mind or a few scenes I'd like to piece together and in most cases that's what I do. I don't think I have ever stopped reading over a sad scene in a book. Actually on the contrary I crave the type of drama that makes you say, "oh god." I guess my stakes are slightly getting more ballsy as I continue on with new stories and this one just happened to be a dark one without me even realising it. I am currently writing a romance on the side so I change with the the story lol. Everything in Before The Storm is complete fiction. There have been times in the past I use ideas from the real world, but everything in this story I have completely fictionalised that I don't even know a person like most of the characters. I suppose peoples interpretation of dark is different, but to me this is pretty tame. In a story I wrote some time back called now you see me. I wrote a graphic murder of a girl and the perpetrator digs a hole in the forrest and buries the body. The entire piece is about 20 pages, but I walk through everything from the emotional state of burying a body to the the satisfaction of the psychopath when the deed is done. It may seem dark. I do have some light at the end of the tunnel coming... I promise. Though I love to catch the rawness of the human element and I try to put it in all my stories.
  3. I am sorry the story is upsetting you. It is disheartening also treating my characters like this but unfortunately I am just following the story wherever it is going. Awful things happen, true. However, it wasn't as if Tad purposely fired the gun at the boy. Equally all the characters are to blame. Santiago was told to run, he choose to stick around. The father was in the same fight and with Tad feeling threatened his survival instincts kicked in. Santiago was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can't help it if I write a sad or depressing story, its just what I am conditioned to write this time around. I hope you understand and forgive me.
  4. Before The Storm - 9 *** 00:42 AM Lucas ambled on back to his assigned cot through the narrow passages of cramped bedding and smiled at Zack who sat up alert, aware of the now leaking roof. In a giddy excitement, Zack raised his arm, balling his fist and held it out. "Fist bump?" Zack enquired. Unexpectedly, Lucas played along, marveling in the new direction the boy's friendship was heading. Striking out, he tapped his knuckles with Zack's, only to crash on the bed beside the other boy. Zack shifted his attention to the roof leak, smirked and said, "do you think the roof could give." Lucas peered up at the rafters, watched as the water cascade from the beams high above and pondered. Sure, he was afraid of the usual. Fearful of girls, scared of boys who were stronger than him. Petrified of thunder or being held back a year in school. Though he'd had rather, it had been his father who died than his mother, but nonetheless, he tried his utmost best to overcome obstacles in his path. It was then that the two boys conversed freely regarding their favorite Disney movies and occasionally debunking the hidden messages behind each cinematic title. It was then Lucas learned Zach was afraid of the dark. The boy wasn't scared of the dark per se, it was what could lurk within the darkness that disturbed him on a nightly basis. Sometimes the boy would wake covered in a cold sweat, shivering at the mere thought of his father coming home and waking him up. The youngster knew the rational idea was far-fetched. Except, a part of the past etched itself in his subconscious from that one winter without power in Connecticut. Tad brought his family from Florida to experience snow as Zack had never seen snowfall before since he lived in the Tampa's suburbs all of his life. Tad rented a small cabin by a Lake so they could all bask in the wonderful offering of winter and possibly spend Christmas there alone before returning home after the holidays. Zack did get to experience the sensation of fresh snowflakes touching his skin, he got to build a snowman, his father taught him. However, the evening was soon to shift, and Tad's emotions shifted to his wife. Paranoia set in, and for whatever reason, the man believed his wife was cheating. Since men like Tad fall victim to their own suffering, they cannot help but bring misery to others in their vicinity. Christmas was spent with plenty of shouting, hostility, the use of the occasional fist, followed by a rolling blackout across southern Connecticut. After Christmas, nobody asked questions at work regarding Elizabeth's blackeye. Assumptions were made, but as far as people are concerned, it was none of their business. Whenever Zack went to bed at night he used a nightlight to purge the doubtless uncertainty he'd be murdered in his bed by his father; beaten so unrecognizable for something beyond Zack's capability, especially his yonder years. *** 00:47 AM It was an odd sensation, crying in the rain. Having a warm slicker of tears accumulate in the creases either side of the nose. Yet, equally, mix with the bombardment with billions of tiny cold droplets. The weightlessness the man felt as he ran was indescribable, to say the least. It was as if descending a roller coaster on its signature plummet without any harnesses. Only for when you reached the bottom instead of flying out of the from the car, aimlessly sailing into the night you are left to ponder the resentment of all your bad choices. The father ran along, desperately attempting to juggle his son and control the rate of his panic. How