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Chloe always had a cigarette tween her fingers. Thick curls of smoke fell from her full lips and glided lazy into the fog of the alleyway air. Every day in this city was cloudy, and I used to imagine that those rainy afternoons were her doing; the skies filled with the fumes of her little burning pleasures. That fragrant haze of cigarette smoke is why I called her Chloe. Sounds like 'cloy' – every cigarette contributed to the overabundance, so much so that it was like death danced around her. Though I had been lighting up for years and years, at no time in my life had I encountered such a dedicated smoker. She never moved from her spot

I was never quite sure what to call you. "Stepdad" would have hurt your feelings. It couldn't have helped that when you and Mom got married I didn't take your last name. I'm not exactly sure why I was so against the idea. It couldn't have been out of loyalty to my biological father. Maybe I was just trying to preserve myself – My name was Brooke Lafferty, damn it, and my seven-year-old mind was just not willing to become Brooke Monkman. But I always liked your name; "Guillermo." I remember being a little kid and grabbing the mail for you. My teachers told me I was a fantastic speller, and Mom beamed with pride at any mention of my advan

I have found a great happiness A shining star in a sea of dwindling diamond dust And this star, my dearest sun, Has become a spiraling galaxy of new hopes Spinning new golden dreams from all the world's straw The brightlighted center to a milky way of cloudy fears "I love him"

TEMPORARILY PULLED FOR PUBLISHING

Wendell 6 – Friday April 1, 2011 (Part 2/2) I knew Paisley would yell at me as soon as we’d retired to our hotel rooms, but I underestimated the bastard’s fury. He sat beside me all day, watching me autograph every piece of memorabilia I was handed with dead kittens, and he barely uttered a word. Only once after the presentation of my grisly painting did he actually protest, and as punishment I began drawing little dead businessmen. From then on he didn’t even shake his head in disagreement. I expected his eyes to flash every time I said the word “fuck” (I made an effort to use it at least once per sentence), an

He’s still with Brooke; sighs in her sleep, tiny tiger snuggled deep, cradled safe where cuddles keep. Tears spilled not to wash away her bright-eyed boy; just keep at bay the yearning selfish ache to hold her Loki warm for one more day. In shadowed rooms I hear that wheeze and close my eyes to briefly seize his precious presence as it flees. Her shoulder still his favored perch, ever green his gaze, successful in his valiant search Devotion Pure he gladly gave, with Boundless, Blinding Trust and in return, in life received, what death can never smirch. Born to earthly struggle, life dealt him hands of pain, eight months

Wendell 6 – Friday April 1, 2011 (Part 1/2) “You’re smiling.” “Is that a problem?” “On a convention day? Potentially." Decker snickered. “It’s weird, is all, and a little creepy. Should I be worried?” Wendell, his portfolio nestled in the crook of his arm, took that moment to fall silent and let the mystery settle in the air of the large elevator. He began tinkering with the zipper of his case full of artwork with a haughty smirk. Beside him Decker’s grin faded, but he didn’t press the issue. Their rooms had been booked in the same hotel that was hosting the event, and as they h

GARGOYLE Part II: The Specimen Chapter 5 The operation had been run so smoothly, so perfectly, that the last thing Bade expected that night was chaos. In the silent hall outside of Jonathan's office Bade took comfort in knowing that his chance for reconciliation had come, in the form of the mysterious boy. Guilt wracked him in the wake of a family's murder, bringing with it the memories of several undeserved deaths at Ansel hands. But he had a promise to honor and Jonathan's permission to care for the child. This could be his chance to redeem himself. It was when Bade was lost in hopeful thought that a monstrous roar crashed through the

Gargoyle Part II: The Specimen Chapter 4 Jonathan Sicari couldn't take his eyes off the golden handle of his office's entryway. Behind these great oak doors, he knew, rested what he had been waiting for. All he had to do now was open them. It was so easy. Just open the door. He couldn't do it. Bade stood fixed behind him with an air of disappointment, but if he questioned his master's will he didn't dare verbalize it. Good, Jonathan thought. He had been kind in giving Bade free reign over the fate of the little boy he had taken into custody. He'd sent the child to a holding cell and ordered that he be kept safe (much to his captain's ama

