A Bedlamite

         A Bedlamite

                                      A Novel
Life long Rush fan with an affinity for astronomy, existential philosophy and cosmic horror.
Read part of A Bedlamite in Shadow

a 15 minute read
Summer is the loneliest of seasons. The silence of winter brings more comfort than laughter beneath the sunny sky. So scribbled Thomas one night, upon awaking from a terrible dream. Chernosoren, one of the Shedim, loomed silently at the foot of his bed.
Ignoring the dark presence, Thomas continued to write down the content of the dream:
Time had reversed itself
On that cold, embracing night
When a sudden snowstorm
Animated the hibernating land
We became children again
On that cold, embracing night
A kingdom of ice we built
And a white cannonball bomb defense
And we played
So far away from death
Wrapped within the warm shelter
Of a newfound innocence
When We Found Us
He then placed his red crayon on the table beside his bed. Closing his eyes, he was lulled back to sleep by the desperate refrains of screaming and wailing that echoed throughout the corridors of Aurora Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
Nearly naked and soon to be smothered in winter’s sting of white, the trees lamented the memory of spring, like prisoners waking from dreams of warm summer freedom, to find themselves suddenly pressed against the cold walls of concrete cells.
Severed from their branches, and courted by the autumn wind, the leaves were disrupted mid-descent, and enticed into a somber dance. Dressed in gowns adorned in shades of auburn, magenta and yellow, these graceful ballerinas were spun by their invisible partner into a whirlwind frenzy, before being rejected and discarded in all directions–some landing upon the road, others upon the mass graves of their predecessors. Moaning to be released from this bondage, the trees were united in a silent dirge as winter’s encroaching winter’s voice proudly sang a mocking counterpoint.
Headlights from an approaching car suddenly illuminated this somber performance—the passengers providing an audience.
To their left, gradually falling away from them as they ascended the narrow road along the edge of Dunstan’s Mount, the city of Douglas began to done her façade of nightly hibernation. From this vantage point, the city appeared as a calm industrial swampland reflecting the glimmer of synthetic stars upon its still waters, as syncopated lights flashed on and then went out in various positions upon her grid-like surface—a microchip scar malevolently placed upon the earth. Looming to the east of this carcass of land grew tumorous arrays of smoke stacks, their summits emanating grey clouds that laced the nighttime air like a ghostly mist over water, blanketing the grid.
From above, the moon gazed down from its celestial autonomy. On this night, its surface of craters and seas composed the illusion of two vacant, sad eyes with a mouth frozen in a perpetual cry. Off in the distance, almost indifferent, floated his sister Mahvash, whose remoteness from her brother made her appear half of his size.
“I hope that I get some good shots before the storm arrives,” Devin said from behind the wheel to his passenger, Blodwen,…





This one is a master of elegant expression of language.


About unholypursuit

A. White, a former librarian who is also long time member of Romantic Time and Publisher's Weekly. A. White has been writing for over fifteen years. She took classes in creative writing in college, specializing in ancient myths and legends. and at a local community center while living in Chicago. In college she won the national contest to verbally list every country in the world, it's capital and ingenious language. Her works are mainly horror, fantasy, extreme, and sci-fi as well as, as some may says, "the truly strange predicament and puzzling." Books that I've written are "Clash with the Immortals, and eleven others which are part of the "Unholy Pursuit saga,". She has been working on the Chronicles since 2007. She wished to complete them all before introducing them to public so the readers wouldn't have to for the continuation to be written. The ideas of the book come from classic literature such as whose work greatly influence the world world such as Homer, Sophocles, Herodotus, Euripides, Socrates, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, Plato, Aristotle and many more. The "Book of Enoch" influenced the usage of Azazael as a main character and love interest. I created the primary main character from the Chronicle of Saints. I wanted to show them as real flesh and blood with thoughts, desires and yearning as any human. Not as they are so often depicted. So I created one of my own to show her as a real human that everyone can relate to.
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One Response to A Bedlamite

  1. Pingback: A Bedlamite | The Novel: UnHoly Pursuit: Devil on my Trail

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