Land of No Seasons

Spring is who I first learned to love
Only sunshine and rainbows up above
Not too hot; too cold; but a perfect warmth
Sweet smile; sweet lips; she shall not be forgot

Summer is who I stayed with the longest
Way too hot; succubus among us
Wet here; wet there; shorts shorter than short
Heart or the heat? But man was she hot

Autumn is who I found depressed
With crazy nights and even crazier sex
Drunk on a drug, on time trapped in slow motion
Can’t understand my own broken emotions

Winter is who convinced me to give up
Shard of ice cool until it cuts
And once you’re bled through it’s already far too late
No escape from your pitch-black fate

And it’s a shame; it really is, for I
Never actually knew these seasons four
‘Cept for the tales passed down from distant yore
As a man from the land of no seasons

 

Clash with Divine Beast Vah Ruta

(a little Zelda fanfiction)

The wind shrieked, as if taking offense at the speed at which we sliced through the waves of East Reservoir Lake. Both rain and swash splattered against my face and clothes – a new slap every second. I rode on the back of Prince Sidon, the red-scaled heir to the throne of the Zora – a tribe of fishpeople that dwelled near the Eastern corner of Hyrule. How was he even going so fast? The water shattered with his every stroke, spraying out in the shape of an arrowhead spearing towards our target – the Divine Beast Vah Ruta, an ancient mechanical abomination crafted in the likeness of an elephant. It roared as we approached, endless water gushing out of the tip of its trunk which hung higher than the surrounding mountains. If we didn’t stop it soon, the reservoir would overflow – promising grave damage to both Zora’s domain as well as lower Hyrule.
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Book Review! Tales of the Dead of Night – Thirteen Classic Ghost Stories selected by Cecily Gayford

Tales from the Dead of Night – Thirteen Classic Ghost Stories selected by Cecily Gayford

Oooh ghost stories. They’ve been around a long time, which makes you wonder: back in the days without the graphics of games, cinema and TV, how DID people scare others with spooky tales? Of course, we’ve always had the traditional “telling of ghost stories in the dark around the fire (or on sleepovers)”. And of course, books. The art of scaring people with only words on paper has always fascinated me. How do people do it? It’s a world where jump-scares and vivid imagery fail. I mean really, no matter how well you describe something horrifying-looking, it’s going to be far less scary than actually seeing it in reality. And so I picked up this book in order to find out more about the classic written ghost story.
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Book Review! The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley

The Loney by Andrew Michael Hurley

I first learned of this book’s existence at last year’s Singapore Writer’s Festival where I attended a panel about writing the supernatural (The Allure of the Otherworldly) in which Mr. Hurley himself was present to talk about this novel and his relationship with horror. One of the audience members commented that she had screamed while reading the book on a plane flight surrounded by other passengers. As someone with an unhealthy interest in writing horror, that’s when I knew I just had to get my hands on this novel and give it a read. So with the conclusion of my finals last semester, I rushed to the nearest library and managed to grab a copy. And my god, it was incredible.
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A Passage on Boxes

Daryl loves boxes. He’s loved boxes since he was little. And not just any kinds of boxes. “A box is only a box if it’s cube-shaped. A square on all sides. Rectangles are a joke,” is what he always says. He keeps a large stock of empty (unless you count the boxes inside them) boxes in his basement which is, coincidentally, shaped like a box. It doesn’t help that his house is a box either. It always sucks when you’re over at his place and it starts to rain. Where did he find a box-shaped house, you ask? Well, he designed and built it himself. He’s very rich, you know. Companies pay him a lot for his ideas. He’s great at thinking outside the box.
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Not Anywhere

“Maybe I can find you in a parallel story.”

There once was a man who loved a woman very much. So much, in fact, that word of his love was caught by the four winds and reached the ears of the gods and goddesses in their distant abode. Thrilled, they kept their eye on him as he courted her, watching the nuances of his every move, hanging on every word he spoke and thought about her. In the eons they had dwelled above planet Earth, they had never witnessed a love as raw, as sweet – sweet as, perhaps, the flavour of the first fruit. Particularly enthralled was the Goddess of Love. Forgoing sleep, she watched every dream the man imagined of his muse, smiling all the while.
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