GARGOYLE Part II: The Specimen Chapter 3 What was once a light sprinkle over the city was now reaching hurricane proportions. The too-often flashes of lightning accompanied roars of thunder. Rain cascaded from the thick blanket of clouds to crash into the flooding streets, which became more like rivers with every minute. But Bade's focus stuck on his master's prize prisoner, sitting across from him in the black limousine. He couldn't see her face; she'd dipped her head forward to her knees, dark hair slipping off her shaking shoulders. The young boy watched with trepidation as though afraid to actually touch her. His wide eyes kept shooti

Chloe always had a cigarette tween her fingers. Thick curls of smoke fell from her full lips and glided lazy into the fog of the alleyway air. Every day in this city was cloudy, and I used to imagine that those rainy afternoons were her doing; the skies filled with the fumes of her little burning pleasures. That fragrant haze of cigarette smoke is why I called her Chloe. Sounds like 'cloy' – every cigarette contributed to the overabundance, so much so that it was like death danced around her. Though I had been lighting up for years and years, at no time in my life had I encountered such a dedicated smoker. She never moved from her spot

I was never quite sure what to call you. "Stepdad" would have hurt your feelings. It couldn't have helped that when you and Mom got married I didn't take your last name. I'm not exactly sure why I was so against the idea. It couldn't have been out of loyalty to my biological father. Maybe I was just trying to preserve myself – My name was Brooke Lafferty, damn it, and my seven-year-old mind was just not willing to become Brooke Monkman. But I always liked your name; "Guillermo." I remember being a little kid and grabbing the mail for you. My teachers told me I was a fantastic speller, and Mom beamed with pride at any mention of my advan

I have found a great happiness A shining star in a sea of dwindling diamond dust And this star, my dearest sun, Has become a spiraling galaxy of new hopes Spinning new golden dreams from all the world's straw The brightlighted center to a milky way of cloudy fears "I love him"

TEMPORARILY PULLED FOR PUBLISHING

She’s the Ever-Dreamer And she never knows She’s the Never-Knower And she ever dreams Ever dreaming Of what she has been A little inspired A little stubborn Never knowing If she has been fighting or fading Ever dreaming Of what she is A broken heart A broken mind Never knowing If she is fading or fighting Ever dreaming What will she be? A friend or foe? A girl or ghost? Never knowing Will she be fighting or fading? She’s the Ever-Dreamer And she never knows She’s the Never-Knower And she ever dreams

A wild coyote before your tame pet, she will break from her leash before she lets you win. Won't you spare this free coyote a passing glance as you set the trap? "Never. Ever. She's just a dog." She's your wounded coyote now, entangled. Gnawing away her legs to earn salvation. Who would have thought she needed this?

Try not to misunderstand me I am not one for lyrical lines Oh! Lovely You And all that black magic that defines The insanity that I see Try harder to imagine this Can I be anything but in lust? Oh! Lovely You Always hiding in tormented dust Teasing me with that hollow kiss Still thirsty for your sweat and tears Scream my name so I know you are there Oh! Lovely You Resisting my attempts, beware Know that I only need your fears Blinded by affection for him? He will not protect you forever Oh! Lovely You Ought not think yourself so clever He can be destroyed at my whim See the tears you force from my eyes Do you even know wh

He’s still with Brooke; sighs in her sleep, tiny tiger snuggled deep, cradled safe where cuddles keep. Tears spilled not to wash away her bright-eyed boy; just keep at bay the yearning selfish ache to hold her Loki warm for one more day. In shadowed rooms I hear that wheeze and close my eyes to briefly seize his precious presence as it flees. Her shoulder still his favored perch, ever green his gaze, successful in his valiant search Devotion Pure he gladly gave, with Boundless, Blinding Trust and in return, in life received, what death can never smirch. Born to earthly struggle, life dealt him hands of pain, eight months

It was difficult to know what she was thinking. Cecile never spoke much, and the more time passed the less readable her expression became. Stoic, a child of stone with a darkness in her eyes that never faded. Cecile had an air about her that separated her from others, adults and children alike. But it was a peculiar sort of air that, unlike her gloomy demeanor, changed often. Some days it was as though she knew something the rest of us did not and she seemed to have a holier-than-thou sense of satisfaction, but anyone who cared to glance her way afterward would see distress or regret. Other times, there was dread, and it was in those times t

