#apocalyptic — Public Fediverse posts

I name the monsters finally. We're sort of entering the less passive arc of the main character's interactions with the monsters. However, like any trauma, you go back and forth with confronting it.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/25/the-greenland-diaries-day-59/

I name the monsters finally. We're sort of entering the less passive arc of the main character's interactions with the monsters. However, like any trauma, you go back and forth with confronting it.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/25/the-greenland-diaries-day-59/

I name the monsters finally. We're sort of entering the less passive arc of the main character's interactions with the monsters. However, like any trauma, you go back and forth with confronting it.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/25/the-greenland-diaries-day-59/

I name the monsters finally. We're sort of entering the less passive arc of the main character's interactions with the monsters. However, like any trauma, you go back and forth with confronting it.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/25/the-greenland-diaries-day-59/

I name the monsters finally. We're sort of entering the less passive arc of the main character's interactions with the monsters. However, like any trauma, you go back and forth with confronting it.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/25/the-greenland-diaries-day-59/

The Greenland Diaries: Day 59

I’ve never been sure what happens when night falls. The Drum has sounded since April, which summons them to kill and mutilate us. It’s now June, and the nightmare has taken on new forms. At least I think it’s the darkness doing this, or them, the faceless ones. Two nights ago, streetlights and cars beamed about the neighborhood’s stale shadows. They looked, sounded, and even smelled real. I could taste their exhaust drift all the way into my shed. It was sour, smoky, and full of oil.

I never thought I’d miss the taste of pollution.

I know it can’t be real. How could anybody think the world would just come back to life when the sun goes down? I wanted to go out into the night, even with the Drum and monsters. Seeing those fragments of civilization, of the pre-drum world, it clouds reality. They make the night feel heavy, and empty of symmetry, like a deep dream.

Last night, the images became even bolder. Lights turned on inside dark houses. Shadows moved back and forth in their windows. Husbands, wives, moms, dads, and children bustled through windows cooking and preparing. Every room in the houses surrounding my shed glowed with the same ghostly orange as the streetlights did. I also noticed inside the rooms the lines of invading plants were absent, like they’d never bored their way through the siding or shattered windows.

The people in the rooms were fuzzy and without much detail, even with the light. The monsters need to refine their strategy. They can’t throw all these abominations at us and expect our forgiveness.

Still, I want to run out to them. I want the windows and hot water. I want to see them, to commiserate with them, to weep away the darkness.

The father I ran into yesterday with his children and dog. I understand their situation, but I still can’t justify his reaction to me. I’m sure he saw my form when I bolted through the exit doorway. The daylight blinded me as I ran through, and I’m sure I had an excellent silhouette for him to see with his long rifle.

I feel like there aren’t many people left anymore, even if we’re all in hiding. Paranoia and madness are a couple of backburner problems compared to these unnamed monsters stalking us on a nightly basis. The man shot at me without yelling a question or warning.

His gunfire did all the talking.

Now I’m worried if Snowy and I wander too far away from my house he’ll shoot us with his rifle, or his beast of a husky will rip my wrist apart and I’ll die of an untreatable infection.

Snowy and I stayed within a block radius of our house today. I walked down to Gerald’s house to see if he’d returned. I yelled into his house in a more muffled tone, but still, just a silent doorway and plant-eaten walls answered my calls. I’m starting to wonder if Gerald wandered too far out one day, and this guy with his rifle shot him dead. This father didn’t seem explicitly crazy when I watched him from afar yesterday, but it was concerning that he hadn’t bothered to bathe himself or his kids. After all, there happens to be a lake across the street from the grocery store. My freshly shaved face hasn’t started to grow plants yet, so it must be safe water.

Snowy and I are always wearing our Kevlar vests now. I didn’t want to weigh down Snowy with this little Kevlar sock I made for her, but the armor might be the only protection.

I guess I’ve always been paranoid about her safety, just not my own.

Today, I read the Hobbit some more. It has been very distracting. Tolkien came up with such fabulous names for everything. I can’t figure out how he did it. Wargs, Gollum, all these great titles and names. They embody the characters and species they represent.

I wonder if anyone has thought of a name for our nightly demons. Could they really pick a fitting word for something we don’t even understand, or have touched before? I think the monsters will always be unnamed.

The Unnamed, yes, that has a certain ring to it.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 59

I’ve never been sure what happens when night falls. The Drum has sounded since April, which summons them to kill and mutilate us. It’s now June, and the nightmare has taken on new forms. At least I think it’s the darkness doing this, or them, the faceless ones. Two nights ago, streetlights and cars beamed about the neighborhood’s stale shadows. They looked, sounded, and even smelled real. I could taste their exhaust drift all the way into my shed. It was sour, smoky, and full of oil.

I never thought I’d miss the taste of pollution.

I know it can’t be real. How could anybody think the world would just come back to life when the sun goes down? I wanted to go out into the night, even with the Drum and monsters. Seeing those fragments of civilization, of the pre-drum world, it clouds reality. They make the night feel heavy, and empty of symmetry, like a deep dream.

Last night, the images became even bolder. Lights turned on inside dark houses. Shadows moved back and forth in their windows. Husbands, wives, moms, dads, and children bustled through windows cooking and preparing. Every room in the houses surrounding my shed glowed with the same ghostly orange as the streetlights did. I also noticed inside the rooms the lines of invading plants were absent, like they’d never bored their way through the siding or shattered windows.

The people in the rooms were fuzzy and without much detail, even with the light. The monsters need to refine their strategy. They can’t throw all these abominations at us and expect our forgiveness.

Still, I want to run out to them. I want the windows and hot water. I want to see them, to commiserate with them, to weep away the darkness.

The father I ran into yesterday with his children and dog. I understand their situation, but I still can’t justify his reaction to me. I’m sure he saw my form when I bolted through the exit doorway. The daylight blinded me as I ran through, and I’m sure I had an excellent silhouette for him to see with his long rifle.

I feel like there aren’t many people left anymore, even if we’re all in hiding. Paranoia and madness are a couple of backburner problems compared to these unnamed monsters stalking us on a nightly basis. The man shot at me without yelling a question or warning.

His gunfire did all the talking.

Now I’m worried if Snowy and I wander too far away from my house he’ll shoot us with his rifle, or his beast of a husky will rip my wrist apart and I’ll die of an untreatable infection.

Snowy and I stayed within a block radius of our house today. I walked down to Gerald’s house to see if he’d returned. I yelled into his house in a more muffled tone, but still, just a silent doorway and plant-eaten walls answered my calls. I’m starting to wonder if Gerald wandered too far out one day, and this guy with his rifle shot him dead. This father didn’t seem explicitly crazy when I watched him from afar yesterday, but it was concerning that he hadn’t bothered to bathe himself or his kids. After all, there happens to be a lake across the street from the grocery store. My freshly shaved face hasn’t started to grow plants yet, so it must be safe water.

Snowy and I are always wearing our Kevlar vests now. I didn’t want to weigh down Snowy with this little Kevlar sock I made for her, but the armor might be the only protection.

I guess I’ve always been paranoid about her safety, just not my own.

