《Sleepwalk!》Prologue
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A disheveled man stumbled out a heavy front door.
His putrid breath reeked of alcohol and bile. Murky spots of ketchup and crumbs coated his mediocre blue suit. In his hand, he held a leather suitcase, the grip falling apart from wear. His tired blue eyes darted from spot to spot, accompanying his paranoid, mad shuffle forwards. A green glass bottle was clenched tightly in his other hand.
This man was Alister Moore.
“Fuck you, assholes!” He slurred. With unsteady aim, he kicked the heavy bar door. “Fuck all of you! See if I fucking come back, jackasses!” He yelled.
Clenching his suitcase under his armpit, he searched his pockets for a pack of lighters and a cigarette. A cold breeze gently blew across the street, the flickering flame extinguishing into a thin pillar of smoke. It grazed against Alister’s wild brown hair.
“Shit.” Alister mumbled. He tried again, only to find his cigarette soaked, the stench of alcohol brushing his nostrils. “Just my fucking luck.”
Alister slowly paced down the street. He carefully planned each step - left, right, left, left, no, right. Each step left him unsteady. Passing by a stray cat, he spat, but missed. He swerved towards a nearby building wall, stabilizing himself against it. His vision blurred and he could see everything double. His right eyelid hung loose and shut itself rhythmically, only to open again.
The streets were nearly empty. A group of teenagers hung around - a pathetic defiance against their parent’s whims. But the sun had set, and most people had retreated home. Alister lifted his bottle and chugged, smashing it against a wall when it emptied. He paused and keeled over. Alister’s stomach convulsed. A moment later, his stomach emptied again.
Slowly, Alister lifted his head. He stood face-to-face with a poster. Some electoral candidate; a republican. Brian Fox. His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Fuck you.” He said, wailing his fist against the poster. The alcohol numbed the pain from smashing the brick wall. “Fuck you, piece of shit, give me my fucking job back.”
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He spat on the poster. For a moment, he stopped his pitiful protest. Alister had a brilliant idea. He zipped his pants open, exposing himself publicly. Undeterred, he whipped out his John, aiming it against the candidate’s face. He cackled madly as a stream of yellow splashed against the poster. Turning his head around, he saw that the teenagers were pointing at him.
“What’re you assholes looking at?” He yelled. He flipped them off. They responded with jeers and a curse of their own, but he didn’t understand what they said. The world swirled around him, his senses numbed and twisted to a mish-mash of grey.
Alister continued down the road. Without a goal, a destination, he stumbled towards the city park. Both his eyes were now droopy, the eyelids slowly covering what little sense of vision he had left. Rows upon rows of green lamps lit the gravel road of the city park. Golden leaves flocked to and fro, swishing from here to there. A beautiful orange flourished amongst the Maple trees lining the coastline of a small pond. Right next to it was an empty bench.
Feeling sick, Alister sat himself down. He took a deep breath in. The cold air faintly seared against his throat, but he liked the burn. He grimaced, remembering that he’d run out of alcohol. Artificial light sparkled in the reflection of the pond. The moon hadn’t risen quite yet. Alister sighed.
He felt tired. The cool air was blocked out by his thick beige coat. The temperature felt just right. Perfect for a quiet nap. His mind was clouded, and in that moment, he couldn’t care less if some junky robbed his suitcase blind. His files were worth less than kindling anyhow.
He struggled to keep his eyelids up. After each opening, his eyelids closed shut harder than before. Alister slowly gave in, his eyes closing for a final time.
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For a moment, it felt like something pressed against him.
A sudden splash left Alister feeling more awake than ever. Unlike a single moment before, his senses were sharp. There was a clarity to each and every thought he formed; a crystal clear reality to each sensation he felt. He knew he couldn’t have fallen asleep. The strain in his legs told him that he’d been standing for some while.
His eyes opened to an unfamiliar scene. The moon shone down a dark alleyway. Cramped in both sides by large trash cans, he smelled the faint odour of piss. And something else. A sharp note of saltiness; iron?
Alister held his left hand up to investigate the splash. Some liquid had gushed onto his face, his clothing, everything. His hand slowly travelled against a wet, grimy patch, slowly drawing a line on his right cheek. Alister stuck his hand out to examine.
His fingers were coated with a warm layer of crimson; a beautiful, ruby-red, glimmering under the moonlight.
Alister didn’t understand. He was confused. So, he looked down, to his feet, to his right hand.
His right fist clenched a knife. The surface shone with the deepest red he’d ever seen.
His outfit was completely different. The first thing he noticed was the cheap poncho he’d never bought. It, too, glimmered with this mysterious red. He wasn’t stupid enough to step into the office with rubber boots, and yet, it replaced his khaki dress shoes. Alister looked ahead at the cold cement.
In front of him lay the corpse of Brian Fox. Small geysers gushed out streams of the beautiful liquid. A crimson puddle blossomed under his very feet - he could see himself reflected in it. The corpse was riddled with cuts and stabs; the expensive navy suit ruined and ripped to shreds.
Alister tasted the blood on his lips. Warm.
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8 181The Shards of Sylvia's Soul
In the little village of Nyberg, Sylvia is dreaming of a future with Rebecca at her side. Together, they could move overseas. But when bandits attack, all of her tender dreams turn to ashes. Forced out of her home, Sylvia forges new bonds with the Fri, the women who have taken it upon themselves to protect their little corner of the world. She also meets Afi, a strange bandit with a stern face and a soft heart. Saving each other from certain demise, they join in a bond which irreversibly ties their souls together. So bonded, they attempt to settle down. When a distant heir to the Crown asks for aid to reunite the country, Sylvia sees her chance to finally right all the wrongs committed against her family. In the pursuit of the throne, Afi and Sylvia come to risk their very lives. Sylvia uncovers the relationship between soul, magic, and divinity itself, but even in research, there is peril. It is not an easy task to balance the strain on her soul with the demands of the upcoming battle. In this world, the soul is not an incorporeal concept. To the contrary, the human soul is a physical object, an organ which resides in the chest of each individual. It is a great source of strength, but also of vulnerability. Hardship can leave scratches and blemishes, or even break the soul in two. The soul is each person's connection to divinity, to the magic which is ubiquitous to the world. It enables the cultivation of gods, but old legends warn of demons emerging in the presence of corrupt intention, and of hollow warriors, with no soul at all. There are two sides to every page. Update ScheduleNew chapters are in the works. ScopeThree to four books in total are planned.Book 1: "Fri Women" Chapters 1-64. Find the paperback and e-book here.
8 215The Hero Is Unchained, But Not Free
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8 202Elemental Sword
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