The Debris

Posted in Fiction, Horror on September 11, 2017 by GuNNhead

I woke up again. Ugh. Hungover, hollow, with a scowl I can no longer remove. I rupture out of bed, disgusted by being alive. I see a half-finished beer by my bedside, and end it. The warm, sallow liquid reminds me to grab another from my fridge. Its dispelled carbonation can no longer hide its true flavors, and so I make my way to the others. Breaking the cheap metal by its tab, a familiar fizz greets me, and I wash down the flavor of its fallen comrade. I trudge to the bathroom out of necessity, and try to avoid the mirror’s dark gaze as I wash my clammy hands. Leaving the room, I face my living room, but it’s difficult to think of much living that went on there. Do I bother sitting on the couch, the sun mocking me with its radiant douchebaggery, or do I sit at my computer in my blackened room, and avoid more of the world? I wish I could do neither, as I take another sip.

I walk over to my couch, and look at my coffee table littered with beer cans and plates I’ve re-used so many times I don’t remember what I first ate on them since I last cleaned them. My ashtray is overflowing, but I see one last cigarette sticking out of a pack, so I take it and light it. In my first puff, I think about how shit the day is, and in my exhale, how I wish it would just end. I turn around to enter my room, but pause for a moment. Fuck it, I’ll tidy up a bit. I look outside the window for a bit, and reflect on my decision. What’s the point? I take another look at my filth and squalor, and pick up a few cans, moving them to an empty case in the kitchen. After a few more trips of this I’m done my smoke, and put it out in the sink, throwing the butt in the trash. I take the final sip of my beer, and open another. Refreshed by its chilled stinging carbonation, I decide to head back to continue my attack on the detritus of the living room.

Ignoring the dishes, I set my focus on the trash behind my table, between it and the TV, the forgotten zone. I remove a few paper and plastic bags of sorts before making it to the end, and as I go to pick up the last paper bag I notice something sticking slightly out of it. A piece of fried chicken. A breast. When was the last time I had fried chicken? Last week? Two weeks ago? I see a small spider on top of it, and knew it had attracted other bugs, damnable ants. As I go to pick it up, however, I kick the bag, and the spider moves, and I begin to see others. Larger spiders, hiding in all sorts of places around my shelves near my TV. Their webs, small and unseeable if not for the sun. I back away, creeped out, but as my vision widens, I only see more spiders crawling out of their hiding places, larger and larger. I eye my bug-zapping flyswatter, only to see another arachnid has made it its nest, its large body resting comfortably on the handle. I make my way to the door to get my shoe, return and start swatting, but it’s of no use, there’s simply too many, and back up into my room, only to be met with a doorway clogged with more webs than I’ve ever experienced. I struggle to get it off of me, but to no avail. I keep trying to crush them with my shoe as the millions of tiny fangs dig into me, but have no leverage as it falls from my hand. I fall to the ground, and it all goes black.

The Old Friend

Posted in Fiction on December 12, 2016 by GuNNhead

Jeff got home from work just like any other day, except today was Friday. His apartment was an older one, white-painted brick and scuffed wooden floors. He liked the aesthetic, it made him feel more avant-garde, and embraced it in the decorations, orange curtains, older style corduroy couches with a differently colored but matching chair, and a paisley scarf hung above his large curved screen LCD. Claire was home, and didn’t much care for the style, but she didn’t have much opinions on anything, and enjoyed the spacious open layout. They sit quietly, enjoying each other’s company, watching TV or reading for most the evening.

A knock on the door, and he goes to get it. A girl around his age no taller than four and a half feet excitedly jumps up, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him. Though she seems very familiar, he has no clue who she is, and gently pushes her away to arms length, breaking the kiss.
“Jeff! Oh my g-I’m so embarrassed, you don’t remember me, do you?”
“Yes, well, no, well, I think I saw you at work once or twice this week?”
“Yeah, work! Well–” She sees Claire, standing in the hallway, glaring. “…You didn’t wait for me?”
“Wait for you, I don’t know you?”
“Who is this?” shouts Claire.
“I don’t know!”
“I’m Gwen, an old friend, I just started working with him, and I’m sorry, if I’d known, I never would have greeted him like that.”