Today, I read the Hobbit some more. It has been very distracting. Tolkien came up with such fabulous names for everything. I can’t figure out how he did it. Wargs, Gollum, all these great titles and names. They embody the characters and species they represent.

I wonder if anyone has thought of a name for our nightly demons. Could they really pick a fitting word for something we don’t even understand, or have touched before? I think the monsters will always be unnamed.

The Unnamed, yes, that has a certain ring to it.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 59

I’ve never been sure what happens when night falls. The Drum has sounded since April, which summons them to kill and mutilate us. It’s now June, and the nightmare has taken on new forms. At least I think it’s the darkness doing this, or them, the faceless ones. Two nights ago, streetlights and cars beamed about the neighborhood’s stale shadows. They looked, sounded, and even smelled real. I could taste their exhaust drift all the way into my shed. It was sour, smoky, and full of oil.

I never thought I’d miss the taste of pollution.

I know it can’t be real. How could anybody think the world would just come back to life when the sun goes down? I wanted to go out into the night, even with the Drum and monsters. Seeing those fragments of civilization, of the pre-drum world, it clouds reality. They make the night feel heavy, and empty of symmetry, like a deep dream.

Last night, the images became even bolder. Lights turned on inside dark houses. Shadows moved back and forth in their windows. Husbands, wives, moms, dads, and children bustled through windows cooking and preparing. Every room in the houses surrounding my shed glowed with the same ghostly orange as the streetlights did. I also noticed inside the rooms the lines of invading plants were absent, like they’d never bored their way through the siding or shattered windows.

The people in the rooms were fuzzy and without much detail, even with the light. The monsters need to refine their strategy. They can’t throw all these abominations at us and expect our forgiveness.

Still, I want to run out to them. I want the windows and hot water. I want to see them, to commiserate with them, to weep away the darkness.

The father I ran into yesterday with his children and dog. I understand their situation, but I still can’t justify his reaction to me. I’m sure he saw my form when I bolted through the exit doorway. The daylight blinded me as I ran through, and I’m sure I had an excellent silhouette for him to see with his long rifle.

I feel like there aren’t many people left anymore, even if we’re all in hiding. Paranoia and madness are a couple of backburner problems compared to these unnamed monsters stalking us on a nightly basis. The man shot at me without yelling a question or warning.

His gunfire did all the talking.

Now I’m worried if Snowy and I wander too far away from my house he’ll shoot us with his rifle, or his beast of a husky will rip my wrist apart and I’ll die of an untreatable infection.

Snowy and I stayed within a block radius of our house today. I walked down to Gerald’s house to see if he’d returned. I yelled into his house in a more muffled tone, but still, just a silent doorway and plant-eaten walls answered my calls. I’m starting to wonder if Gerald wandered too far out one day, and this guy with his rifle shot him dead. This father didn’t seem explicitly crazy when I watched him from afar yesterday, but it was concerning that he hadn’t bothered to bathe himself or his kids. After all, there happens to be a lake across the street from the grocery store. My freshly shaved face hasn’t started to grow plants yet, so it must be safe water.

Snowy and I are always wearing our Kevlar vests now. I didn’t want to weigh down Snowy with this little Kevlar sock I made for her, but the armor might be the only protection.

I guess I’ve always been paranoid about her safety, just not my own.

Today, I read the Hobbit some more. It has been very distracting. Tolkien came up with such fabulous names for everything. I can’t figure out how he did it. Wargs, Gollum, all these great titles and names. They embody the characters and species they represent.

I wonder if anyone has thought of a name for our nightly demons. Could they really pick a fitting word for something we don’t even understand, or have touched before? I think the monsters will always be unnamed.

The Unnamed, yes, that has a certain ring to it.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 59

I’ve never been sure what happens when night falls. The Drum has sounded since April, which summons them to kill and mutilate us. It’s now June, and the nightmare has taken on new forms. At least I think it’s the darkness doing this, or them, the faceless ones. Two nights ago, streetlights and cars beamed about the neighborhood’s stale shadows. They looked, sounded, and even smelled real. I could taste their exhaust drift all the way into my shed. It was sour, smoky, and full of oil.

I never thought I’d miss the taste of pollution.

I know it can’t be real. How could anybody think the world would just come back to life when the sun goes down? I wanted to go out into the night, even with the Drum and monsters. Seeing those fragments of civilization, of the pre-drum world, it clouds reality. They make the night feel heavy, and empty of symmetry, like a deep dream.

Last night, the images became even bolder. Lights turned on inside dark houses. Shadows moved back and forth in their windows. Husbands, wives, moms, dads, and children bustled through windows cooking and preparing. Every room in the houses surrounding my shed glowed with the same ghostly orange as the streetlights did. I also noticed inside the rooms the lines of invading plants were absent, like they’d never bored their way through the siding or shattered windows.

The people in the rooms were fuzzy and without much detail, even with the light. The monsters need to refine their strategy. They can’t throw all these abominations at us and expect our forgiveness.

Still, I want to run out to them. I want the windows and hot water. I want to see them, to commiserate with them, to weep away the darkness.

The father I ran into yesterday with his children and dog. I understand their situation, but I still can’t justify his reaction to me. I’m sure he saw my form when I bolted through the exit doorway. The daylight blinded me as I ran through, and I’m sure I had an excellent silhouette for him to see with his long rifle.

I feel like there aren’t many people left anymore, even if we’re all in hiding. Paranoia and madness are a couple of backburner problems compared to these unnamed monsters stalking us on a nightly basis. The man shot at me without yelling a question or warning.

His gunfire did all the talking.

Now I’m worried if Snowy and I wander too far away from my house he’ll shoot us with his rifle, or his beast of a husky will rip my wrist apart and I’ll die of an untreatable infection.

Snowy and I stayed within a block radius of our house today. I walked down to Gerald’s house to see if he’d returned. I yelled into his house in a more muffled tone, but still, just a silent doorway and plant-eaten walls answered my calls. I’m starting to wonder if Gerald wandered too far out one day, and this guy with his rifle shot him dead. This father didn’t seem explicitly crazy when I watched him from afar yesterday, but it was concerning that he hadn’t bothered to bathe himself or his kids. After all, there happens to be a lake across the street from the grocery store. My freshly shaved face hasn’t started to grow plants yet, so it must be safe water.

Snowy and I are always wearing our Kevlar vests now. I didn’t want to weigh down Snowy with this little Kevlar sock I made for her, but the armor might be the only protection.

I guess I’ve always been paranoid about her safety, just not my own.

Today, I read the Hobbit some more. It has been very distracting. Tolkien came up with such fabulous names for everything. I can’t figure out how he did it. Wargs, Gollum, all these great titles and names. They embody the characters and species they represent.

I wonder if anyone has thought of a name for our nightly demons. Could they really pick a fitting word for something we don’t even understand, or have touched before? I think the monsters will always be unnamed.

The Unnamed, yes, that has a certain ring to it.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 59

I’ve never been sure what happens when night falls. The Drum has sounded since April, which summons them to kill and mutilate us. It’s now June, and the nightmare has taken on new forms. At least I think it’s the darkness doing this, or them, the faceless ones. Two nights ago, streetlights and cars beamed about the neighborhood’s stale shadows. They looked, sounded, and even smelled real. I could taste their exhaust drift all the way into my shed. It was sour, smoky, and full of oil.

