The Writings of Brian C. Alexander

1. Dome Of The Martian Slavers On the rings past the collective of the galaxies that circled around the belt, there too was the dome they called headquarters. Within that crater, covered by the metals which held out the vacuum of space, there was a great many fields of green and orange organic life. There slaved the martian laborers, brought forth from the rebellion existence of Sion-3. In those days I was warden, keen to the sneaky ways of their kind. Alert to their attempts to escape. With one blaster a single runner couldn’t have gotten more than a few gates out. We made sure of that. 2. The Eyes In Saturn's Might The engine lied just outside the otter portion of the ship. We were on the brink of Saturn, slowly being pulled in by this sentient force which willed us forward. Mathews was still outside the ship by the time we realized what this force wanted. A single wire connected the engine to our cargo bay and, despite our attempts to rush the operation, the cable...

It was in the ending of the Fifth Age that Djorn was born into slavery and under the rulership of Gozaar, the Tyrannical Titan. A feared king and ancient deity who lived as a god amongst men. Djorn was one of many youths who, when he came of age, was forced into the armies of Gozaar and fought countless battles against the vile ruler’s opposing kingdoms. After a successful battle, led and won by Djorn, he was ambushed by bowmen who captured the young soldier and imprisoned him for one hundred days. For all these days and nights Djorn was not given food, water, exposure to light or any sustenance. He was raped, starved, stabbed, beaten, tortured and vitally wounded so the guards could place bets on how soon it would take for him to pass out from blood loss or worse, die. Still, for one-hundred days he did not starve, he did not weep, he did not die. Finally, forces from the Kingdom of the Tyrannical Titan were sent to retrieve Djorn from the dungeons of Gozaar’s enemies and the young...

It was during the ending of his training that Djorn was instructed by the sorcerer, Mathus, to preform three tasks to end his tutelage. The First Task: Retrieve the Blood Cape from the Tomb of Thotek. The Second Task: Contact the dead on the Mountain of the Nethereths. The Third Task: Ease the distress of the common man. Djorn was instructed that if he was to accomplish all of these before the next full moon he would be granted access to knowledge beyond his imagination. I Djorn sat in the desert with four great pillars surrounding him. He marveled at the night sky as the cool air filled his lungs and froze his skin. Yet, he wasn’t cold. The stars were out and the tops of the pillars were emanating a marvelous brush of colors. These colors waved like the ocean across the sky, and Djorn’s eyes stayed fixed on them. He was told to come here, to the pillars that sit in the ruins of Ghania, and by his teacher’s request. His teacher, the greatest sorcerer, Mathus. When Djorn arri...

So one day I’m walking down the Shadow of the Valley of Death and all of a sudden I come across some big purple fish, with his head faced sideways and upward, walking down the lone black road towards me in a black and white-lined foot suit, sporting a cigaret holder, a small piece of brown luggage and a plastic pack at his waist that seems to be filled with small bottles of whiskey mixed with green seawater. As I get closer I try to pretend I don’t see him. Hard to do on account of him towering eight feet in height and me sizing up to a lousy five-foot two. His big yellow eye, looking as if it had light egg yolk floating around in it, peered out at nothing as a black small pin of blankness rested at his optical center. It’s depth knew no bounds, but I wasn’t about to stop him to inquire about the make-up of his corneas. I kept to myself, pressed my brown fluffy coat real close to my red shirt, ducked my head and passed the fish-man, with reluctance, might I add. Before he gets ...

There were forty-three of us back then. Arthur, Gawain, Geraint, Percival, Bors, Lamorak, Kay, Gareth, Bedivere, Gaheris, Galahad, Tristan, Aglovale, Agravain, Bagdemagus, Baudwin, Brastius, Breunor, Caradoc, Colgrevance, Constantine, Dagonet, Daniel, Ector, Ector de Maris, Elyan, Galehaut, Galeshin, Geraint, Gingalain, Leodegrance, Lionel, Maleagant, Morien, Pelleas, Sagramore le Desirous, Safir, Segwarides, Tor, Ulfius, Uriens, Ywain and myself. We all drank from the chalice, and just like that we were eternal. Some decided to stay in Avalon, like Arthur, but more of us wanted to come back. Here. To see the progression of the world. The World Government had known about us since the dawn of time. Hell, I guess you could say we founded the World Government. Originally. Some os us became soldiers. Joined different nations. Branched out. Helped make and win wars. Men of power. What else were we good for? As time went on the people of the new ages didn’t want peace. Not like we fough...