many miles can one run the father surmised? The duo sopped from the wetness, their faces a delicate sheen. The night cold and unforgiving. The storm high above their heads, whirled its beauty for miles around, making it incredibly challenging to run, breath and keep up the hope Santiago will live. Whatever the man did in life, the boy did not deserve a crueler fate. The father did not cast away his God, nor did he feel anger at Tad or the Almighty. He looked down at Santiago, the limp, lifeless body jiggling about in his arms and he thought, don't surrender to a gentle peace my little star. The father ran bearing to the right on the road and cut up onto a sidewalk, heading straight into a desolate park. A city trashcan had blown out onto the footpath, Julian avoided it, apparently the deadweight of Santiago starting to catch on. The ragged pants increased, and the man's panic finally caught up with him, even after he explicitly told it to stay away. However, the anxiousness quickly overtook his body and the man tired, slowing gradually until he could run no further. Julian crouched down; the remnants of his saliva seeped from his mouth, stringing as it left with the spray of the storm. Julian peered at his son beneath him. Santiago looked incredibly peaceful, and the reality of the moment set in. The father lifted a hoody that now covered the boy's torso. The small bind covering the wound soaked through with a dark, gloomy color. The makeshift gauze was holding momentarily. Just for how long was the question Julian inquired. The man lifted his hand to the boy's throat and found a pulse. Extremely weak, but he was still alive. Shifting his attention to the surroundings the man was caught off guard by a sudden violent gust that almost toppled him onto of young Santiago. The man dropped his sons' legs, webbing his fingers out he pinned them to the ground and protected the child's head. Behind the rattling bin scrapped and glided along with the concrete, until it sped forcefully into a shrub, rupturing a large hole in the center of the foliage. The man sat back up, dropping a knee to the pavement to better position himself against the sudden addition of wind. The immediate gust didn't die. Instead, it continued, resulting in the playground swing set a little way ahead, the seats from either swing looping around the frame with the severe gales. Think… Think goddam it Julian rebuked. He'd gone jogging so many times around the community that he knew the surroundings like the back of his hand. The only downside was the panic set forth by the shooting. Being at war seemed easy to Julian to mentally prepare. You learn to accept the fate of a friend dying in action. Except, having your son in your company made the idea of trying extremely hard to seek medical attention extra proficient. Julian always assumed if one of his comrades got killed in the line of duty, he'd resent the fact they'd been shot. Just having your own kid bleeding out in your arms; the natural instinctive order scarpered off out the window, to the neighbor's house, and down the toilet. The father knew there was no hospital for miles, and Mrs. Grimshaw down the street left Wednesday morning with her husband, Eddy. The woman treated evacuated personnel who got limbs blown off in World War 2. Though any medic would have been savory in a time like now. However, Julian vaguely remembered an announcement made on the local forecast debut earlier today, stranded folks could travel to Oakfield High School for emergency accommodation to ride out the storm. Surely, they'd have something or services to get Santiago transported. Figuring the school is the best place to go, the man readied himself, taking his hand from the ground and cupping it under his sons' legs once more. Julian launched up from the crouched stance and ran, with a faint glimmer of hope in the cold, dark night. *** 01:04 AM On an upcoming intersection, Tad saw blue flashing lights obscure the blotchy windscreen. He'd leaned forward from his seat, attempting to make out detail in front. Seeing as it is useless since the rain turned torrential, he asked himself. What if… What if it's the police? Clenching the wheel, it hurt, but he buried his foot on the break, and the car screeched to a halt. Some thirty yards ahead, Brian Sanders, stood over a ditch swelling with water. In his hand he held out his torch searching the upturned vehicle in the ditch for survivors, though was unable to notice any bodies, concluding whoever crashed made it out alive. It was then he heard the skid further down the road. The man peered up in alarm, thinking that a car missed his flashing lights and hadn't slowed down. Except, the car stopped dead far up the road, light beams flooding out into the dense darkness. Brian wondered what the driver was doing, and if they were driving on the far side of the road all along. If so that would be a felony he'd have no problem issuing a ticket for, storm or no storm. Tad saw the flashlight directed his way and pondered if he should turn around and keep driving. The man glanced to his center mirror and saw jack shit out the rear window. A gust of wind caught the car from the back and shook the vehicle. Perhaps it was the long-awaited north wall of the storm rapidly approaching. He contemplated going back for the father and child he left behind. The kid could die if proper medical attention did not arrive to help him quickly. Tad looked over his shoulder and saw no sign of another car approaching. Clumsily he yanked the gearshift