I never thought I’d miss the taste of pollution.

I know it can’t be real. How could anybody think the world would just come back to life when the sun goes down? I wanted to go out into the night, even with the Drum and monsters. Seeing those fragments of civilization, of the pre-drum world, it clouds reality. They make the night feel heavy, and empty of symmetry, like a deep dream.

Last night, the images became even bolder. Lights turned on inside dark houses. Shadows moved back and forth in their windows. Husbands, wives, moms, dads, and children bustled through windows cooking and preparing. Every room in the houses surrounding my shed glowed with the same ghostly orange as the streetlights did. I also noticed inside the rooms the lines of invading plants were absent, like they’d never bored their way through the siding or shattered windows.

The people in the rooms were fuzzy and without much detail, even with the light. The monsters need to refine their strategy. They can’t throw all these abominations at us and expect our forgiveness.

Still, I want to run out to them. I want the windows and hot water. I want to see them, to commiserate with them, to weep away the darkness.

The father I ran into yesterday with his children and dog. I understand their situation, but I still can’t justify his reaction to me. I’m sure he saw my form when I bolted through the exit doorway. The daylight blinded me as I ran through, and I’m sure I had an excellent silhouette for him to see with his long rifle.

I feel like there aren’t many people left anymore, even if we’re all in hiding. Paranoia and madness are a couple of backburner problems compared to these unnamed monsters stalking us on a nightly basis. The man shot at me without yelling a question or warning.

His gunfire did all the talking.

Now I’m worried if Snowy and I wander too far away from my house he’ll shoot us with his rifle, or his beast of a husky will rip my wrist apart and I’ll die of an untreatable infection.

Snowy and I stayed within a block radius of our house today. I walked down to Gerald’s house to see if he’d returned. I yelled into his house in a more muffled tone, but still, just a silent doorway and plant-eaten walls answered my calls. I’m starting to wonder if Gerald wandered too far out one day, and this guy with his rifle shot him dead. This father didn’t seem explicitly crazy when I watched him from afar yesterday, but it was concerning that he hadn’t bothered to bathe himself or his kids. After all, there happens to be a lake across the street from the grocery store. My freshly shaved face hasn’t started to grow plants yet, so it must be safe water.

Snowy and I are always wearing our Kevlar vests now. I didn’t want to weigh down Snowy with this little Kevlar sock I made for her, but the armor might be the only protection.

I guess I’ve always been paranoid about her safety, just not my own.

Today, I read the Hobbit some more. It has been very distracting. Tolkien came up with such fabulous names for everything. I can’t figure out how he did it. Wargs, Gollum, all these great titles and names. They embody the characters and species they represent.

I wonder if anyone has thought of a name for our nightly demons. Could they really pick a fitting word for something we don’t even understand, or have touched before? I think the monsters will always be unnamed.

The Unnamed, yes, that has a certain ring to it.

This far into the story, and we're only just getting started. I'm happy you get to experience these monsters with me every Monday. Enjoy!

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/18/the-greenland-diaries-day-58/

This far into the story, and we're only just getting started. I'm happy you get to experience these monsters with me every Monday. Enjoy!

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/18/the-greenland-diaries-day-58/

This far into the story, and we're only just getting started. I'm happy you get to experience these monsters with me every Monday. Enjoy!

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/18/the-greenland-diaries-day-58/

This far into the story, and we're only just getting started. I'm happy you get to experience these monsters with me every Monday. Enjoy!

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/18/the-greenland-diaries-day-58/

This far into the story, and we're only just getting started. I'm happy you get to experience these monsters with me every Monday. Enjoy!

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/18/the-greenland-diaries-day-58/

The Greenland Diaries: Day 58

Last night, the lights and sounds came walking down the street just like the monsters and their drum. Something’s happening with all these pieces of the old world appearing at nightfall, I’m just not sure what. The Drum was beating soundly. I’m sure if I stepped out of my shed for one moment, I’d attract one of them and be pulverized to a meaty pulp. It felt like the world had been petrified these last fifty days. Now things flicker and move in the deep.

In the alley behind my shed, and the street in front of my house, streetlights flickered to life once the Drum started. All of them shined the familiar dull orange. A few jets buzzed slothfully overhead in booming groans, obviously unconcerned about whatever wandering monster made them crash when the Drum began. A few cars buzzed by in yellow lights and bursts of exhaust. I heard laughing out in the darkness and little voices.

I put Snowy up to the shed’s wall next to my spying hole for her reaction to all the sounds and sights. She twitched and shook her tiny tail at them, like she had missed all the random noise of civilization. I wanted to go out into the sounds. They pulled out a thousand memories from my inner mind, everything from driving home on summer nights, to late night baseball games.

I couldn’t stand the nostalgia and the sounds. I eventually plugged my ears with a pair of headphones and held Snowy against my chest. I vomited once into a plastic watering can, mainly from all the headlights pushing between the thin, metal walls. Why can’t things have a semblance of normality? I know it’s not right. I know the world isn’t coming back to life from this green prison.

Once the morning came, all the lights and sounds drifted away in the silver gloominess of sunrise. Clearly, they are related to the monsters, but I don’t know why and to what end.

Moreover, I don’t want to test this theory.

I spent the morning moving more supplies into the shed. I removed some of the bricks it sat on top of to dig a hole to store any of the excess. I lined the hole with a tarp to keep them clean and free of bugs. I covered the hole with a variety of clutter to prevent people from pillaging my shed. Ivy and green tendrils have grown into my house like living Halloween decorations. Pretty soon my house will be another green shell, hollow and vacant like a meatless skull.

I hate it.

Today, I returned to the Rainbow. The lights were all off inside the store, including the exit lights, which I hoped would be radiant forever despite the apocalypse. It was weird to see the word “exit” unlit. The air was sour with rotten food, even though the majority of the produce section was empty. A few fruits, mainly oranges and bananas, had rotted into a unified mass. They had soaked the floor with their rancid, sticky juices. I kept Snowy clung to my left side and M16 attached to my right hip. I was impressed I could carry the heavy weapon so casually, why couldn’t I have been in this shape when the real world still existed?

I did a quick walk of the entire store. I didn’t want any surprises in the form of trapped monsters. Nothing moved, not a single shadow darted away under the trembling white glow my flashlight threw in front of me. Most of the shelves had been emptied, ripped apart or tipped over. I managed to find a few armfuls of random canned goods and boxed food, which I stuffed into my backpack and a duffel bag I’d brought along. I found some bottled water too, beneath a smashed shelf with dried blood on its splintered edges.

Whoever was protecting this store clearly had failed, and these shelves were a grizzly flag of defeat.

After I had grabbed my second armful of supplies, I heard a bizarre panting sound at the other end of the store. I heard a child crying and some steel-toed footsteps echoing upwards from the white tiles. I didn’t want them to shoot me or Snowy out of fear. I also didn’t want it to be one of those who’d been protecting the store from afar. I took us towards the back of the building away from the clanging feet. I found an exit door which led to the street and a steep hill. The moment I opened the door a quick beam of light blew into the store and for a second I remembered Rainbow for how it was before. I was taking my grandmother shopping there on Friday nights when she still lived over here.

