Category Archives: Literature

When Blue Butterflies Die – Chapter One: Fire

[Warning: the following text is a fictional work that contains disturbing imagery. Reader discretion is advised.]

“A full moon is an opened home to the pack of wolves. They might gather and surround a victim, but men are hiding in their shadows.”

Octal Movott – The Aphrotic Epistolae


13 October 1855 – Letter 1

Today I buried my wife.

After a long struggle with her disease, she finally gave up and accepted it. She was calm in these final moments – a calmness that even the graves sing. A coagulated fog surrounded the people gathered at the ceremony and a scent of crude and warm epileptic mud – rose in the distressed afternoon air.

My eyes were fixed on the blackened cedar casket that was gently descending into the fearful storm of afflicted soil. Flashes of a pale portrait – smiling with a paraplegic expression towards the cascading sun…

I couldn’t accept it. Wanted it.. but couldn’t. Seeing her sad eyes made my mind turn around.  That is probably why I did it. The reason I killed the rest of them. Probably if I go over this again – it might make more sense – and again – it might not.


The moon was watching from up above, as the workers gathered their tools in silence. The woods were showered with a bluish Chrysocolla nuance, as if angels from above flew over their heads and tiny fragments of spores from their wings decided to form a cloud of aerial fantasy – to delight their visions.

The blue dust and the blackness of the trees were painted in such contrast, that anyone who would land their eyes on this framed mural would think that it is an unnatural and rare phenomenon. This would happen only in the early autumn nights.

Too many of them caught the fatigued men in these soundless forests… but work was getting harder and demands were increasing so, them – with their faithful tools – were breathing Chrysocolla spores while wondering what mystifying explanation might be hidden behind the magical spectacle.

Nobody would say a word – too tired or too uninterested in sharing thoughts or any sort of sentence sculpted in the voice inflection. But once in a while – somebody would interrupt the silence and speak.

– All the axes gathered? said a tall man with a orange light emanating from his short and almost-burnt cigar, hanging from his left corner of his oblique mouth.

– Ye’ all gather’d. Counted ’em me self. Said a young boy that looked not even 17 with his large greenish coat and patched brown hat.

– Can’t see the crosscut… added the man while raising his head above the collection of rusty, convulsing metals.

– It’s in ‘ere.. below them hammers and them other saws.. It’s in ‘ere.. replied the boy.

The man sighed as he gently patted the boy’s shoulder. He thought that this work might be too hard for the young lad who just recently lost both his parents. But he was his nephew and he had to care of him. Anyways – being bathed in the Chrysocolla spores was a just distraction for the boy’s trembling mind – too early tried by the existence’s sick paradoxes.

They were eight fellas in a two horse-driven cart – with almost 100 kilos of metal clanging with a inanimate, deep voice besides them and four oil-lamps with yellow glass, flickering as the cart was floating towards Thurmond.

It has been a long day and tomorrow was Sunday, so they could catch-up on some sleep and their Sunday routines – church, a game of poker, breaking bottles in Cindy’s saloon, reading old newspapers or shooting down arrows from the Castle’s bridge.

Thurmond – a little town in West Virginia that seems sewn into existence by a group of travelers from god-forsaken lands was now house to Thomas Caldwell and his nephew Deric Patment. An inquiring destiny brought them together in this place – where Deric learned that his remaining days will be on his own – trapped into a tornado of unknown faces and intentions – with just his uncle being familiar but not close enough, to assure him a certain degree of comfort.

Deric was a silent boy – he could read and write but with clockwork’s ambition – slowly and clearly clinical. His job as wood-chopper aide wasn’t suited for him since his fragile body had to endure weights beyond his own. Yet – being in the heart of mother-nature was his only caress. He hated staying indoors or doing kitchen-work or delivery like some lads of his age – so with determination – he thought that he will surpass even the most difficult of times.

Sunday in Thurmond was like the repetitive advertising notices on the wooden walls of the town’s outskirts.. 20 or 30 raw-paper posters with the same ecclesiastical drawing and maneuvered message announcing the 5th edition of Thurmond Coal Festival. A three-day event in which everyone would gather and talk about the work done throughout the year, in the mines below their dusty town, they would drink beer from Coldman’s brewing workroom and listen to Betty Bopette’s latest songs – engaging in vivid and ferocious western-dances.


Deric was standing near the church’s gates observing two lizards with caramelized coats trying to bite each other with toothless tiny mouths.

