So you can read my books

Saturday, January 8, 2011


{"Imagination is the eye of the soul."

-Mark Twain.}

Fallen, the last Sidhe, awakens in a British insane asylum with no memory of how she came to be there.

Earth has been invaded. But the good are too busy pointing their missiles at one another to notice.

It is up to Evil to defend this world's shores against alien invaders. Why? Evil considers Man their toys. And Evil does not share.

Here is the beginning of that tale told through the eyes of Fallen :

The spark of an anguished soul flew past me in the night. I shivered as her light drew back the curtains of my mind.

I would have cursed her had she lingered. But Death was impatient. Words breathed through the mists of my awareness.

"Darkness yet in light. To live half dead, a living death. And buried but yet more miserable. My self. My sepulcher."

My mind roughly brushed aside the dry leaves of Milton's broodings. No time for self-pity.

Yet too much time for all eternity. Enough! I was here for a reason.

And as always that reason was death. Always death. The why was unimportant. There was always a logical why for Abbadon.

The where, however, was another matter. And when might illuminate the present darkness of my mind as well.

Keeping my eyes closed, though tempting, would but delay the inevitable. I opened them.

Only a peek through slit eyes. After all, my ears told me that I was not alone. I frowned. A hospital room?

I reached out with more than my ears. My spirit shuddered as the ragged claws of madness raked it from down the hall.

An asylum. A Sidhe inprisoned within a madhouse. How utterly fitting.

I ran my long fingers along the rough sheet beneath me. A state asylum obviously. Even better.

But what state? My awakening consciousness was stubborn in its ignorance.

I bunched up the sheet in my fist in hot frustration. A sharp intake of breath from the next bed. Her scent came to me.

I smiled. And the air in the room grew chill. Only a human.

And I?

What was I?

From the corner of my eye I saw the human in the next bed begin to shiver. No matter. The human was not important. Time and place. They were.

I flicked my eyes to the barred window. The glass. Thick, dense. Like the humans who made it.

I studied the face reflected in the barred window.

High cheekbones, seemingly intent on bursting up and out of flesh that shimmered as if coated with stardust.

A living waterfall of honey-wheat hair, looking more like a lion's mane than any other earthly word I could use.

My eyes.

I shivered looking at them though they were my own.

Large, slanted fae eyes chilling even me with their lack of warmth or mercy. Their color the burnt-out ends of ancient days.

Under my fingertips a pebble. I nodded. A mere speck of stone. But it would do.

The pebble shot from between my thumb and forefinger like a bullet. An electric circuit died, wailing its death song in tones higher than humans could hear.

I smiled like a wolf. We would have visitors soon.

More the pity for them.

I drew in a breath from the cold breeze bleeding from the wounded window. The sharp tang of Autumn.

Oak. Ash. Thorn. Decay.

Rotting leaves, mottled in bright hues of strangled life. The dark and bloody soil beneath them breathed out its lineage.

An aching sadness hollowed out my chest. The Misty Isles. Albion. England.

I whispered, the words feeling like dewdrops of blood on a wounded doe, "The lonely season in lonely lands."
When a star is born, what song does it sing?
I think it may sing this one :


  1. I finally made it to your latest post. I absolutely loved your description. Fallen describing herself is flawless.

    As always the eerie dark mood of the character is portrayed with tragic beauty.

    Once again, need I same more ...


    I've commented on the last four tonight.

  2. Mr. Roland,
    Your exquisite use of words, pulls the imagery you were trying to portray to the audience, I must admit, it felt so real to me; and of course your choice of music is always a perfect catalyst to the theme.

    As always, enjoyed your writing, will be looking forward to your next post. Take Care.

  3. I enjoyed your throwing some spice into the story with jabs at human weakness that are so fitting today:
    "too busy pointing their missiles at one another to notice"; "The glass. Thick, dense. Like the humans who made it". Describing Fallen's senses in a way as to be natural, not super, is a nice touch.

  4. It's all there I can see it and feel the chill. I also saw the end of the post and growled.

    Your writing teaches me patience. I had no idea I am such a spoiled brat when it comes to reading.

  5. You have a way with words, Roland. Wish I wrote with such eloquence.

  6. You never cease to amaze me, I love this! "Evil considers man their toys and evil does not share". What a poignant phrase!

  7. The first of the Fallen post I read made me love her and she just keeps gettong better the more I read.

    She's beautifully dark and my kind of character. Thanks for sharing Fallen.


  8. Michael : I am impressed by your generosity. Reading and commenting on four posts in one night when you were already fatiqued from a bruising day. Thanks.

    I'm glad you like Fallen. She is an enchanting, haunting figure ... or at least I tried to shape her so. That you think I came close to the mark with her means a lot. Have a much smoother day today, Roland

    Imagery Imagined : Always good to hear from you. So few people mention my music selections. I'm glad this one touched you.

    Have a great weekend. Thanks for enjoying my little glimpse into the tortured soul of Fallen.

    TechnoBabe : I'm happy you liked the spice I threw in. It was a challenge to write in a fallen angel's perspective and make it seem "natural." You make me happy to think I came close to the mark here. Have a great Saturday.

    Mary : You make this lonely, bruised writer feel like there may be hope for him after all. May your own publishing dreams come true, Roland

    Alex : Always good seeing you here.

    You're of the Ernest Hemingway school. And I am a shadow of Roger Zelazny. We write in different styles. But you are an arresting writer.

    And you have passed Stephen King's test which I have failed.

    You are published, and I am not.

    Perhaps I will one day pass it. I hope your sales on your book go higher and higher. That you visit my blog-home makes me feel better for the visit.

    Have a prosperous New Year, Roland.

  9. Heather : That phrase alone sparked the idea for that story of Fallen which I wrote for a teacher friend, who asked me to write a story that would help her teach poetry to a group of urban children displaced by Katrina. They were more into horror stories that "flowery old poetry." I tried to give them both. Debbie told me it "worked like gangbusters."

    Thanks for enjoying it, too.

    Jodi : That you love Fallen makes my day. Now, if I could only get a magazine publisher to like her as you do! I guess I will just have to content myself with the fact that a classroom full of hardened urban children displace by Katrina loved her as you do. Have a great weekend, Roland

  10. Roland,
    I don't think Fallen is a tortured soul, she is one of your strongest characters and looks like she is well liked here, too. lol.

    Your work is a good read, as always, and thanks you have a good weekend too.

  11. A good description from her POV. I like how she discovered her surroundings and got a sense of place and time.

    A good beginning.


  12. Donna : I'm happy you liked how Fallen's mind worked in my snippet. It was challenging to portray the thoughts of a fallen angel in a way that did justice to the altered view such a being would have of the world. Have a great Sunday, Roland

  13. *happy sigh* I can't wait to see what she's going to get up to.

    Love the imagery and mood. Superb as always....