#novels — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #novels, aggregated by home.social.
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kathy acker: get rid of meaning
https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
American author Kathy Acker was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Working through an experimental and avant-garde tradition, she wrote numerous novels, essays, poems, and novellas from the early 1970s to the late 1990s. As a postmodernist, plagiarist, and post-punk feminist, she continues to inspire generations of writers, philosophers, and artists. The book GET RID OF MEANING, edited by Anja Casser and Matias Viegener, is the first comprehensive publication on Acker’s work from an artistic and literary perspective. It includes previously unpublished material from Acker’s personal archive and other collections. The publication is the compilation of a multipart research project including an exhibition and a symposium at Badischer Kunstverein in Karlsruhe.https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
#AnjaCasser #BadischerKunstverein #essays #experimentalWriting #feminism #feminist #KathyAcker #MatiasViegener #novels #plagiarist #poems #postPunk #postmodernist -
kathy acker: get rid of meaning
https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
American author Kathy Acker was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Working through an experimental and avant-garde tradition, she wrote numerous novels, essays, poems, and novellas from the early 1970s to the late 1990s. As a postmodernist, plagiarist, and post-punk feminist, she continues to inspire generations of writers, philosophers, and artists. The book GET RID OF MEANING, edited by Anja Casser and Matias Viegener, is the first comprehensive publication on Acker’s work from an artistic and literary perspective. It includes previously unpublished material from Acker’s personal archive and other collections. The publication is the compilation of a multipart research project including an exhibition and a symposium at Badischer Kunstverein in Karlsruhe.https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
#AnjaCasser #BadischerKunstverein #essays #experimentalWriting #feminism #feminist #KathyAcker #MatiasViegener #novels #plagiarist #poems #postPunk #postmodernist -
kathy acker: get rid of meaning
https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
American author Kathy Acker was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Working through an experimental and avant-garde tradition, she wrote numerous novels, essays, poems, and novellas from the early 1970s to the late 1990s. As a postmodernist, plagiarist, and post-punk feminist, she continues to inspire generations of writers, philosophers, and artists. The book GET RID OF MEANING, edited by Anja Casser and Matias Viegener, is the first comprehensive publication on Acker’s work from an artistic and literary perspective. It includes previously unpublished material from Acker’s personal archive and other collections. The publication is the compilation of a multipart research project including an exhibition and a symposium at Badischer Kunstverein in Karlsruhe.https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
#AnjaCasser #BadischerKunstverein #essays #experimentalWriting #feminism #feminist #KathyAcker #MatiasViegener #novels #plagiarist #poems #postPunk #postmodernist -
kathy acker: get rid of meaning
https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
American author Kathy Acker was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Working through an experimental and avant-garde tradition, she wrote numerous novels, essays, poems, and novellas from the early 1970s to the late 1990s. As a postmodernist, plagiarist, and post-punk feminist, she continues to inspire generations of writers, philosophers, and artists. The book GET RID OF MEANING, edited by Anja Casser and Matias Viegener, is the first comprehensive publication on Acker’s work from an artistic and literary perspective. It includes previously unpublished material from Acker’s personal archive and other collections. The publication is the compilation of a multipart research project including an exhibition and a symposium at Badischer Kunstverein in Karlsruhe.https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
#AnjaCasser #BadischerKunstverein #essays #experimentalWriting #feminism #feminist #KathyAcker #MatiasViegener #novels #plagiarist #poems #postPunk #postmodernist -
kathy acker: get rid of meaning
https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
American author Kathy Acker was one of the most influential writers of the 20th century. Working through an experimental and avant-garde tradition, she wrote numerous novels, essays, poems, and novellas from the early 1970s to the late 1990s. As a postmodernist, plagiarist, and post-punk feminist, she continues to inspire generations of writers, philosophers, and artists. The book GET RID OF MEANING, edited by Anja Casser and Matias Viegener, is the first comprehensive publication on Acker’s work from an artistic and literary perspective. It includes previously unpublished material from Acker’s personal archive and other collections. The publication is the compilation of a multipart research project including an exhibition and a symposium at Badischer Kunstverein in Karlsruhe.https://p-u-n-c-h.ro/koenigbooks/kathy-acker-get-rid-of-meaning/
#AnjaCasser #BadischerKunstverein #essays #experimentalWriting #feminism #feminist #KathyAcker #MatiasViegener #novels #plagiarist #poems #postPunk #postmodernist -
I sold a book today!