upward and reversed in a dangerous manner, doing a U-turn in the middle of the road before tearing the shifter back down to drive and sped off the way he already came. Brian Sanders stumbled against the wind into the middle of the road, having made his way to the right fender and watched in confusion as the driver recklessly did the U-turn and drove away. The man haplessly gazed back to the upturned car in the ditch, hoping the people who were in it before he arrived made it to safety. Brian got into his car, buckled up and took off after the man who did the illegal U-turn as something did not sit right with chap, his gut told him to give chase. *** 01:06 AM Zack sat cross-legged on his cot, smiling across at Lucas who also perched the same way, and they both played tic-tac-toe. Lucas had won the first three rounds, only now, the shift in luck turned its attention to Zack who happened to be winning the current round. Lucas understood the game is screwed, and he knew he was going to lose the match. Zack saw the opening Lucas realized; to make the victory all the more sweater, Zack made a spitfire sound and crossed off the final advancement leading him to a glorious triumph. Lucas grumbled, yet grinned at Zack's win. The boy accepted the defeat modestly and sighed somewhat in shame. "Okay… ask me a question then?" Lucas said. The boys agreed at the start of the game, whoever won a round could ask a question to the loser. Given it was the first victory of Zack, he straightened up taking the winning proudly. "Hmmm… What ridiculous thing has someone tricked you with or made you believe?" Lucas pondered, the grin left his face as he reflected on foggy memories until he found one, and the smile returned. "I think I was about five; my best friend Christopher's brother said hot chocolate consisted of leftover diarrhea from my dad after he ate Indian food." Lucas cringed, remembering the moment he had been duped into thinking hot chocolate was a bowel movement. In the meanwhile, Zack tilted his head back and gave a hearty chuckle. Sheepishly Lucas continued, "safe to say, I didn't touch the stuff for almost three years." Zack's laughter eased, and he regained control of himself. The light conversation comforted the two uneasy souls. The boys went back to the game, drawing another set-up for the game and started freshly. Zack this time around carefully focused on every little fidget and hand movement of Lucas's as he wanted to start a winning streak. If he won twice in a row, it meant something, surely. However, Lucas determined to arise victorious played with his game face equipped and extremely observative of Zack's eyes. Lucas even tried to guess the other boys' move just by watching the stunning blue eyes. Suddenly before Lucas understood what happened as he absently scribbled on the paper when it came to his turn, the game came to an end. Zack announced his triumph again. Lucas peeled his attention from the gorgeous eyes to find he lost for the second time in the row. "Ugh… Shit," Lucas murmured. Zack grinned at Lucas's defeated disposition. The youth thought up another question he'd ask Lucas this time around. "Right… I'm ready for my next question now," Lucas groaned. Zack paused, "what is your worst fear?" Lucas considered an answer to put forward. After all, Lucas wasn't all that fond of creepy-crawlies. Anything slithering, crawling or climbing with minuscule legs or had the ability to lay eggs in your brain as you slept made it into the nope pile for the boy. "I hate spiders and centipedes, you know that stuff." Lucas slumped after admitting to his friend he was afraid of those tiny pests. Something he never told his best friend Christopher; who he has known nearly all his life. The two made fast friends when Lucas learned to walk. Once the obstacle of not sitting on your bum all day passed, playdates got planned and a new child mistakably was left twice a week in the same playpen as Lucas, who'd steal his block without asking for them. With a few feisty hand swipes and intentional clawing scrapes, safe to say Christopher shared the blocks with Lucas. Commencing to the current day, the event lay the foundation for a satisfying friendship over the last twelve years. Lucas hated the fact his best friend cleared out of the city and traveled north to relatives. The idea loomed from the start when the news broke out on the television of a storm. Secretly Lucas worried at having his best friend move to another city if the house they lived in got extremely damaged, possibly too expensive to renovate for the family, resulting in them moving. The boy didn't like the concept of losing a lifelong friend, though he knew for with a storm, bad things happen to the best of people. To him, and not intent on provoking ill emotions from those less deserving of a home, but he wished it would be anybody else other than Christopher. Zack's face, on the other hand, swelled up, and a grin protruded until the amusement he held in erupted with a spray of loose salvia. "Ew…," Lucas exclaimed, rubbing his face from the accidental projectile. Immediately the youth laughed at the disgusting outcome, yet, found it incredibly wholesome. The conversation had this warming effect on the boy. For the first time in months, he felt as if he could talk to someone who understood hardship. Lucas didn't ignore his father on the topic, he knew he'd been able to approach him and ask. However, whatever was left of the man called father lingered on the conceptualization of a husband's duty to his family. Every