Gunfire followed me in pops, and the white wall next to the exit door bubbled in quick holes of round brick. I ran up the hill behind the strip mall and hid next to an empty rambler just above the street. I waited and waited, until a thin, middle-aged man with two small children emerged through the exit door. They had a husky with them, and the father was pushing a shopping cart and balancing a rifle with his right hand. The children couldn’t have been over ten and were covered in dirt. Even though they’d shot at me in the store, I was still happy to see them, and to see other people. I actually cried a little bit to myself out of happiness, as I ducked beneath the sight of his paranoid rifle.

He whistled at the husky to stay put, and I could tell it wanted to run up to us. I had to hold Snowy’s muzzle shut to prevent her from barking. I hate doing that. I waited until they disappeared back into the store. I circled around the neighborhood twice on my way home, just to make sure they didn’t follow us to my shed. I stopped a few times and spied on the green roads, which were thick with flowery air. It’d been hard to follow me with a couple of children. I’m hoping to find out more about them tomorrow. It was nice to see other people, even if the madness of this situation has made them a bit misanthropic. Regardless, I’m going to read The Hobbit some more and hope for rain.

At times, it seems like the sky itself has become afraid of them and their faceless shades.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 58

Last night, the lights and sounds came walking down the street just like the monsters and their drum. Something’s happening with all these pieces of the old world appearing at nightfall, I’m just not sure what. The Drum was beating soundly. I’m sure if I stepped out of my shed for one moment, I’d attract one of them and be pulverized to a meaty pulp. It felt like the world had been petrified these last fifty days. Now things flicker and move in the deep.

In the alley behind my shed, and the street in front of my house, streetlights flickered to life once the Drum started. All of them shined the familiar dull orange. A few jets buzzed slothfully overhead in booming groans, obviously unconcerned about whatever wandering monster made them crash when the Drum began. A few cars buzzed by in yellow lights and bursts of exhaust. I heard laughing out in the darkness and little voices.

I put Snowy up to the shed’s wall next to my spying hole for her reaction to all the sounds and sights. She twitched and shook her tiny tail at them, like she had missed all the random noise of civilization. I wanted to go out into the sounds. They pulled out a thousand memories from my inner mind, everything from driving home on summer nights, to late night baseball games.

I couldn’t stand the nostalgia and the sounds. I eventually plugged my ears with a pair of headphones and held Snowy against my chest. I vomited once into a plastic watering can, mainly from all the headlights pushing between the thin, metal walls. Why can’t things have a semblance of normality? I know it’s not right. I know the world isn’t coming back to life from this green prison.

Once the morning came, all the lights and sounds drifted away in the silver gloominess of sunrise. Clearly, they are related to the monsters, but I don’t know why and to what end.

Moreover, I don’t want to test this theory.

I spent the morning moving more supplies into the shed. I removed some of the bricks it sat on top of to dig a hole to store any of the excess. I lined the hole with a tarp to keep them clean and free of bugs. I covered the hole with a variety of clutter to prevent people from pillaging my shed. Ivy and green tendrils have grown into my house like living Halloween decorations. Pretty soon my house will be another green shell, hollow and vacant like a meatless skull.

I hate it.

Today, I returned to the Rainbow. The lights were all off inside the store, including the exit lights, which I hoped would be radiant forever despite the apocalypse. It was weird to see the word “exit” unlit. The air was sour with rotten food, even though the majority of the produce section was empty. A few fruits, mainly oranges and bananas, had rotted into a unified mass. They had soaked the floor with their rancid, sticky juices. I kept Snowy clung to my left side and M16 attached to my right hip. I was impressed I could carry the heavy weapon so casually, why couldn’t I have been in this shape when the real world still existed?

I did a quick walk of the entire store. I didn’t want any surprises in the form of trapped monsters. Nothing moved, not a single shadow darted away under the trembling white glow my flashlight threw in front of me. Most of the shelves had been emptied, ripped apart or tipped over. I managed to find a few armfuls of random canned goods and boxed food, which I stuffed into my backpack and a duffel bag I’d brought along. I found some bottled water too, beneath a smashed shelf with dried blood on its splintered edges.

Whoever was protecting this store clearly had failed, and these shelves were a grizzly flag of defeat.

After I had grabbed my second armful of supplies, I heard a bizarre panting sound at the other end of the store. I heard a child crying and some steel-toed footsteps echoing upwards from the white tiles. I didn’t want them to shoot me or Snowy out of fear. I also didn’t want it to be one of those who’d been protecting the store from afar. I took us towards the back of the building away from the clanging feet. I found an exit door which led to the street and a steep hill. The moment I opened the door a quick beam of light blew into the store and for a second I remembered Rainbow for how it was before. I was taking my grandmother shopping there on Friday nights when she still lived over here.

Gunfire followed me in pops, and the white wall next to the exit door bubbled in quick holes of round brick. I ran up the hill behind the strip mall and hid next to an empty rambler just above the street. I waited and waited, until a thin, middle-aged man with two small children emerged through the exit door. They had a husky with them, and the father was pushing a shopping cart and balancing a rifle with his right hand. The children couldn’t have been over ten and were covered in dirt. Even though they’d shot at me in the store, I was still happy to see them, and to see other people. I actually cried a little bit to myself out of happiness, as I ducked beneath the sight of his paranoid rifle.

He whistled at the husky to stay put, and I could tell it wanted to run up to us. I had to hold Snowy’s muzzle shut to prevent her from barking. I hate doing that. I waited until they disappeared back into the store. I circled around the neighborhood twice on my way home, just to make sure they didn’t follow us to my shed. I stopped a few times and spied on the green roads, which were thick with flowery air. It’d been hard to follow me with a couple of children. I’m hoping to find out more about them tomorrow. It was nice to see other people, even if the madness of this situation has made them a bit misanthropic. Regardless, I’m going to read The Hobbit some more and hope for rain.

At times, it seems like the sky itself has become afraid of them and their faceless shades.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 58

Last night, the lights and sounds came walking down the street just like the monsters and their drum. Something’s happening with all these pieces of the old world appearing at nightfall, I’m just not sure what. The Drum was beating soundly. I’m sure if I stepped out of my shed for one moment, I’d attract one of them and be pulverized to a meaty pulp. It felt like the world had been petrified these last fifty days. Now things flicker and move in the deep.

In the alley behind my shed, and the street in front of my house, streetlights flickered to life once the Drum started. All of them shined the familiar dull orange. A few jets buzzed slothfully overhead in booming groans, obviously unconcerned about whatever wandering monster made them crash when the Drum began. A few cars buzzed by in yellow lights and bursts of exhaust. I heard laughing out in the darkness and little voices.

I put Snowy up to the shed’s wall next to my spying hole for her reaction to all the sounds and sights. She twitched and shook her tiny tail at them, like she had missed all the random noise of civilization. I wanted to go out into the sounds. They pulled out a thousand memories from my inner mind, everything from driving home on summer nights, to late night baseball games.