The night air was a cool chill that resinated with the pitch black curtain of twilight that loomed over the humble town of Sawyerville. The evening had settled long ago and with the alignment of the stars came a celestial beam which tore through the empty vacuum of space, and beat down into ancient runes which echoed in a mystical silence beneath the blacktop of the unsuspecting community. That beam of light, which tunneled through the modern crust that had collapsed over a forgotten civilization nearly a millennia ago, buried itself beneath the earth until making contact with the great head of a sunken temple. One which held the archaic symbol of it’s people at it’s peak, awaiting awakening from the skies. The light stirred no one. Thunderous slashing gashes of yellow lightning split the clouds building around the beam. Yet, to the slumbering suburbans below, the night was a soundless tranquility of slumber. And when the light from the stars touched the rune atop the temple benea...

By candlelight I sit, recounting the day, listening to words music speaks to me. The tunes, melodies and keys of the piano to my far right tell stories without words. It speaks of scenes without locations. This music, poured forth from the hands of my ward, remind me of the older days. The days when my wife, Isabelle, stood beside me in a strong elegance. It was those days, surrounded by rose pedals and the light embrace of the clear air that freshen my breaths, even in these, my dimmer days. It is the melody of the past which calls back an old soul to my wandering mind, embracing that old time and remembering the reflections of her pure face, bouncing off of the pond’s surface. Now, by the light of candles, the marble surrounding the window and the face of the youth before me, all of these things remind me of her. It was not sickness that took her from me, nor was it the favors of another lover. Purely, it was the winds of heaven, the air and the angels which caused her to dep...

In the deepest depths of the underworld there resides a humble, yet magnificent, palace where the demon Mephistopheles readies the dreams of Lucifer every evening. He stands above a crystal ball, in a library of thoughts and vile wonderings, dreaming up luscious horrors and frightful delights, all for the benefit of his master who waits out the fiery day for the delivery of his slumbering visions. In a corridor to the South Wing of the small, yet magnificent, palace there stands a wardrobe where the demon, Azazel, readies Lucifer’s clothes each and every night. It is here where the lord of darkness has his horns polished, his hooves brushed and his cloak blackened in the tar of searing souls. Azazel is the dresser of the dark one, emasculate in his own right and beautifully disgusting to the mortal eye. Farther south, in a door at the end of Azazel’s chambers, or around the circular corridor that envelopes and surrounds the humble, yet magnificent, palace, like the walls of an ...

I am a Keeper of Time. I patrol the ages of the old and the new, guarding the fabric of reality and the fragile existence of the infinite space-continuum. Not long ago there existed a man who was intent on breaking time. A Time Traveller. He wasn’t inherently evil. And in most instances I supposed he was just curious. But curiosity is no excuse for carelessness, because on one of his ventures he managed to accidentally restart the entire human evolution span by swatting a mosquito that had landed on his neck whilst he was viewing a flock of pterodactyls. That one incident set off a butterfly effect that spiraled to destroy all present worlds! First, I had to go back to the exact point before he arrived in the Dinosaur Age, neutralize him and then fast forward to the point in which he first discovered time travel. It was in the 1800’s, in a lab in Germany. I didn’t know the time traveller’s name. How could I? My only job was to ensure he would never make his first trip. I didn’t bo...

The Zelibub is an old hag, resembling a troll with pointed ears, yellow eyes, black skin, long wavy hair, a white gown and two long arms that extend out of her back and dangle in front of her. These arms are in addition to her two regular arms that hang at her sides, limp. The Zelibub has rotten, blackened teeth and long fingernails. The Zelibub's favorite thing to do is to strangle people that aren't asleep in their beds. If you are being watched by Zelibub, fall asleep in your bed before 66 minutes are up or she'll strangle you to death with the arms that come out of her back. The Zelibub's laugh can only be heard by the person she intends to kill. The Zelibub is afraid of music. Any form of music or song scares her away. The Zelibub will only appear at night, presumably between six at night and six in the morning. On a taxi’s way through the countryside, a scruffy driver converses with a well-dressed middle-aged man seated to the back left of the car. “So w...