AC Lit Supplement

7/30/2019 AC Lit Supplement

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Native Soil by redguard

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This Man Belongs to Me! by redguard


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52

down at the corner stand.

No folds, no creases, no

tears. Dami was afraid to

touch them.

Since the whole side-

show had begun hours--

maybe centuriesbefore,

there had been no time to

sit and absorb. No time to

take it all in. Now in the

grim silence of what

looked like a waiting

room lifted from the

U.S.S. Titanic, Dami

heard them clearly.

Voices, whispers really.

Intangible little things

that offered hints and

direction. The more she

dissolved, the louder they

became. And the louder

they became, the more

insistent they were about

obtaining the flesh.

Floating absently to a large

hallway mirror, she found no

reflection staring back at her.

Wait, yes, she could see a pale

image of her heart, a butterfly

sized slip of a thing pulsing and

beating, pulsing and beating in

what once was her ribcage.

Down to essence, down to what

is. The whispers were louder

now, demands really, spiritual

spectators warning of the evils

of oblivion. Like disembodied

football coaches, they all de-

manded the same thing. Walk

through the mirror! Walk

through the mirror!

Slipping quickly through

the gleaming surface, she took

on weight again. Through the

looking glass, spiritual anomaly

once again became warm-

blooded looker. No longer a

poltergeist, Dami's first true

lungful of underworld air was

rather unremarkable. She ex-

pected plenty of sulfur and all

she got was new carpet scent.

She was in a long hallway,

walking down a ribbon of red.

Mirrors stationed every six feet

winked at her as she strode by.

Her hair was richer and darker

than before, bouncier even.

Betty bangs apparent, she'd

filled out in all the right places.

Can We Be Frank? by redguard

9

Beautiful DeathBeautiful DeathBeautiful DeathBeautiful DeathBy V^elizebeth^V^

I.

Oh beautiful death

how I love thy last breath

How you draw them in

and pull them close

and just as they begin to trust

You take away the one breath

they have left to give.

Sweeping them away into eternity

Like a flock of bats into their cave

Oh your dark romantic justice

Is no longer lost on me

For I will live forever

And bring death in

The wind wherever I shall go

Angel by Jacqui Stewart


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Leaving scars on others and I bleed out insomnia

and distribute to the masses,

This cauldron wields its heart at the masses and follows me around

carded by a red wheel barrel,Bubbling up,

Loving midnight dances on the beach,

Torches that feel like a fly buzzing around my head,

Lead to believe that these dreams were untitled,

File the nails of lonesome piles,

Of Sodimoric titles,

Like the dead deaths of leaping wishes distributed by the incarnates,

Hate to know about the wars that glow.

I know my love is liquid and my heart is your mirror,

I curl with both arms around you,Holding you true,

I live life like it was 10000 BC and I wore green leaves,

Granted wishes,

Wish to tackle your hardly bled ideals,

Walls will have to wait until another day,

Leaving this to the professionals and liking my hair gray,

Married to the blade.

Mr. Smith by gabiMONSTROSITY

49

Szzandra had once been told by

a spirit in the know that the old

gorge could drink in all the

oceans of the physical universewithout burping. The thing was

one long sheer drop to oblivion.

One hell of a fall if an angel

happened to have their wings

shredded in combat with a de-

mon. Looking over the crum-

bling southern edge, Szzandra

got the feeling there were wing-

less angels still falling and falling

down there right now.Poking Dami in the back,

Rach smiled and nodded to-

ward the long ribbon of iron

and marble that shot across the

gorge. I can't walk on Bel-

phon's Pass. Not yet. Szzandra

will take you in from here to

Lucy's land. You belong there.

Trust me.

Come, Szzandra eclipsed

Rach, take my arm. The walk islong, but if we hurry, the

wraiths that lurk here may not

hear us cross. Pulling Dami's

ethereal body close to hers,

Szzandra hurried her across the

impossibly long span, eyes wary

of both the passing clouds and

unfathomable depths below

them. Once or twice she heard

herself telling the girl about themany wars that had raged here,

how the rift formed, how beauti-

ful Hell once was. Rach had

long faded from view, and when

Dami thought about it, so had

her past life. Being human was a

pain in the ass, but being some-

Till Death Us Do Part by gabiMONSTROSITY


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nearby oak tree, Dami could

hear her talking to someone,

someone she couldn't see. She

hoped it wasn't Ray Phillips, theowner of the oak and the house

behind it. Ray owned a gun,

went to the Baptist church, and

would come out shooting if

provoked. She didn't suppose

buckshot would hurt her now,

but she was fairly certain that

Rach could hurt Ray. She was

spooky like that.