Thank you to the person who ordered my book from Amazon.
#booksky #books #KU #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #geopolitical #mythological #darkromance #women #contemporary #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi #readingcommunity #writingcommunity #author #readers #indie -
I sold a book today!
Thank you to the person who ordered my book from Amazon.
#booksky #books #KU #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #geopolitical #mythological #darkromance #women #contemporary #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi #readingcommunity #writingcommunity #author #readers #indie -
I sold a book today!
Thank you to the person who ordered my book from Amazon.
#booksky #books #KU #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #geopolitical #mythological #darkromance #women #contemporary #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi #readingcommunity #writingcommunity #author #readers #indie -
I sold a book today!
Thank you to the person who ordered my book from Amazon.
#booksky #books #KU #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #geopolitical #mythological #darkromance #women #contemporary #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi #readingcommunity #writingcommunity #author #readers #indie -
In a land where ancient gods have fallen silent and kingdoms crumble beneath the weight of betrayal, war, and dark sorcery, destinies are forged in blood and fire.
The Shattered Kingdoms a.co/d/07eYQjuj
#booksky #books #thriller #suspense #novels #mythological #fiction #fantasy #crime #sifi #indie
The Shattered Kingdoms -
In a land where ancient gods have fallen silent and kingdoms crumble beneath the weight of betrayal, war, and dark sorcery, destinies are forged in blood and fire.
The Shattered Kingdoms a.co/d/07eYQjuj
#booksky #books #thriller #suspense #novels #mythological #fiction #fantasy #crime #sifi #indie
The Shattered Kingdoms -
In a land where ancient gods have fallen silent and kingdoms crumble beneath the weight of betrayal, war, and dark sorcery, destinies are forged in blood and fire.
The Shattered Kingdoms a.co/d/07eYQjuj
#booksky #books #thriller #suspense #novels #mythological #fiction #fantasy #crime #sifi #indie
The Shattered Kingdoms -
The Strange Power of the Dance-Floor Novel
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The Strange Power of the Dance-Floor Novel
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The Strange Power of the Dance-Floor Novel
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The Strange Power of the Dance-Floor Novel
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The Strange Power of the Dance-Floor Novel
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Some of Violet Jacob’s works are available to download as free ebooks via @gutenberg_org
4 novels: Flemington, The Sheep-Stealers, Irresolute Catherine, & The Interloper;
2 poetry collections: Bonnie Joann, and Other Poems, & Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus;
The Golden Heart, & Other Fairy Stories8/8
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/7709
#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters #VioletJacob #novels #poetry #shortstories #shortfiction #fairytales
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Some of Violet Jacob’s works are available to download as free ebooks via @gutenberg_org
4 novels: Flemington, The Sheep-Stealers, Irresolute Catherine, & The Interloper;
2 poetry collections: Bonnie Joann, and Other Poems, & Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus;
The Golden Heart, & Other Fairy Stories8/8
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/7709
#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters #VioletJacob #novels #poetry #shortstories #shortfiction #fairytales
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Some of Violet Jacob’s works are available to download as free ebooks via @gutenberg_org
4 novels: Flemington, The Sheep-Stealers, Irresolute Catherine, & The Interloper;
2 poetry collections: Bonnie Joann, and Other Poems, & Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus;
The Golden Heart, & Other Fairy Stories8/8
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/7709
#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters #VioletJacob #novels #poetry #shortstories #shortfiction #fairytales
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Some of Violet Jacob’s works are available to download as free ebooks via @gutenberg_org
4 novels: Flemington, The Sheep-Stealers, Irresolute Catherine, & The Interloper;
2 poetry collections: Bonnie Joann, and Other Poems, & Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus;
The Golden Heart, & Other Fairy Stories8/8
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/7709
#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters #VioletJacob #novels #poetry #shortstories #shortfiction #fairytales
-
Some of Violet Jacob’s works are available to download as free ebooks via @gutenberg_org
4 novels: Flemington, The Sheep-Stealers, Irresolute Catherine, & The Interloper;
2 poetry collections: Bonnie Joann, and Other Poems, & Songs of Angus and More Songs of Angus;
The Golden Heart, & Other Fairy Stories8/8
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/author/7709
#Scottish #literature #Scots #Scotslanguage #19thCentury #20thcentury #WomenWriters #VioletJacob #novels #poetry #shortstories #shortfiction #fairytales
