Musician in training: Jeff Bronner

Being an older brother I have done my fair share of mischievous deeds to give my younger siblings a difficult time. I have told them enough fictitious stories, such as them being adopted, that I have probably scared them psychologically in some fashion. However, my little brothers have survived their hazing and are on their path of becoming the men they will be, but I digress. It is time to dive into the real reasoning behind this blog post and give respect where respect is due.

Banished Hex

Complementary 

Photo: Terry Tabors/ Dash Files

The Sea of Atir enclosed the brown-eyed boy from three sides. The vehement sun beamed down upon the clear waters and refracted light into the boy’s eye goggles. I’m dying of thirst, the boy thought, but I mustn’t drink from the Dream Pond. Instead, he reached down and grabbed a metallic flask that was tied to his waist. It was almost empty, but it contained enough liquid for sustenance. As he sipped the final droplets of freshwater from the hip flask, he stared into the sea. The Dream Pond was well known for a multitude of reasons. One such thing was its waters: clear as crystal, warm to the touch, poisonous if ingested. It was said to be the weapon of choice for assassins and abused wives. 

Banished Hex

A Tale of Blue

Photo: Terry Tabors/Dash Files

“Kill them all!” King Dzat yelled from his mounted throne of horns and feathers. Covered in black wool and furs, the king commanded his army from atop the back of a great mammoth standing larger than the walls that stood between his army and a multitude of riches. Due to the untimely death of Lord Hortix, the Kingdom of Tarpie was defenseless save for a few men who had given their souls for the sacraments to defend their homeland. It was known to all that a man who coveted a sacrament could waste a battalion of armed soldiers with relative ease. King Dzat, however, arrived with a battalion plus one.

Love From Afar

Lauren

Bonfire

Photo: lizandryan.com

      By the time Lauren and Kat had arrived, the fire towered over the house. On the drive up the dirt road that pretended to be a driveway, it looked as if the home had been set ablaze. Fifty-three people littered the backyard with nothing guiding them but a roaring bonfire that marked the midpoint between Mark’s house and the utter darkness filled with a thick forest of soldier pines and bramble bushes. The house occupied another group of ten; a loud game of beer pong in the kitchen seemed to take precedence over the cleanliness of the abode. The kitchen was buried beneath plates and cups lined with crusted food and stagnant liquids. Red plastic cups dotted here and there, rank with the smell of warm keg beer. Kat parked her Toyota Tacoma in the front yard and started toward the house. Lauren followed quickly behind. Two men holding several red cups greeted them at the door.

Banished Hex

Photo: Terry Tabors/Dash Files

Prologue

Beyond the Volcanoes of Corallik, the wet mud and ash road finally broke at the edge of the barren plateau. A bottomless cavity stopped the four travelers from continuing their journey on horseback. The tired horses gave a temperamental whinny as the sheets of rain cascaded down from the dark skies; black clouds were momentarily ripped white by bright slashes of lightning. One of the weary riders, a colossal man with blue eyes, dismounted and looked through the storm. Beyond the precipice was a large and ominous tower, a spiraled structure of twisted metal stretched outward in a hazy gleam of grey metal.  Standing above the tower was a hooded figure no taller than a young boy. His grey beard, however, gave away his age. In his eyes was stillness, a red stillness that both welcomed and despised the wanderers’ approach.

Love From Afar

Ashlyn

Freak

 Photo: www.kurzweilai.net

      

      “I’m sorry, babe. I wish I could make it to your graduation, but I’m not feeling too hot.” Ashlyn sounded sad and sickly, her words separated by stiff coughs. She was twirling curls of her blonde hair with a slender index finger. There was a wicked crest smile on her face as she scrolled through her Facebook feed on her iPad.

Love From Afar

Troy

Changes

Photo: blog.sfgate.com

      I can’t believe I grew these things for so long, Troy thought to himself as he stood, head cocked to one side, in front the mirror in the downstairs bathroom of his two story apartment. He held a pair of titanium Clauss scissors with his left hand. Every three seconds or so, there would be a thick snip and a long snake of matted hair would fall into the marble sink below the mirror. Troy was cutting five year-old hair. Dreadlocks, or “locks” as he called them, were a symbol. Although he himself was not Rastafarian, he respected his father’s cultural beliefs. If Troy was to be honest, which he usually was, he would say that the religion of his pops was just another excuse to rebel and smoke pot. This day, however, was the beginning of something new.