I couldn’t stand the nostalgia and the sounds. I eventually plugged my ears with a pair of headphones and held Snowy against my chest. I vomited once into a plastic watering can, mainly from all the headlights pushing between the thin, metal walls. Why can’t things have a semblance of normality? I know it’s not right. I know the world isn’t coming back to life from this green prison.

Once the morning came, all the lights and sounds drifted away in the silver gloominess of sunrise. Clearly, they are related to the monsters, but I don’t know why and to what end.

Moreover, I don’t want to test this theory.

I spent the morning moving more supplies into the shed. I removed some of the bricks it sat on top of to dig a hole to store any of the excess. I lined the hole with a tarp to keep them clean and free of bugs. I covered the hole with a variety of clutter to prevent people from pillaging my shed. Ivy and green tendrils have grown into my house like living Halloween decorations. Pretty soon my house will be another green shell, hollow and vacant like a meatless skull.

I hate it.

Today, I returned to the Rainbow. The lights were all off inside the store, including the exit lights, which I hoped would be radiant forever despite the apocalypse. It was weird to see the word “exit” unlit. The air was sour with rotten food, even though the majority of the produce section was empty. A few fruits, mainly oranges and bananas, had rotted into a unified mass. They had soaked the floor with their rancid, sticky juices. I kept Snowy clung to my left side and M16 attached to my right hip. I was impressed I could carry the heavy weapon so casually, why couldn’t I have been in this shape when the real world still existed?

I did a quick walk of the entire store. I didn’t want any surprises in the form of trapped monsters. Nothing moved, not a single shadow darted away under the trembling white glow my flashlight threw in front of me. Most of the shelves had been emptied, ripped apart or tipped over. I managed to find a few armfuls of random canned goods and boxed food, which I stuffed into my backpack and a duffel bag I’d brought along. I found some bottled water too, beneath a smashed shelf with dried blood on its splintered edges.

Whoever was protecting this store clearly had failed, and these shelves were a grizzly flag of defeat.

After I had grabbed my second armful of supplies, I heard a bizarre panting sound at the other end of the store. I heard a child crying and some steel-toed footsteps echoing upwards from the white tiles. I didn’t want them to shoot me or Snowy out of fear. I also didn’t want it to be one of those who’d been protecting the store from afar. I took us towards the back of the building away from the clanging feet. I found an exit door which led to the street and a steep hill. The moment I opened the door a quick beam of light blew into the store and for a second I remembered Rainbow for how it was before. I was taking my grandmother shopping there on Friday nights when she still lived over here.

Gunfire followed me in pops, and the white wall next to the exit door bubbled in quick holes of round brick. I ran up the hill behind the strip mall and hid next to an empty rambler just above the street. I waited and waited, until a thin, middle-aged man with two small children emerged through the exit door. They had a husky with them, and the father was pushing a shopping cart and balancing a rifle with his right hand. The children couldn’t have been over ten and were covered in dirt. Even though they’d shot at me in the store, I was still happy to see them, and to see other people. I actually cried a little bit to myself out of happiness, as I ducked beneath the sight of his paranoid rifle.

He whistled at the husky to stay put, and I could tell it wanted to run up to us. I had to hold Snowy’s muzzle shut to prevent her from barking. I hate doing that. I waited until they disappeared back into the store. I circled around the neighborhood twice on my way home, just to make sure they didn’t follow us to my shed. I stopped a few times and spied on the green roads, which were thick with flowery air. It’d been hard to follow me with a couple of children. I’m hoping to find out more about them tomorrow. It was nice to see other people, even if the madness of this situation has made them a bit misanthropic. Regardless, I’m going to read The Hobbit some more and hope for rain.

At times, it seems like the sky itself has become afraid of them and their faceless shades.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 58

Last night, the lights and sounds came walking down the street just like the monsters and their drum. Something’s happening with all these pieces of the old world appearing at nightfall, I’m just not sure what. The Drum was beating soundly. I’m sure if I stepped out of my shed for one moment, I’d attract one of them and be pulverized to a meaty pulp. It felt like the world had been petrified these last fifty days. Now things flicker and move in the deep.

In the alley behind my shed, and the street in front of my house, streetlights flickered to life once the Drum started. All of them shined the familiar dull orange. A few jets buzzed slothfully overhead in booming groans, obviously unconcerned about whatever wandering monster made them crash when the Drum began. A few cars buzzed by in yellow lights and bursts of exhaust. I heard laughing out in the darkness and little voices.

I put Snowy up to the shed’s wall next to my spying hole for her reaction to all the sounds and sights. She twitched and shook her tiny tail at them, like she had missed all the random noise of civilization. I wanted to go out into the sounds. They pulled out a thousand memories from my inner mind, everything from driving home on summer nights, to late night baseball games.

I couldn’t stand the nostalgia and the sounds. I eventually plugged my ears with a pair of headphones and held Snowy against my chest. I vomited once into a plastic watering can, mainly from all the headlights pushing between the thin, metal walls. Why can’t things have a semblance of normality? I know it’s not right. I know the world isn’t coming back to life from this green prison.

Once the morning came, all the lights and sounds drifted away in the silver gloominess of sunrise. Clearly, they are related to the monsters, but I don’t know why and to what end.

Moreover, I don’t want to test this theory.

I spent the morning moving more supplies into the shed. I removed some of the bricks it sat on top of to dig a hole to store any of the excess. I lined the hole with a tarp to keep them clean and free of bugs. I covered the hole with a variety of clutter to prevent people from pillaging my shed. Ivy and green tendrils have grown into my house like living Halloween decorations. Pretty soon my house will be another green shell, hollow and vacant like a meatless skull.

I hate it.

Today, I returned to the Rainbow. The lights were all off inside the store, including the exit lights, which I hoped would be radiant forever despite the apocalypse. It was weird to see the word “exit” unlit. The air was sour with rotten food, even though the majority of the produce section was empty. A few fruits, mainly oranges and bananas, had rotted into a unified mass. They had soaked the floor with their rancid, sticky juices. I kept Snowy clung to my left side and M16 attached to my right hip. I was impressed I could carry the heavy weapon so casually, why couldn’t I have been in this shape when the real world still existed?

I did a quick walk of the entire store. I didn’t want any surprises in the form of trapped monsters. Nothing moved, not a single shadow darted away under the trembling white glow my flashlight threw in front of me. Most of the shelves had been emptied, ripped apart or tipped over. I managed to find a few armfuls of random canned goods and boxed food, which I stuffed into my backpack and a duffel bag I’d brought along. I found some bottled water too, beneath a smashed shelf with dried blood on its splintered edges.

Whoever was protecting this store clearly had failed, and these shelves were a grizzly flag of defeat.

After I had grabbed my second armful of supplies, I heard a bizarre panting sound at the other end of the store. I heard a child crying and some steel-toed footsteps echoing upwards from the white tiles. I didn’t want them to shoot me or Snowy out of fear. I also didn’t want it to be one of those who’d been protecting the store from afar. I took us towards the back of the building away from the clanging feet. I found an exit door which led to the street and a steep hill. The moment I opened the door a quick beam of light blew into the store and for a second I remembered Rainbow for how it was before. I was taking my grandmother shopping there on Friday nights when she still lived over here.