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In a city where ancient horrors stir beneath cracked cobblestones & power-hungry tyrants rule from crimson spires, one reluctant hero stands between salvation and damnation
The Infernal City a.co/d/00hUyORz
#booksky #books #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi
The Infernal City -
In a city where ancient horrors stir beneath cracked cobblestones & power-hungry tyrants rule from crimson spires, one reluctant hero stands between salvation and damnation
The Infernal City a.co/d/00hUyORz
#booksky #books #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi
The Infernal City -
In a city where ancient horrors stir beneath cracked cobblestones & power-hungry tyrants rule from crimson spires, one reluctant hero stands between salvation and damnation
The Infernal City a.co/d/00hUyORz
#booksky #books #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi
The Infernal City -
Last day of the month going well
#booksky #books #Kindleunlimited #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #geopolitical #mythological #darkromance #women #contemporary #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi #readingcommunity #writingcommunity #author #readers #indie -
Last day of the month going well
#booksky #books #Kindleunlimited #thriller #suspense #romance #novels #geopolitical #mythological #darkromance #women #contemporary #fiction #fantasy #crime #amazon #sifi #readingcommunity #writingcommunity #author #readers #indie -
Another day in my apocalyptic horror series the Greenland Diaries. Thank you for reading my work and for continuing this dark road. It will reward you.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/08/31/the-greenland-diaries-day-73/
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Another day in my apocalyptic horror series the Greenland Diaries. Thank you for reading my work and for continuing this dark road. It will reward you.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/08/31/the-greenland-diaries-day-73/
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Another day in my apocalyptic horror series the Greenland Diaries. Thank you for reading my work and for continuing this dark road. It will reward you.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/08/31/the-greenland-diaries-day-73/
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Another day in my apocalyptic horror series the Greenland Diaries. Thank you for reading my work and for continuing this dark road. It will reward you.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/08/31/the-greenland-diaries-day-73/
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Another day in my apocalyptic horror series the Greenland Diaries. Thank you for reading my work and for continuing this dark road. It will reward you.
#writing #reading #fiction #books #horror #apocalyptic #journal #monsters #novels
https://patrickwmarshauthor.wordpress.com/2026/08/31/the-greenland-diaries-day-73/
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The Greenland Diaries: Day 73
The old world’s still as powerful as ever in my memories. I think about it every day. Usually, it’s the first thought pulling apart my sweaty eyes inside the shed. Ling, my family, the glide of normal cars on sunny pavement, or the sweet sounds of airplanes booming across the sky, all of it feels so distant and gone. Only in my dreams do they still have shapes and lines, and everything else. I’ve thought about taking enough Benadryl so I can sleep and soak up the lost world, but it just seems so cowardly.
Plus, there’s no guarantee it won’t be an elongated nightmare.
I hadn’t slept for three days until last night. I feel guilty about sleeping, like I should be in a supreme mode of grieving for my friend. My feelings are complicated about the matter. I want to cry, to sulk, to be sad and bum around, but instead I’m just angry. He couldn’t listen to me. He couldn’t value my opinion enough to not wander out into the darkness.
In all fairness, I might’ve been lured out by them if I hadn’t watched those survivors try to enter one of those moving cars. If I hadn’t watched the Unnamed appear and peel those people apart like fleshy oranges, I might already be dead.
I can’t blame Gerald for wanting things to be the way they were. I want the nightmare to end every time I wake up in the morning.
Speaking of illusions, last night there wasn’t a single streetlight or buzzing car. Nothing moved in fact, not even the wind. I don’t know why the Unnamed halted all their activity for the evening, but I can’t only assume they did it to make me wonder and worry about their next move.
Were they expecting me to charge out at them full of rage? No matter the level of grief I’m feeling from everything, I’m still not suicidal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it before. I’ve thought about it plenty. I have guns to shoot myself with, and they all work relatively well and fast. I still have respect for life. Even the Unnamed can’t take that away from me. I don’t want to die like Gerald did.
The stillness of the night caused me to sleep. I didn’t even wake up until around noon. There was a sour smell outside the shed when I woke up. Snowy started to whine outside the door. The odor was something familiar. I opened the shed slowly with the black muzzle of my M16 peeking out. There was nothing, just lines of thick grass and twisted vines with blue flowers. The scent still lingered on the hot air, and I followed its invisible trail all the way until my house.
I vomited with what I saw.