“Wherever you decide to put her she’ll do fine,” Henry said, placing a large suitcase on the tiled floor of my tiny living room. “Cecile adapts well. You can feed her anything and she’ll eat it without complaint. She’s not allergic to anything, doesn’t need any medicine or anything like that…” I smiled, dropping a second suitcase beside the first. “She sounds like a healthy child.” Henry melted into a nearby plush chair and sighed. “Let’s hope she stays that way.” “She’ll be fine.” I said, trying to create a sense of casualty by putting my hands in the poc

Wendell Prologue - Friday March 23, 2012 Perhaps it is the way the light is hitting the door’s sleek, metallic surface. Maybe it is the constant ticking of the clock on the wall. Could it be the fly buzzing near his ear? Or the humming of cool air rushing through the vents? Whatever it is, it is making the plump Paisley Decker hate being in his own office. His chestnut eyes flit over every bit of furniture in the room, resting finally on the empty chair directly across from him on the other side of his large desk. Maybe that is what it is. Is it that the chair has no occupant? That the fine leather seat is still empty after he has been

Wendell Untitled by Felix Haydn I wonder if my life is a lie. I want it to be a lie. Labels would call what I have perfection. Little children dream every day of becoming the celebrity that I am. Both men and women have thrown themselves at me. And I've made millions doing what I love. Fame. Fortune. Success. Perfection? That has to be a lie. There's no such thing as perfection. So I've had my doubts. And I've learned to make my life a lie. You are reading the work of someone known as Felix Haydn. Though people have screamed that name at me for years, it is not, and it has never been, my name. Lie Number One. I am Wendell Carmen.

Wendell 1 - Sunday March 6, 2011 (Part 1/2) All things considered, Wendell Carmen had had a good day. He sat in bed, naked save for a pair of wrinkled black slacks two sizes too large, the white sheets crumpled around his pale and scrawny figure. A leather-bound book lay open in his lap, and he held a dull pencil between two long fingers. His grey eyes peered at the blank pages as he slowly thumbed through them, wondering what he could possibly occupy the empty space with. Wendell knew he wasn’t obligated to fill these pages with anything, but after a moment of awkwardly scratching the stubble on his cheek he scribbled his penname

Wendell 1 - Sunday March 6, 2011 (Part 2/2) From his position, a booth in the farthest corner of the Japanese restaurant, Wendell had a perfect view of the front entrance. Unfortunately he also had a perfect view of the circular clock on the wall above the hostess podium, and he glared hatefully as the seconds tick-tocked away. Paisley's late, he thought, pulling off his jacket and lying it on the seat beside him. He couldn’t understand it. He felt irritated yet sedated, annoyed but apathetic. Maybe sleep still clung to him, in spite of several extra hours of slumber. Wendell could think of no other cause to blame for his lack of emoti

Wendell 2 – Wednesday March 9, 2011 (Part 1/1) Guess it didn't take long to brush off the idea of daily journals, what with my birthday indulgences keeping me busy until about five hours ago. It only takes that long for me to miss having a pen in my hand anyway, but my yearly traditions do tend to distract me. Even Paisley's manipulations from Sunday were forgotten for a while. Don't get me wrong, I'm still annoyed about having to appear at a convention hall packed with drooling crowds of comic book retards and their obnoxious obsessions with all things ridiculous. I also hate being asked questions about my career methods almost as muc

Wendell 3 – Thursday March 10, 2011 (Part 1/1) Change doesn't happen overnight and I couldn't bring myself to force it. Cutting off my alcohol all at once seemed ridiculously stupid, since the least I could do was finish the more expensive luxuries in my cupboards. I did, however, recognize the need to pace myself slowly and it wasn't difficult. I said before I'm not an alcoholic. I think I'm just a drunk. I can help myself where addicts can't. And as long as I was cleaning myself up, I thought, I should clean my surroundings. Might as well make the most of a cathartic afternoon. I got to work almost immediately, wiping and washing eve

Wendell 4 - Friday March 11, 2011 (Part 1/1) I gotta say, I was not expecting a visit from Paisley, nor did I want one. He knows how uncomfortable I get when he or anyone else appears without notice, and for the most part he’s respected that (but only, I bet, because I seriously bitch him out every time it happens). Even when he’s had the audacity to invite himself over, he’s always called beforehand. But not today, and it unsettled me. The whole time he took up space in my house I thought about how badly I wanted him gone. I was still fairly pissed about his signing me up for the convention in April, but Wednesday’s ep