Gunfire followed me in pops, and the white wall next to the exit door bubbled in quick holes of round brick. I ran up the hill behind the strip mall and hid next to an empty rambler just above the street. I waited and waited, until a thin, middle-aged man with two small children emerged through the exit door. They had a husky with them, and the father was pushing a shopping cart and balancing a rifle with his right hand. The children couldn’t have been over ten and were covered in dirt. Even though they’d shot at me in the store, I was still happy to see them, and to see other people. I actually cried a little bit to myself out of happiness, as I ducked beneath the sight of his paranoid rifle.

He whistled at the husky to stay put, and I could tell it wanted to run up to us. I had to hold Snowy’s muzzle shut to prevent her from barking. I hate doing that. I waited until they disappeared back into the store. I circled around the neighborhood twice on my way home, just to make sure they didn’t follow us to my shed. I stopped a few times and spied on the green roads, which were thick with flowery air. It’d been hard to follow me with a couple of children. I’m hoping to find out more about them tomorrow. It was nice to see other people, even if the madness of this situation has made them a bit misanthropic. Regardless, I’m going to read The Hobbit some more and hope for rain.

At times, it seems like the sky itself has become afraid of them and their faceless shades.

The Greenland Diaries: Day 58

Last night, the lights and sounds came walking down the street just like the monsters and their drum. Something’s happening with all these pieces of the old world appearing at nightfall, I’m just not sure what. The Drum was beating soundly. I’m sure if I stepped out of my shed for one moment, I’d attract one of them and be pulverized to a meaty pulp. It felt like the world had been petrified these last fifty days. Now things flicker and move in the deep.

In the alley behind my shed, and the street in front of my house, streetlights flickered to life once the Drum started. All of them shined the familiar dull orange. A few jets buzzed slothfully overhead in booming groans, obviously unconcerned about whatever wandering monster made them crash when the Drum began. A few cars buzzed by in yellow lights and bursts of exhaust. I heard laughing out in the darkness and little voices.

I put Snowy up to the shed’s wall next to my spying hole for her reaction to all the sounds and sights. She twitched and shook her tiny tail at them, like she had missed all the random noise of civilization. I wanted to go out into the sounds. They pulled out a thousand memories from my inner mind, everything from driving home on summer nights, to late night baseball games.

I couldn’t stand the nostalgia and the sounds. I eventually plugged my ears with a pair of headphones and held Snowy against my chest. I vomited once into a plastic watering can, mainly from all the headlights pushing between the thin, metal walls. Why can’t things have a semblance of normality? I know it’s not right. I know the world isn’t coming back to life from this green prison.

Once the morning came, all the lights and sounds drifted away in the silver gloominess of sunrise. Clearly, they are related to the monsters, but I don’t know why and to what end.

Moreover, I don’t want to test this theory.

I spent the morning moving more supplies into the shed. I removed some of the bricks it sat on top of to dig a hole to store any of the excess. I lined the hole with a tarp to keep them clean and free of bugs. I covered the hole with a variety of clutter to prevent people from pillaging my shed. Ivy and green tendrils have grown into my house like living Halloween decorations. Pretty soon my house will be another green shell, hollow and vacant like a meatless skull.

I hate it.

Today, I returned to the Rainbow. The lights were all off inside the store, including the exit lights, which I hoped would be radiant forever despite the apocalypse. It was weird to see the word “exit” unlit. The air was sour with rotten food, even though the majority of the produce section was empty. A few fruits, mainly oranges and bananas, had rotted into a unified mass. They had soaked the floor with their rancid, sticky juices. I kept Snowy clung to my left side and M16 attached to my right hip. I was impressed I could carry the heavy weapon so casually, why couldn’t I have been in this shape when the real world still existed?

I did a quick walk of the entire store. I didn’t want any surprises in the form of trapped monsters. Nothing moved, not a single shadow darted away under the trembling white glow my flashlight threw in front of me. Most of the shelves had been emptied, ripped apart or tipped over. I managed to find a few armfuls of random canned goods and boxed food, which I stuffed into my backpack and a duffel bag I’d brought along. I found some bottled water too, beneath a smashed shelf with dried blood on its splintered edges.

Whoever was protecting this store clearly had failed, and these shelves were a grizzly flag of defeat.

After I had grabbed my second armful of supplies, I heard a bizarre panting sound at the other end of the store. I heard a child crying and some steel-toed footsteps echoing upwards from the white tiles. I didn’t want them to shoot me or Snowy out of fear. I also didn’t want it to be one of those who’d been protecting the store from afar. I took us towards the back of the building away from the clanging feet. I found an exit door which led to the street and a steep hill. The moment I opened the door a quick beam of light blew into the store and for a second I remembered Rainbow for how it was before. I was taking my grandmother shopping there on Friday nights when she still lived over here.

Gunfire followed me in pops, and the white wall next to the exit door bubbled in quick holes of round brick. I ran up the hill behind the strip mall and hid next to an empty rambler just above the street. I waited and waited, until a thin, middle-aged man with two small children emerged through the exit door. They had a husky with them, and the father was pushing a shopping cart and balancing a rifle with his right hand. The children couldn’t have been over ten and were covered in dirt. Even though they’d shot at me in the store, I was still happy to see them, and to see other people. I actually cried a little bit to myself out of happiness, as I ducked beneath the sight of his paranoid rifle.

He whistled at the husky to stay put, and I could tell it wanted to run up to us. I had to hold Snowy’s muzzle shut to prevent her from barking. I hate doing that. I waited until they disappeared back into the store. I circled around the neighborhood twice on my way home, just to make sure they didn’t follow us to my shed. I stopped a few times and spied on the green roads, which were thick with flowery air. It’d been hard to follow me with a couple of children. I’m hoping to find out more about them tomorrow. It was nice to see other people, even if the madness of this situation has made them a bit misanthropic. Regardless, I’m going to read The Hobbit some more and hope for rain.

At times, it seems like the sky itself has become afraid of them and their faceless shades.

The Thirsty Horse

I led a thirsty horse to an empty trough
in a town without a name. 
Wrapped the horse’s lead around a wooden pole
then stepped into the saloon.
Cobwebs and poker chips littered the room.
Overturned chairs and a broken piano left nothing for the imagination. 
Just another abandoned town with no story to tell.

I step behind the bar.
Old shelves that once supported society’s interests
now coated with distorting dust and disparity.
I spit to the floor adding my own interest
and reach for a bottle that sits on the shelf.
Labelled Inspiration it’s as empty as the trough outside.
Discarding the bottle I reach for another labelled Motivation.
It too is empty and no longer of use.
The bottle labelled Creativity I threw out the window.
It’s as empty as everything else in this town.
The one bottle I couldn’t find was Etc. 
Either it wasn’t delivered, or it was stolen.

The six-shooter strapped to my waist
Held only empty shells.
For six nights I shot at the moon 
as its reflection luminated the desert floor.
Never missing my target I put six new holes in it.
But now I’m out of bullets.

It’s wintertime in the desert
I taste the dust in the air
fragmented particles falling towards the ground
each claimed by gravity
will find death before the coming of dawn.  

