Tuesday, January 29, 2013


The Far Away
The radio remained stubbornly silent. Only brief moments of static noise seemed to threaten the eerie quietness.
“Move the antenna,” insisted Mary for the third time.
“I have done that already, a million times. It’s no use. The radio is dead.”
“It was working before. We need to find a higher place, we need to…”
But she was interrupted by Peter, annoyed and impatient.
“Mary, this is not the radio. The radio is dead. We have to find out what is making this noise or we are finished. Do you understand that? We are finished. Everyone is probably dead already. It’s the end of the world, I tell you.”
“I hate to break it to you, Peter, but it’s not the end of the world if there are at least two of us.”
Mary’s usual pragmatism seemed a bit too excessive for the dramatic situation they were in.
Isolated in a desolate refugees’ camp, they had struggled to survive there for a few months.
The perimeter was now closed and protected. When they arrived, the camp was empty, which made Peter prophesize a dreadful end for both of them. Mary dismissed his fears and went on to gather all the food and any useful objects she could find.
“We would’ve seen them, if they were around.”
“Mary, just shut up, ok. For a minute, could you please just shut up and let me think?”
She sulked and walked away, hiding in the shrubbery behind the main building where she stayed for part of the afternoon while Peter rummaged through boxes stored in the barn looking for something.
A piercing scream prompted Mary to run towards Peter. He was on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth, his eyes rolled back.
“I told you. We are dead…”
When Mary looked up, a miniature alien drone shot a tiny needle at her neck. She felt weak
The drone buzzed. It sounded like static.

Monday, January 28, 2013



A bit, a bite, a flow of a flight,
A flight, I’m right, I’m right.
A whisper, a moan, a sigh,
Oh my, oh my… Oh my! 
Writer's Dash

Sunday, January 27, 2013


Machinima Open Studio Project

Come over for tea, and they did. Cinnamon.

We have all been there, she said and they thought she was slipping into the abyss of an improbable mental decay.

The fireflies have lit up the garden yesterday, she said and they thought “hallucinations”. She was still so young.

Oh, and I had the most refreshing dinner with your cousin Edwin, she continued, and they thought “Edwin is dead”.

When they left, Edwin’s spectral figure glided down the stairs coming from the attic. It’s cold up there, he complained, and she pointed at the teapot and replied “they just wouldn’t leave!”

Wednesday, January 23, 2013



Patrick’s last trip took him farther into inhospitable lands, where the line between life and death was barely visible. He had travelled the world all his life, yet the final challenge, he thought, was to go back to that first feeling of triumph, of heroic discovery. As fragile as everything seemed to be, his plans, his trip, his health, he was determined. The flight took many hours, the car ride a handful of tortuous fights against gravity’s merciless determination. The worst was the walk, miles and miles, through tropical jungle, constantly tripping over nature, struggling to overcome feverish thoughts about unreal certainties and long lost recollections. Patrick knew he would succeed. He knew he would reach his goal, and the goal was nothing more and nothing less than to wander about with an apparent plan that in reality was just a broadly defined destination. What caught Patrick off guard was the fact that unknowingly his wanderlust turned into a straight line between his past and his present, a trip to see his lifelong friend Tom who had stayed all these years in the jungle. Patrick, the archeologist, was going back to see Tom. Sometimes home is not where we were born, where we bought a house, where we have lived for ages. Sometimes home is a hug from an old friend.

Monday, January 21, 2013


Avatar Games

A moment, a fraction, a glimpse into a world of togetherness triggered a snapshot of love. She held her soul close to her heart sheltering it away from the curiosity of others. No sum of money. Her soul was her shield. While treading under the spotlights of fame, her resolve slowly faded away, only a few drops of color left spilling from the corners of her stance. A storm. She pulled the collar of her coat up to protect her uncertainty and walked forward pretending to be fearless when inside a wave of panic took over. The paparazzi pointed their cameras at her, a flash blitzed. Momentary blindness and she recalled her childhood. That day when a phone call made her parents so happy, that day her life changed forever. That was the last day. Interviews followed auditions, films followed television series, a roller-coaster of public events forever crushing the child who held her soul close to her adult heart.

Sunday, January 20, 2013



When they got to the gas station, Bert had an idea, and ideas do tend to be dangerous, especially coming from Bert.

“Let’s rob this joint.”

At first, the other ones laughed. They were just going for a ride.

Then Ian changed his mind and, in a matter of minutes, all agreed it was brilliant. Rob grabbed a stick from the crates lying about. Dave slid his cap backwards. They were ready. They walked in. They screamed, threatened, took the money. They got famous. Their name was fierce, BIRD.

Oh, they got famous alright… in jail, and it wasn’t pretty.