Wendell 5 – Thursday March 31, 2011 (Part 1/2) Even after two weeks, with the L.A. convention so near, the hazy memories of that Friday night still haunted Wendell. He was strangely relieved to get out of his house and away from the basement and all its mirrors, but he was less than eager to travel with the same loathsome pig who had signed him up for the damn event. The plane ride to Los Angeles had seemed agonizingly long, but perhaps that was just because sitting next to Decker meant any trip, even those made in first-class style, would be unpleasant. The looming prospect of having to attend the convention at all still made his stom

Wendell 5 – Thursday March 31, 2011 (Part 2/2) Landing did not brighten Wendell’s mood, nor did arriving at the fancy hotel for the weekend stay. Nausea had taken its dizzying hold, as it usually did during plane rides (or during any long trip away from home), and the only comfort he had left to indulge after he denied his thirst for vodka was a proper rest. So when he entered his suite, he wasted no time in getting cozy. Wendell cast a bored glance at his surroundings as he sat in a blue cushioned chair at a small circular table near the balcony. He was unimpressed by the blue and green paint scheme, floral carpet, and paintings

Wendell 6 – Friday April 1, 2011 (Part 1/2) “You’re smiling.” “Is that a problem?” “On a convention day? Potentially." Decker snickered. “It’s weird, is all, and a little creepy. Should I be worried?” Wendell, his portfolio nestled in the crook of his arm, took that moment to fall silent and let the mystery settle in the air of the large elevator. He began tinkering with the zipper of his case full of artwork with a haughty smirk. Beside him Decker’s grin faded, but he didn’t press the issue. Their rooms had been booked in the same hotel that was hosting the event, and as they h

GARGOYLE Part I: The Inception Chapter 1 "Hannah, slow down." She wanted to. Very badly. But her sweaty palms tightly gripped the thick handlebars of the motorcycle and she willed the tired old machine to speed up in spite of herself. Her blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of goggles, narrowed at the road before her as she streaked down a long concrete tunnel, the humming lights from the ceiling giving their surroundings a reddish tint. The wind roared in her ears and strands of her long black hair escaped her ponytail to whip around her face. She was uncomfortable, struggling to control the bike and her fears. She did want to slow down. But

GARGOYLE Part I: The Inception Chapter 2 Hannah's sights locked on the man at the end of the tunnel, on the gun pointed at them and the red glare of the lights above reflecting off the barrel. She instinctively tensed. Who is that!? What's he doing!? What's he after!? Hannah thought she knew, and she was afraid. Then she heard the echoing blast of gunfire, and she yelped in panic as the shot impacted the bike's front wheel. It blew out, exploding into shreds of hot rubber in an instant. We're going to die! There was little time for any other ideas to settle in Hannah's mind before Mathys took control. She felt him squeeze her hands as h

GARGOYLE Part II: The Specimen Chapter 1 The sun fell behind the low clouds, casting an aureate light that overwhelmed the grey of the week's stormy weather. Below in the darkening city, cars rushed past one another and pedestrians made their way home for the night, stopping every now and then to wait for their turn to cross the streets as fumes rose from the manholes and sewer plates. Jonathan Sicari could see them all; he saw the mothers and fathers leading their children away from the toy store windows, all the teenagers rushing home to meet curfew, all the lovers clasping hands as they made their way to wherever the wind took them. He

GARGOYLE Part II: The Specimen Chapter 3 What was once a light sprinkle over the city was now reaching hurricane proportions. The too-often flashes of lightning accompanied roars of thunder. Rain cascaded from the thick blanket of clouds to crash into the flooding streets, which became more like rivers with every minute. But Bade's focus stuck on his master's prize prisoner, sitting across from him in the black limousine. He couldn't see her face; she'd dipped her head forward to her knees, dark hair slipping off her shaking shoulders. The young boy watched with trepidation as though afraid to actually touch her. His wide eyes kept shooti

Gargoyle Part II: The Specimen Chapter 4 Jonathan Sicari couldn't take his eyes off the golden handle of his office's entryway. Behind these great oak doors, he knew, rested what he had been waiting for. All he had to do now was open them. It was so easy. Just open the door. He couldn't do it. Bade stood fixed behind him with an air of disappointment, but if he questioned his master's will he didn't dare verbalize it. Good, Jonathan thought. He had been kind in giving Bade free reign over the fate of the little boy he had taken into custody. He'd sent the child to a holding cell and ordered that he be kept safe (much to his captain's ama