time Paul looked at Lucas, he saw Judy. His boy had her eyes, and in truth, he was afraid to look at them. Lucas didn't want to depress his father any further, so he brood. The company they each shared, though alone and both hurt. The duo tended to their wounds as best as they could in harmony. "Sorry," Zack snickered, as he wiped his bottom lip where the saliva seeped over and down his chin. The boy never could keep a straight face when talking about what scared you. Zack always found a way to compete with people who thought they were afraid of a person, an untimely event bound to occur just for their doing or a sticking phobia. Sure, although fearful of the dark, the idea of what the darkness could bring always terrified Zack. It still does. Dropping his hand to his lap after wiping his face, Lucas asked, "what's so funny?" "Spiders and centip…" Zack giggled again with delight. It's the best thing he heard all day. "Oh-ha-ha," Lucas murmured. "If it's so funny, you tell me why you're afraid of the dark, and I'll be the judge of it," Lucas asked. "Nah, that's not the rules of the game." "Screw 'em," said Lucas. "Nah, I don't think so," Zack added, reaching out to flip the page on the notepad to start a new game. Though Lucas reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist. "Come on," he added playfully. There was a moment of awkward silence where Zack locked eyes with Lucas and his insides melted. After all, Lucas had been forthcoming since the beginning, so, he figured he owed a little curtesy. "Fine… Don't laugh though," Zack said. Zack took a deep breath and groggily said, "I hate the dark." Lucas looked at Zack, the boy prepared to laugh with the intent of making a joke out of his fear like he did with his. However, something in the way Zack stated his fear made it hard to poke fun at it. Zack apparently satisfied Lucas took him earnestly peered back at his friend who seems sympathetic. "I know... but why?" Lucas asked. Zack glanced over to the parents to see if they'd be able to hear them talking. Comfortable they are out of earshot, he leaned forward and spoke. "I just am… Sometimes I'm afraid my dad might be creeping around in the dark." Lucas gave a confused expression though held his tongue momentarily. "Why would you be scared of your dad in the dark?" Zack slouched toward Lucas "because monsters live in the dark." *** 01:13 AM Lourie Whittler received news from a volunteer the lower proportion of the school was flooding. An odd sensation mystified her body, warming it with almost eager excitement, yet, a sadness following pursuit. Her place of work in the canteen didn't go unnoticed, everyone was thankful for the meals she supplied. Though her job might be gone tomorrow if the entire school is flooded and washed out below. The woman worked in the kitchen by the school cafeteria, feeding hundreds of teenage hungry mouths. The staff put her on alert when the volunteers watching for flooding raised the alarm and would do so again if the water submerged the staff parking lot at the rear of the school. Meaning the waterline would be less than 15 feet away from the east end of the gym. In the meantime, however, Lourie continued to dial her daughter's number over and over, bordering on harassment. Until, finally the user on the other end picked up the cell phone and blatantly replied starkly, "what do you want?" "Ashley its mom; I just wanted to make sure you're okay out your way." Lourie pressed the phone to her ear; a sense of relief overcoming her hearing Ashley's voice. Things weren't exactly on the best terms between mother and daughter. Ashley abused her power as Lourie's only child, avoiding regular contact, and blocking access for visits to her grandchildren. The plight arose when Lourie refused to loan her daughter $10,000 for finances unknown. When Lourie asked the intended use, Ashley refused to state what it was for and the problems began. "I told you not to call me," Ashley said. "I… I just wanted to hear your voice," Lourie stuttered. "Please don't call this number again," Ashley declared, and the line disconnected. Saddened by the displeasing conversation, Lourie sighed and wiped away a stray tear. *** 01:14 AM The wind shoved Julian about on the abandoned road. The man's shoes slopped along the tarmac, echoing the silent street. He ran toward a known intersection but stopped in his tracks as the road succumbed to flash flooding. Glancing to a side alleyway, the father shot through the grotty laneway and spilled out onto the following street, looking for a break in the rising water. Tad, on the other hand, drove manically and skid around a corner hoping the police officer who pursued him would lose his trail. Tad saw the road flooded in front of him and jammed on the breaks stopping shy of the water. The man thumped the wheel with anxiousness and pained remorse. Tad pried open the door, launching out of the car, the rain drenching his damp clothes. A broken man howled to a dismal sky; only to collapse to his knees, sobbing inconsolably for his the worst crime he had ever committed. Just two streets over, a brave father ventured onward looking for his safe crossing.
  5. I don’t know how Comicality still manages to produce so much new and original material. God knows I struggle. However, what he has created here is something unusual from his expected fiction. Typically the man himself does not break a teenagers heart, but in this tale he has worked in an unexpected plot-twist for sure. Certainly worth a read
  6. D.K. Daniels


