Certain days become moments of uncommon fortune. Today, luck has met you here. This blog has morphed into a vessel and extend its gangplank to you.
Welcome to Scenescaping, a venture into uncharted stories where the readers suggest tale fragments and an author navigates us through them and beyond.
Shall we take on fantasy realms, distant galaxies, a psychopath, vampires, werewolves, the future, the past, espionage, contemporary social struggles, or a combination of two? I look forward to your suggestions as we peer across the horizon together. To embark on our first journey, the first mate must raise our mainsail and shove us off …
Stone harvested from earth’s deepest rock veins shimmers in the early rays. The master craftsman caresses its surface as if feeling the art throb from within the raw material. He carves away the excess, letting it return to dust. Expressions twist and leap from the lifeless obelisks. Countless faces writhe and wriggle to life without a chisel mark to mar their character. From the mischievous to menacing, each winged sentry remains unique.
Fierce talons and whimsical grins hold darkness at bay. Many live under their protection. Few take note of these unseemly heroes. Humans pass by at a distance and fail to appreciate their exquisite features. Most people miss the activities of their guardians. For it is in the witching hours, when mortals rest within walls or tombs, that things of the earth’s depths come alive.
The clock marks the devilish hour now, as it strikes three hours past midnight. Dreamers toss on their pillows, but do not hear its chime. Nor does the unlucky soul who wanders through the weedy lawn. Alone …