Things settle down, and soon they’re caught up. The tension is still there, but it’s mostly awkward, silent tension. In a bohemian manner, the three sit on the bed in the back alcove of the apartment beside the kitchen, having tea with the older CRT flat screen TV on in the background. Claire’s persian cat hangs around in the peripheries, cautious of the new person. After conversations die down, the three are comfortably watching TV, with Gwen laying down at the foot of the bed, and the couple sitting up at the back. Eventually, the three switch positions, and the two are sitting at the edge of the bed, engrossed in a show that seems oddly relevant, and with gained empathy from the brilliant writing, decide to let her stay over, even though when they turn to look at her, she is asleep, curled in a ball, sucking her thumb. This quiet girl is a bit weird.

The next afternoon, the three are lounging around on the couches, and Claire’s cat comes out of hiding, which sparks Gwen into revealing more about her past.
“Jeff, remember you used to have a fluffy white cat, but couldn’t keep it?”
“Yeah, that cat was the best thing ever, absolutely loved that cat, but how’d you know?”
“Well…” Gwen slowly transforms into a white and black, fluffy Himalayan cat.

She explains to them that she’s from the distant future, and that her species can turn back and forth into felines, but only after a certain age, and she can’t return home. She started searching him out as soon as she was able, remembering their time together. He feels for her, but is in a committed relationship. There is a sad, mutual understanding that they cannot be together.
The four spend one last night all together, and the next day drive out to the country, to a friendly pet and wildlife preserve, fenced in. At the edge of a chain link fence, they hug tightly, and she turns into her cat self. Petting her, they both have memories of the first time they said goodbye, and he remembers putting his contact information on the back of one of his company’s business cards in her collar way back then, and does the same. She enters the preserve through a small animal-sized entrance in the fence, and runs through a field down to a river, jumping on a small raft with other animals. She climbs on top of a horse, and floats down the river.

Claire and Jeff drive down another highway that night back into the city, he is running his fingers through her hair, when it gets caught on his nail, tearing it a bit, he turns his attention to it for a few moments. Soon they pass a huge blue billboard with large yellow writing: “Did you marry a pooper?” There’s a picture of a Himalayan cat at a litter box, and little else. The couple stares in continued silence, when sirens flare up behind them. Claire pulls over, and an officer comes up to the window, shining the flashlight inside at her. Rolling down the window, Claire asks what the problem is. The agent explains simply: he’s there to help stop a recently discovered local alien invasion that’s been occurring for years, and their silence was typically a telling sign.

The Artifacinorous II

Posted in Fiction on February 15, 2013 by GuNNhead

Fighting through the cold and knee-high snow, I make it back to the museum, and see a figure inside. I fire two shots at it through the large bay window before jumping through the window itself. The alarms go off, and the figure vanishes. By morning, the RCMP arrive and attempt to question me. My badge and the security video answer all they want to know.

“Geeze, I thought I asked you to help, not trash the place.”
“I am helping. I caught your thief off guard, but if what I found out was true, we have a much bigger problem on our hands now. These stones each hold a great, other-worldly power, but there are not five, there are six, and your thief now has it almost completed. Where are those lenses?”
“I had them on me, here.” He hands them to me, I hold both up to my eyes, and look at the first stone. Then, the past is revealed to me…

“The undead!” Events of the past and future tore through his mind as he stabbed his wife in the chest, and kicked her off the final snowy precipice of the cliff face. Stopping more than one heart in the process.