Sighing in the wind, theoak fussed and complained at

the ghosts murmuring under its

shadow, breathing down their

slender necks, shooing them

away back into the bright testa-

ment of the cold-white street

lights.

A congregation of moths

buzzed and bumped at the light,

filling the street with large, som-ber shadows, setting the stage

for Rach's causal laughter. Nod-

ding and giggling, Dami walked

side by side with the most beau-

tiful redhead she had ever seen.

Looking up, the strange woman

smiled at her, large green eyes

curiously studying Dami from

head to toe. Turning back to

Rach, the redhead nodded

quickly, speaking in a foreign

tongue, something with lots of

quick hisses and zzaazzs in it.

C'mon, Rach motioned,

reaching out for Dami.

Szzandra's going to open up a

rift to Lucy's place. It ain't

gonna hurt, but it's going to get

real dark and cold for a spell.

Just hold onto my hand, and

we'll walk you through the scary

spots.Why's she so dressed up?

Dami whispered, nodding to

Szzandra's bright red gown and

flaming fingernails.

She's one of Lucy's girls,

she dresses like she wants. On

Earth you all dress like you're

told. In Hell, deep in the Dim-

men Murk, folks dress like they

want. Good enough?Looking over her shoulder,

Szzandra winked at Dami, si-

lencing her. Turning back, she

planted her feet apart, shoulder

width, and with a sudden whir

of her hands, something that

reminded Dami of moves from

a kung fu movie, Szzandra

brought her hands to her shoul-

dersindex fingers upandpressed straight out, locking her

elbows, arms parallel to the

street, her breath hissing as she

pushed against the night.

The shimmer in the air

began a meter from Szzandra's

tall frame, a ripple in the time-

space continuum that danced

and glistened in the moon light.

Szzandra's will made the hole

larger still, larger, until it

stretched tighter than a sheet of

cellophane. Dimpling against

the tissue-thin surface, the winds

from the Dimmen Murk bulged

at it, insistent and willful. Flut-

tering, the veil weakened, buck-

led outward like liquid glass,

15FrankEdgeJr.

by

JaimieHashey


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Scaling

Castle

Dracula

byredguard

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Willful AmnesiaWillful AmnesiaWillful AmnesiaWillful AmnesiaBy Caleb Mauphin

1.1.1.1.

Claras mind was still on hermorning newspaper as she

scrambled into work on that wet

yet sunny morning. She kept

running the news stories

through her mind, like a well-tuned and perfected clockwork

rotation.

The news that morning

had been the usual crap about

the threats from the East. It

was the almost standard editori-

alized warnings that Stalins

heirs, despite their peaceful

coexistence rhetoric, were

threatening nuclear war anddestruction and that the United

States offered the only safety

from the horror in the other

part of their divided country.

There had also been news

that an underground society

had been caught shipping in

homosexual pornography from

France and that the trial would

be proceeding in a few monthsagainst this secret coven of

sodomites.

There had been a feature

piece about the upcoming elec-

tions in the United States and

the candidates to lead the center

of the new free world she had

the privilege of living in, though

her Eastern countryfolk did not.

Though she ran such

memorized nonsense through

her mind, constantly through-

out the day, it all really meant

nothing to her. This was simply

a trick she had invented, for

keeping a slight appearance of

sanity about her, as she traveled

through the dull workday

haunted by memories and other

things she sought peace and rest

from.

In some ways, Clara felt

that she didnt really even exist

anymore. She hadnt really ex-

isted since a certain point in her

childhood. On one particular

day, the world had grown ex-

tremely dark and remained so.

Now the darkness had

receded a bit; the world was no

longer the miserable black it

had been for a while when she

felt death following her in every

step of lifes journey. Yet the

darkness still lingered, the fad-ing took a halt in a dull grey of

hopelessness and boredom.

She wasnt alive anymore

in her mind. She was only living

in the biological sense. Every

exhaled breath came out of her

walking corpse. Every heartbeat

pumped from within the chest

of the dead woman who went

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