They had pulled out his body from the grave I’d dug. They left it in a bloody heap just below my front door, the exact place he was left the night before. His face was reattached to the house where it’d been previously. The flesh, blood, and muscle were covered with dirt. It wasn’t an illusion, but Gerald’s real corpse from before. They were removing the body from its burial spot and leaving it around my house to torture me.
What were these things? Why did they think this way?
I took the body back to the hole I’d originally dug. I won’t have Gerald’s resting place desecrated repeatedly. I know they won’t stop. I burned the body with some gasoline from the shed. I made the fire high and long, so the heat would melt everything away. I couldn’t be around it while it burned. The smell made me sick, staggered, and nearly faint. After the flames died down, I covered the ashes with more pictures, dirt, and rocks. I wonder why they did this.
It was already enough that he was dead and that they’d killed him.
#apocalyptic #books #fiction #horror #journals #monsters #novels #reading #writing -
The Greenland Diaries: Day 73
The old world’s still as powerful as ever in my memories. I think about it every day. Usually, it’s the first thought pulling apart my sweaty eyes inside the shed. Ling, my family, the glide of normal cars on sunny pavement, or the sweet sounds of airplanes booming across the sky, all of it feels so distant and gone. Only in my dreams do they still have shapes and lines, and everything else. I’ve thought about taking enough Benadryl so I can sleep and soak up the lost world, but it just seems so cowardly.
Plus, there’s no guarantee it won’t be an elongated nightmare.
I hadn’t slept for three days until last night. I feel guilty about sleeping, like I should be in a supreme mode of grieving for my friend. My feelings are complicated about the matter. I want to cry, to sulk, to be sad and bum around, but instead I’m just angry. He couldn’t listen to me. He couldn’t value my opinion enough to not wander out into the darkness.
In all fairness, I might’ve been lured out by them if I hadn’t watched those survivors try to enter one of those moving cars. If I hadn’t watched the Unnamed appear and peel those people apart like fleshy oranges, I might already be dead.
I can’t blame Gerald for wanting things to be the way they were. I want the nightmare to end every time I wake up in the morning.
Speaking of illusions, last night there wasn’t a single streetlight or buzzing car. Nothing moved in fact, not even the wind. I don’t know why the Unnamed halted all their activity for the evening, but I can’t only assume they did it to make me wonder and worry about their next move.
Were they expecting me to charge out at them full of rage? No matter the level of grief I’m feeling from everything, I’m still not suicidal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it before. I’ve thought about it plenty. I have guns to shoot myself with, and they all work relatively well and fast. I still have respect for life. Even the Unnamed can’t take that away from me. I don’t want to die like Gerald did.
The stillness of the night caused me to sleep. I didn’t even wake up until around noon. There was a sour smell outside the shed when I woke up. Snowy started to whine outside the door. The odor was something familiar. I opened the shed slowly with the black muzzle of my M16 peeking out. There was nothing, just lines of thick grass and twisted vines with blue flowers. The scent still lingered on the hot air, and I followed its invisible trail all the way until my house.
I vomited with what I saw.
They had pulled out his body from the grave I’d dug. They left it in a bloody heap just below my front door, the exact place he was left the night before. His face was reattached to the house where it’d been previously. The flesh, blood, and muscle were covered with dirt. It wasn’t an illusion, but Gerald’s real corpse from before. They were removing the body from its burial spot and leaving it around my house to torture me.
What were these things? Why did they think this way?
I took the body back to the hole I’d originally dug. I won’t have Gerald’s resting place desecrated repeatedly. I know they won’t stop. I burned the body with some gasoline from the shed. I made the fire high and long, so the heat would melt everything away. I couldn’t be around it while it burned. The smell made me sick, staggered, and nearly faint. After the flames died down, I covered the ashes with more pictures, dirt, and rocks. I wonder why they did this.
It was already enough that he was dead and that they’d killed him.
#apocalyptic #books #fiction #horror #journals #monsters #novels #reading #writing -
The Greenland Diaries: Day 73
The old world’s still as powerful as ever in my memories. I think about it every day. Usually, it’s the first thought pulling apart my sweaty eyes inside the shed. Ling, my family, the glide of normal cars on sunny pavement, or the sweet sounds of airplanes booming across the sky, all of it feels so distant and gone. Only in my dreams do they still have shapes and lines, and everything else. I’ve thought about taking enough Benadryl so I can sleep and soak up the lost world, but it just seems so cowardly.
Plus, there’s no guarantee it won’t be an elongated nightmare.