I saw it all, thousands of years in an instant within that stone. A long-since forgotten group of our people who discovered the stones in the ice, fallen from out of space, appearing from holes in the sky and clouds. Unlocking their power, they were able to prosper over many generations. One day, an elder misguided by his own hubris and heartbreak sought the power for himself. He rose the dead as an army, but was thwarted by one man, who shattered the stone being used to channel these powers, breaking the elder’s control over the dead. However, with the stone now destroyed, he could not lay them back to rest, and fled with his wife and the rest of the stones. When the sun his his face upon reaching the top of the cliff, the stones spoke to him, and told him of his wife’s sudden but inevitable betrayal. He hid the remainder of the misused shards in a false-bottom of the unused cradleboard he had brought with him, and triggered an avalanche, burying all traces of the event and his peoples, never to return.

“We got a big problem here, a big problem.”
“What do you mean, like, moreso than what’s already happening?”
“Much more; how much do you know about these stones?”
“Only that they hold a great, mysterious power, whose power is only eclipsed by its mystery.”
“Wonderful. Call the RCMP, tell them to meet me at the graveyard.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“No. No I do not.”

The Artifacinorous

Posted in Fiction on February 11, 2013 by GuNNhead

“Nephew, I’ve come to you with this because you’re family and I can trust you, but more pertinently, from what I’ve heard, you’re an outstanding government agent and I need your expertise on something important.”
“Well, then, lets not beat around the bush with pleasantries.”
“Right, as you may know from holidays, I work as the manager to this museum for our people’s artifacts and treasures, what you may not know-”
“You’ve recently had a theft.”
“Right, but more than that, the thief left more here than the one object he left with, a tattered old cloth containing two rectangular lenses. This purple one, and this clear one. We’re not sure of his motives yet, but-”
“The stones. The most valuable things in here, not just by our people, but any one in the world. They’re a complete enigma.” I grab the purple lens of his desk, and go to the old false fireplace mantle with the five ancient multi-colored translucent stones. I hold the lens up to my eye, peering through at the stones.
“Dammit, nothing.”
“Be careful with that, it’s still RCMP evidence. Besides, we’ve already tried that.”
“Any luck?”
“Then let me do my job. Pass me the other lens.” I look at each stone individually; on the final one, I notice a reflection on the lens, behind me. I turn around and look out the bay windows, but see nothing. I look again, checking amongst all the stones, only the last one offers the reflection.
“I’m going outside to investigate,” I hand him back the lenses, “these are safe here for now.”
“What did you see?”
“Nothing, I just have a hunch.”

Outside, I walk the path of the reflection, and before long, I arrive at a flattened clearing of snow, nothing around it. Getting a closer look, my foot catches a hidden patch of ice, and I slide into the clearing, breaking through and falling 10 feet onto cold, hard dirt.

When I awaken, I’m tied down by my hands, kneeling, buried up to my neck in snow. Luckily whoever did this didn’t bother to search me at all. My combat knife is still in my belt-holster behind me. I cut my bindings, and dig my way out. Unluckily, it’s night now, which means the lenses are no longer safe.

I think back to the security footage I saw earlier of the robbery, this thief wasn’t nimble, but they got in and out mostly undetected, until the alarm went off at the display for the stones. What they took was seemingly worthless, but I wonder… Taking out my flashlight, I see see handmade desks, with scattered parchments, mortars, pestles, retorts, calcinators, and alembics.


Spider-Man 2099 Mask Wallpaper

Posted in Fiction on January 25, 2013 by GuNNhead

This one I re-made from scratch, but added the name! It’s based on the cover of Issue #16. Could even be better than the first time I made it, yup. Also, it’s off-center because I like it more like that?

2099 Wall 2 MASK

Spider-Man 2099 Wallpaper Laser Edit

Posted in Fiction on January 23, 2013 by GuNNhead

That looks a little more like it, changed the color a bit as well.
2099 WALL lasers colorchange

Spider-Man 2099 Wallpaper

Posted in Fiction on January 21, 2013 by GuNNhead

Another desktop background, but this one I made a few years ago and lost the files for. I posted it once or twice online, never on a secure sever, just an imageboard, but someone else had it on their computer! So, here it is. There was another version with lasers, I’ll see if I can remake at least that portion of it. I’ll be looking for another one I made, and try to remake another few that are probably lost for good.

2099 Wallpaper