My time in the saloon is done.
Nothing more to find here.
The dust that accumulates on my hat
shall be swept away as I cross the desert
in search of Etc. 
and a trough full of water. 


Edited with the assistance of Marie Metaphor Specht.
Image: Pure White Horse from FreePixel.com

The Thirsty Horse

I led a thirsty horse to an empty trough
in a town without a name. 
Wrapped the horse’s lead around a wooden pole
then stepped into the saloon.
Cobwebs and poker chips littered the room.
Overturned chairs and a broken piano left nothing for the imagination. 
Just another abandoned town with no story to tell.

I step behind the bar.
Old shelves that once supported society’s interests
now coated with distorting dust and disparity.
I spit to the floor adding my own interest
and reach for a bottle that sits on the shelf.
Labelled Inspiration it’s as empty as the trough outside.
Discarding the bottle I reach for another labelled Motivation.
It too is empty and no longer of use.
The bottle labelled Creativity I threw out the window.
It’s as empty as everything else in this town.
The one bottle I couldn’t find was Etc. 
Either it wasn’t delivered, or it was stolen.

The six-shooter strapped to my waist
Held only empty shells.
For six nights I shot at the moon 
as its reflection luminated the desert floor.
Never missing my target I put six new holes in it.
But now I’m out of bullets.

It’s wintertime in the desert
I taste the dust in the air
fragmented particles falling towards the ground
each claimed by gravity
will find death before the coming of dawn.  

My time in the saloon is done.
Nothing more to find here.
The dust that accumulates on my hat
shall be swept away as I cross the desert
in search of Etc. 
and a trough full of water. 


Edited with the assistance of Marie Metaphor Specht.
Image: Pure White Horse from FreePixel.com

I love when the illusions enter the story in full force. Creating this creepy plot device was tons of fun. Enjoy. The story only gets better, along with the monsters.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/11/the-greenland-diaries-day-57/

The Greenland Diaries: Day 57

Last night, behind the Drum and all the hidden monsters, I heard a car driving around the neighborhood. Strangely enough, the acceleration was constant and uninterrupted. In the past, when I’ve eavesdropped on nightmares, any vehicle brave enough to travel the darkness gets thrashed immediately upon its discovery. Cars have only gotten past their motors ignition before screams and claws silence their engines. I would never be stupid enough to drive around while the Drum beats. The car last night though, it kept on driving without being bothered by them. I even heard a slight melody of music inside the Drum and engine. It sounded like Mozart, or Beethoven.

I finally shaved this morning. It was a very painful experience. I had some spare razors to take off the stubble, and I had my scissors to cut off the larger strands on my chin. Shaving without a mirror was the challenging part. I tried to use a shard of broken bathroom mirror for a few minutes, but the reflection became clouded with those gray figures from before. Eventually, the  piece was thick with them, and I was better off shaving blind. I made sure to expose myself to the reflection a block away from the house, just in case.

I’m not sure how many times I cut my face, but it certainly hurt a lot. I’m worried about disease and open wounds with this humid and heavy air. I’m also concerned about the lake water I used for shaving, but I can only be afraid of so many things. It’s a blessing in disguise that the monsters never left any full bodies from the slaughter at the beginning. The streets would be swimming with disease. After I finished shaving, I washed my face in after-shave and then sterilized. I cried a little bit from it. I’ll have to shave more often to get my skin used to the sensation. Snowy licked my face a few times after I recovered. The salt from her tongue stung my face, but I didn’t care.

It feels good to have her concerned about me.

Yesterday, when I walked home, there were angry lines of storms on the horizon. They vanished overnight, like some invisible hand shook them into dust. We need water. We need a break from the stinking sun and breathing plants. I’ve got supplies, but paranoia still creeps into my thoughts about us running out.

I should start a paranoia list, Gerald, Snowy, supplies, the Drum, monsters, stray dogs, reflections, and possible marauders. Looking at the collection of horrors doesn’t make me too depressed. It makes me feel strangely organized.

Today, we walked back to Rainbow foods. It looked like nothing had moved on the inside of the entrance. I want to go inside the building and explore, despite the sour smell of rotted food. I’m a little concerned about the darkness and being able to see inside the building. There could be a few monsters lurking inside the aisles like when we explored the hospital. I found some flares after the counterattack, so I could try throwing a few in there for light. I have a flare gun too, which would probably be safer.

I’ve started to read The Hobbit by J.R.R Tolkien. I’m enjoying the book so far. I’m sure in all actuality, Tolkien would never have had the guile to take the trip like Bilbo did or jump all over an adventure. Traveling through this sweeping fantasy epic might be difficult, but it pales in comparison to what I’m going through. I’d take a dragon, goblins, and trolls over the nightly drum and unidentifiable devils. Why did our culture trivialize hardship? Why did we think this would be fun?

I wonder what strange things will be out wandering the night. I’m pretty sure I was dreaming when I noticed the family a few nights ago. The car from last night was real. I know it.

https://medium.com/speculative-encounters/teotwawki-scenarios-for-speculative-writers-ebd57ed17c82

Not all collapse pathways originate from human systems. Some come from the planet itself, some from the universe.

#wtshtf #TEOTWAWKI #civilization #medium #doomsday #apocalyptic #speculativefiction #writingcommunity

https://medium.com/speculative-encounters/teotwawki-scenarios-for-speculative-writers-ebd57ed17c82

Not all collapse pathways originate from human systems. Some come from the planet itself, some from the universe.

#wtshtf #TEOTWAWKI #civilization #medium #doomsday #apocalyptic #speculativefiction #writingcommunity

Happy Monday! Again, new entries every week from my apocalyptic horror series the Greenland Diaries. Enjoy the monsters. They're everything to the story in so many ways.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/05/04/the-greenland-diaries-day-56/

#digitalphotography #photomanipulation #surreal #multipleexposures #photocollage #photopainting #trees #moon #chimney #clouds #dusk #nightphotography #stjohns #portland #apocalyptic #sciencefiction #glitcheffects #nogenerativeai

#digitalphotography #photomanipulation #surreal #multipleexposures #photocollage #photopainting #trees #moon #chimney #clouds #dusk #nightphotography #stjohns #portland #apocalyptic #sciencefiction #glitcheffects #nogenerativeai

#digitalphotography #photomanipulation #surreal #multipleexposures #photocollage #photopainting #trees #moon #chimney #clouds #dusk #nightphotography #stjohns #portland #apocalyptic #sciencefiction #glitcheffects #nogenerativeai

#digitalphotography #photomanipulation #surreal #multipleexposures #photocollage #photopainting #trees #moon #chimney #clouds #dusk #nightphotography #stjohns #portland #apocalyptic #sciencefiction #glitcheffects #nogenerativeai

#digitalphotography #photomanipulation #surreal #multipleexposures #photocollage #photopainting #trees #moon #chimney #clouds #dusk #nightphotography #stjohns #portland #apocalyptic #sciencefiction #glitcheffects #nogenerativeai

[Illust Greyscale]

'Bomb'
This is quite old.

K8

#art #mastoart #fediart #mangaart #apocalyptic #darkart #horror

[Illust Greyscale]

'Bomb'
This drawing is quite old.