I hadn’t slept for three days until last night. I feel guilty about sleeping, like I should be in a supreme mode of grieving for my friend. My feelings are complicated about the matter. I want to cry, to sulk, to be sad and bum around, but instead I’m just angry. He couldn’t listen to me. He couldn’t value my opinion enough to not wander out into the darkness.
In all fairness, I might’ve been lured out by them if I hadn’t watched those survivors try to enter one of those moving cars. If I hadn’t watched the Unnamed appear and peel those people apart like fleshy oranges, I might already be dead.
I can’t blame Gerald for wanting things to be the way they were. I want the nightmare to end every time I wake up in the morning.
Speaking of illusions, last night there wasn’t a single streetlight or buzzing car. Nothing moved in fact, not even the wind. I don’t know why the Unnamed halted all their activity for the evening, but I can’t only assume they did it to make me wonder and worry about their next move.
Were they expecting me to charge out at them full of rage? No matter the level of grief I’m feeling from everything, I’m still not suicidal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it before. I’ve thought about it plenty. I have guns to shoot myself with, and they all work relatively well and fast. I still have respect for life. Even the Unnamed can’t take that away from me. I don’t want to die like Gerald did.
The stillness of the night caused me to sleep. I didn’t even wake up until around noon. There was a sour smell outside the shed when I woke up. Snowy started to whine outside the door. The odor was something familiar. I opened the shed slowly with the black muzzle of my M16 peeking out. There was nothing, just lines of thick grass and twisted vines with blue flowers. The scent still lingered on the hot air, and I followed its invisible trail all the way until my house.
I vomited with what I saw.
They had pulled out his body from the grave I’d dug. They left it in a bloody heap just below my front door, the exact place he was left the night before. His face was reattached to the house where it’d been previously. The flesh, blood, and muscle were covered with dirt. It wasn’t an illusion, but Gerald’s real corpse from before. They were removing the body from its burial spot and leaving it around my house to torture me.
What were these things? Why did they think this way?
I took the body back to the hole I’d originally dug. I won’t have Gerald’s resting place desecrated repeatedly. I know they won’t stop. I burned the body with some gasoline from the shed. I made the fire high and long, so the heat would melt everything away. I couldn’t be around it while it burned. The smell made me sick, staggered, and nearly faint. After the flames died down, I covered the ashes with more pictures, dirt, and rocks. I wonder why they did this.
It was already enough that he was dead and that they’d killed him.
#apocalyptic #books #fiction #horror #journals #monsters #novels #reading #writing -
The Greenland Diaries: Day 73
The old world’s still as powerful as ever in my memories. I think about it every day. Usually, it’s the first thought pulling apart my sweaty eyes inside the shed. Ling, my family, the glide of normal cars on sunny pavement, or the sweet sounds of airplanes booming across the sky, all of it feels so distant and gone. Only in my dreams do they still have shapes and lines, and everything else. I’ve thought about taking enough Benadryl so I can sleep and soak up the lost world, but it just seems so cowardly.
Plus, there’s no guarantee it won’t be an elongated nightmare.
I hadn’t slept for three days until last night. I feel guilty about sleeping, like I should be in a supreme mode of grieving for my friend. My feelings are complicated about the matter. I want to cry, to sulk, to be sad and bum around, but instead I’m just angry. He couldn’t listen to me. He couldn’t value my opinion enough to not wander out into the darkness.
In all fairness, I might’ve been lured out by them if I hadn’t watched those survivors try to enter one of those moving cars. If I hadn’t watched the Unnamed appear and peel those people apart like fleshy oranges, I might already be dead.
I can’t blame Gerald for wanting things to be the way they were. I want the nightmare to end every time I wake up in the morning.
Speaking of illusions, last night there wasn’t a single streetlight or buzzing car. Nothing moved in fact, not even the wind. I don’t know why the Unnamed halted all their activity for the evening, but I can’t only assume they did it to make me wonder and worry about their next move.
Were they expecting me to charge out at them full of rage? No matter the level of grief I’m feeling from everything, I’m still not suicidal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it before. I’ve thought about it plenty. I have guns to shoot myself with, and they all work relatively well and fast. I still have respect for life. Even the Unnamed can’t take that away from me. I don’t want to die like Gerald did.