    I found the overall theme different compared to what you typically write. You don’t usually break a teenagers heart in front of your audience and then built it back up again. I throughly enjoyed the tale; and if I must say so one of the most engaging this year. Not that your stories don’t captivate the reader, but this story had something extra
  7. D.K. Daniels


    I agree all your poems have a symbolic value on human condition. How you effectively seep into other peoples lives with such each, openness and familiarity is what makes your work so special.
  8. D.K. Daniels

    The Past II

    Letting go of the past is vital for self development, but without the past there wouldn't be much of a character. Sometimes no matter how difficult the past may have been, you must always remember you are where you are for a reason, and in a odd notion you must respect to notion that things never turned out worse. Us lucky few... Thanks for the insightful words. A poignant reminder to look forward and not back in nostalgic haze.
  9. D.K. Daniels

    The Past II

    Sometimes the past is not in our control, but rather inscribed for us. Some are unluckier than others. It depends on what type of past means shame and what is non-escapable.
  10. So sad many great artists had their lives cut short at Kyoto Animation. The rendition of lit(var) is a beautiful tribute. 



  11. D.K. Daniels


    The power of nurture?
  12. D.K. Daniels

    The Storm

    It reminds me of the personal storm most people are inexplicably faced with at some point in their life. The storm of YOU. The manner in which you describe it is haunting beautiful and familiar. Your writing has been a wonderful discovery.
  13. D.K. Daniels


    It’s true this world has way to many arrogant people. Though unfortunatly we must learn to co-exist. Ambition can be the maker of character or the reminder for a bad reputation.
  14. D.K. Daniels


    Desire is a torment for sure. I like how you showcased the desire to want what others have; fueling the desire to seek more. I have found that paying less attention to others the happier you will be.
  15. I think Dualshock 4 is the better control for gaming, perhaps a little more durable. Older models had weaker rubber on its analog sticks, but it has been fixed with newer models. Generally the analogs can get slipper with clammy hands. In terms of comfort the Xbox is great. However, it is a lot noisier than the DS4. A big plus for the DS4 is it rechargeability. With the Xbox one you need to replace physical batteries. Save the world and do away with physical batteries. I don't understand why Microsoft are still using this feature. Personally I prefer the DS4. From a young a young age the Playstation has been my go to console. Though I think we have reached a point where they are equal contenders now, so it does not really matter as much anymore. This guy does a good breakdown of the pros and cons of each controller. I have connected the DS4 to an iMac and also a windows computer and they worth wonderfully, you just need to configure it in the settings. Xbox controller I cannot say however, though assuming it is Microsoft it has got to work.
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