K8

#art #mastoart #fediart #mangaart #apocalyptic #darkart #horror

[Illust Greyscale]

'Bomb'
This drawing is quite old.

K8

#art #mastoart #fediart #mangaart #apocalyptic #darkart #horror

I finally talk about the dog. I'm sure you've all been thinking about it. I know I have. Thank you for reading my work.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/04/27/the-greenland-diaries-day-55/

So much of this story is about isolation and what we do when we're along and in danger. It is hard removing characters from the narrative, even if it is just temporary.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/04/20/the-greenland-diaries-day-54/

Why is it always like this: humans are so terrible, even in a post-#apocalyptic world the worst threat is still them. Just wish it’s not true.

https://arstechnica.com/culture/2026/04/ridley-scotts-post-apocalyptic-the-dog-stars-drops-first-trailer/?utm_brand=arstechnica&utm_social-type=owned&utm_source=mastodon&utm_medium=social

#scifi #movies

Day 53. Only about 300 more to go. Enjoy, and thank you for reading my work. Every Monday there be monsters.

#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels

https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/04/13/the-greenland-diaries-day-53/

https://www.storyangles.com/post/are-we-now-nearer-to-wtshtf-than-ever-before

A cyberattack hits a pipeline, fuel shortages spread, airports slow, deliveries stall, panic buying begins.

One disruption triggers five more.

#wtshtf #apocalyptic #disorder #catastrophe #EconomicCollapse #StoryAngles

https://www.storyangles.com/post/are-we-now-nearer-to-wtshtf-than-ever-before

A cyberattack hits a pipeline, fuel shortages spread, airports slow, deliveries stall, panic buying begins.

One disruption triggers five more.

#wtshtf #apocalyptic #disorder #catastrophe #EconomicCollapse #StoryAngles

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2026/apr/08/europe-lesson-donald-trump-era-us-sanity. "American #conservatism is steeped in the #paranoid, #apocalyptic thinking that equates #European traditions of #liberal #democracy with civilisational decline & the erasure of #white, #Christian #culture by #Muslim #immigration. Through that lens, any appeal to #international #institutions & #multilateralism is understood as the pathetic whining of #geopolitical weaklings." Putting the words "white" & "Christian" together is blasphemous.

https://www.europesays.com/africa/171834/ Trump aid cuts to Africa: How economies grew despite funding slump #administrations #Africa #AID #apocalyptic #cause #continentwide #Crisis #Cuts #despite #economies #Funding #grew #how #last #likely #proportions #reduction #seemed #sharp #slump #to #Trump #year

The Dreaded Pulviss
Grab it today at the recession friendly price of Pay What You Want! At
https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/524023/monday-mutants-31-pulviss

For the mutant Epoch tabletop role-playing game.

#mondaymutants #pulviss #pwyw #paywhatyouwant #free #mutantepoch #mutie #buckteeth #drivethrurpg #ugly #monster #apocalyptic #thrall #inkart #inkartist #postapocalyptic #themutantepoch #outlandsystem #ttrpg #outlandarts #mutants #mutant #gameart #rpgart #williammcausland like #gammaworld or #mutantyearzero or #mutantcrawlclassics #freak

Pulviss: Monday Mutant 31 just Released!

Don’t become the unwilling subscriber and rope-bound follower of this hulking mutie!

The Pulviss gets its name from the word ‘pulverize’. This apt name serves it well for both its brutal, multiple close-in attacks, as well as its bizarre need to dominate, demoralize and crush the willpower and self respect of those that it collects.

This collector of unwilling playthings, pets, and bait humans includes a 1d8 random mutation table, 2d12 table of possible humanoid thrall captives to rescue, along with a 3d6 table of collectibles that the beast carries as loot, or barter items when in the mood to trade for luxuries.

Link:
https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/524023/monday-mutants-31-pulviss

#mondaymutants #pulviss #pwyw #paywhatyouwant #free #mutantepoch #mutie #buckteeth #drivethrurpg #ugly #monster #apocalyptic #thrall #inkart #inkartist #postapocalyptic #themutantepoch #outlandsystem #ttrpg #outlandarts #mutants #mutant #gameart #rpgart like #gammaworld or #mutantyearzero or #mutantcrawlclassics #freak

Move fast. Break Things

#digitalillustration #illustration #drawing #digitaldrawing #digitalpainting #digitalart #noai #digitalartists #digitalartist
#surreal #surrealism #apocalypse #apocalipse #apocalyptic
#surrealism #surrealcollage #collageart #collage #dog
#dogsofinstagram #dogstagram #imperialism
#capitalism #imperialismmemes #imperialismsucks
#fuckimperialism #fuckcapitalism #acidsocialism
#acidcommunism #psychedelicsocialism #psychedelic
#psychedelics #frutigeraero #sabotage

Montage of assorted Digital Being personas

Ink Art from page 70 of The Mutant Epoch RPG Expansion Rules

Digital Beings go up in rank like any other character, however because they have a few features that physical characters do not, they use their own Rank Gain matrix shown below. If this character inhabits a cyborg, android or robotic body, then these bodies also grow stronger, adapts, and improves through adventuresome exploits, and therefore also go up in rank according to their type. See the section on Digital Being Starting Container or Body on the next page for which containers and body types are eligible to go up in rank.

https://www.outlandarts.com/expansionrules.htm

#elvis #nun #pope #clown #bobross #happylittleclouds #digitalbeing #AIentity #selfaware #computerized #combot #robot #warbot #montage #characters #mutantepoch #apocalyptic #expansionrules #postapocalyptic #themutantepoch #outlandsystem #RPG #ttrpg #outlandarts #mutants #gameart #rpgart #TME like #gammaworld or #mutantyearzero or #mutantcrawlclassics

Role-Playing Gamers
From an article on Creating Intriguing Player Handouts. Being able to hold physical notes, maps and clues is a huge advantage that tabletop gamers can enjoy that computer gamers usually can’t.

https://www.outlandarts.com/TME-excavator-monthly-compendium.htm

#gamenight #gametable #GMscreen #rpgbook #tme #rpg #ttrpg #mutantepoch #apocalyptic #postapocalyptic #mutants #epoch #wasteland #tabletoprpg #tabletop #rpgart #indiegame #indierpg like #fallout #degenesis #gammaworld or #mutantyearzero or #mutantcrawlclassics

The Islamic conquests did lead to the eventual adoption of Arabic and the loss of the #Coptic language. An #apocalyptic text from the 10th C or so, the Apocalypse of Pseudo-Samuel, warns that adopting the Arabic language will destroy #Christianity in Egypt.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apocalypse_of_Samuel_of_Kalamoun

Coptic continues as a liturgical language for church services, but the last new Coptic text is perhaps the Martyrdom of John of Phanijoit, an odd story.

#BlackHistoryMonth #Africa
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SOMETIMES YOU JUST WANT TO FISH

(Courtesy @dvs via Discord)

#NoMansSky
#NMS #NoMansSkyVoyagers #SciFi #procgen #games #gamers #gaming #screenshot #gametography #virtualphotography #fishing #apocalyptic #gameshots #HelloGames