The stillness of the night caused me to sleep. I didn’t even wake up until around noon. There was a sour smell outside the shed when I woke up. Snowy started to whine outside the door. The odor was something familiar. I opened the shed slowly with the black muzzle of my M16 peeking out. There was nothing, just lines of thick grass and twisted vines with blue flowers. The scent still lingered on the hot air, and I followed its invisible trail all the way until my house.
I vomited with what I saw.
They had pulled out his body from the grave I’d dug. They left it in a bloody heap just below my front door, the exact place he was left the night before. His face was reattached to the house where it’d been previously. The flesh, blood, and muscle were covered with dirt. It wasn’t an illusion, but Gerald’s real corpse from before. They were removing the body from its burial spot and leaving it around my house to torture me.
What were these things? Why did they think this way?
I took the body back to the hole I’d originally dug. I won’t have Gerald’s resting place desecrated repeatedly. I know they won’t stop. I burned the body with some gasoline from the shed. I made the fire high and long, so the heat would melt everything away. I couldn’t be around it while it burned. The smell made me sick, staggered, and nearly faint. After the flames died down, I covered the ashes with more pictures, dirt, and rocks. I wonder why they did this.
It was already enough that he was dead and that they’d killed him.
#apocalyptic #books #fiction #horror #journals #monsters #novels #reading #writing -
The Greenland Diaries: Day 73
The old world’s still as powerful as ever in my memories. I think about it every day. Usually, it’s the first thought pulling apart my sweaty eyes inside the shed. Ling, my family, the glide of normal cars on sunny pavement, or the sweet sounds of airplanes booming across the sky, all of it feels so distant and gone. Only in my dreams do they still have shapes and lines, and everything else. I’ve thought about taking enough Benadryl so I can sleep and soak up the lost world, but it just seems so cowardly.
Plus, there’s no guarantee it won’t be an elongated nightmare.
I hadn’t slept for three days until last night. I feel guilty about sleeping, like I should be in a supreme mode of grieving for my friend. My feelings are complicated about the matter. I want to cry, to sulk, to be sad and bum around, but instead I’m just angry. He couldn’t listen to me. He couldn’t value my opinion enough to not wander out into the darkness.
In all fairness, I might’ve been lured out by them if I hadn’t watched those survivors try to enter one of those moving cars. If I hadn’t watched the Unnamed appear and peel those people apart like fleshy oranges, I might already be dead.
I can’t blame Gerald for wanting things to be the way they were. I want the nightmare to end every time I wake up in the morning.
Speaking of illusions, last night there wasn’t a single streetlight or buzzing car. Nothing moved in fact, not even the wind. I don’t know why the Unnamed halted all their activity for the evening, but I can’t only assume they did it to make me wonder and worry about their next move.
Were they expecting me to charge out at them full of rage? No matter the level of grief I’m feeling from everything, I’m still not suicidal. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about it before. I’ve thought about it plenty. I have guns to shoot myself with, and they all work relatively well and fast. I still have respect for life. Even the Unnamed can’t take that away from me. I don’t want to die like Gerald did.
The stillness of the night caused me to sleep. I didn’t even wake up until around noon. There was a sour smell outside the shed when I woke up. Snowy started to whine outside the door. The odor was something familiar. I opened the shed slowly with the black muzzle of my M16 peeking out. There was nothing, just lines of thick grass and twisted vines with blue flowers. The scent still lingered on the hot air, and I followed its invisible trail all the way until my house.
I vomited with what I saw.
They had pulled out his body from the grave I’d dug. They left it in a bloody heap just below my front door, the exact place he was left the night before. His face was reattached to the house where it’d been previously. The flesh, blood, and muscle were covered with dirt. It wasn’t an illusion, but Gerald’s real corpse from before. They were removing the body from its burial spot and leaving it around my house to torture me.
What were these things? Why did they think this way?
I took the body back to the hole I’d originally dug. I won’t have Gerald’s resting place desecrated repeatedly. I know they won’t stop. I burned the body with some gasoline from the shed. I made the fire high and long, so the heat would melt everything away. I couldn’t be around it while it burned. The smell made me sick, staggered, and nearly faint. After the flames died down, I covered the ashes with more pictures, dirt, and rocks. I wonder why they did this.
It was already enough that he was dead and that they’d killed him.
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Are you a citizen or a zero? The choice may not be yours to make...
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Are you a citizen or a zero? The choice may not be yours to make...
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Are you a citizen or a zero? The choice may not be yours to make...
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Are you a citizen or a zero? The choice may not be yours to make...
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Are you a citizen or a zero? The choice may not be yours to make...