People were silently walking down the footpath to the church. The sun was sending blazes of warmth towards the dusty street. A fictional wind swept away a dried bush from the middle of the thirsty road. It was silence. Too silent..

Minute after minute the silence grew and dreamt another wave of quiescence – until a grave scream, coming from volcanic lungs made Deric jump into his feet – frantically looking around him. He smelled smoke and something that he couldn’t describe but made his stomach dithered.

People from town ran towards him – towards the church where apparently the distorted smells were coming from. Deric was greeted by the sight of his uncle, running along other men towards him and into the church’s front yard. Eric followed.. sneaking past the brutes that made a human chain in front of him.

He froze as he saw the incarnation of evil boiling in front of him in chasm flames. He knew what the smell gauging his stomach’s eyes was provoked by…

All the people from church were nailed or bolted unto metal platforms of visceral forms as they were engulfed in flames bearing the same blue chromosomal nuance that delighted his sight only hours before. They were all still alive but the agony on their faces wrote down martyrical chants. They were screaming and screaming, trying to move their mutilated bodies in a poor attempt to save themselves.

How this could’ve happened? How this grotesque display of demented death was born without no-one noticing anything wrong? What force was involved into torturing these poor souls?

Deric took a step back and blood started to slowly drain from his eyes. As the fading voice of his uncle stated his name – he felt his body weightless, his arms and legs became numb and he fell onto his back…

Above – he saw an unclear image of a giant butterfly-shaped entity, with a deformed human face, bearing large wings with blue scales.

[to be continued…]


Dear Esther – Conceptual Essayistic Review

“When this paper aeroplane leaves the cliff edge and carves parallel vapour trails in the dark, we will come together”.

Imagine yourself outside the comforts of this world. Imagine a time when technological and industrial advances weren’t a key subject in the local newspapers. When electricity wasn’t singing its song into the blissful evenings that were setting upon the little farm houses.

Picture the flickering pale light of a candle. It whispers nuances around it.. It whispers translucent bedtime stories of heroes and villains alike – with they swords and shields polished for the greatest battle they’ve ever seen.


Visualize a storm in the distance, the sound of waves crashing down gently into the rocky facade of an old-forgotten island. And the aged lighthouse not emitting life-saving signals anymore… just memories of how vigor used to caress perpetual smiles.

A boat without a bottom, a means of transportation without passengers, a lonely seagull looking for shelter and the sea, the ancient sea witnessing all the humankind’s history.

You have a mission. To reach one final destination before closing the deal with this existence. You travel across the deserted island and encounter rocky formations that stand up like pagan altars – used for praying to Gods and Goddesses for health and prosperous harvests.

All you can see are abandoned ships. Seems like the world traveled afar from here and never came back. Like people never existed and this tragic game of souls wasn’t developed properly. Source code for sadness.

Beyond and above the scarred, dried bushes – there is an abandoned house. You take shelter there – hoping that the coming storm will leave soon and will never betray its origin. You can hear its cruel moaning entering the broken windows. Little drops of rain touching your face. This was only meant to caress you, to reassure you that everything will be fine from now on, but they feel like cold spikes on a everlasting winter. It is too lonely here. Yet, you continue your journey.


Watery caves. Fluorescent mushrooms. Stalactites and stalagmites.

Underground lake formations. Rivers of calcareous water. The rocks beneath you are slippery. You touch the walls of the cave with your bare hands and feel the magical coldness installed here. Wet, unstable, unfriendly, unwelcome, deadly…

The air is filled with sprinkles of humidified substances. A cavern of troublesome trips. A labyrinth of paths that lead outside through a collection of survival attempts. You have to ascend, then descend and repeat the whole process. Following the waterfalls you engage in a deadly dive. It is now a crucial point in your journey. It is just a leap of faith. Faith that cannot be comprehended, nor explained in any book.

And all this leads you to the last portion of your journey. The longest journey ever taken…

What once was a port for large vessels – became now a ruin of nothingness. The skeleton of a dead whale… a reminder that where life ends… possibilities are unknown. The storm has passed, but strong winds still haul above you – attacking the mountain you are about to climb. Shadowy figures appear to be watching you… yet when you reach the point where the dark stranger sat – you find nothing, only a half-burned candle.

You take a deep breath. And you ascend. You are at the tower. A Babylon ready to be reborn. Damascus at dawn, with no-one around.

And you – poetically progressing – take another leap of faith… faith that cannot be comprehended, nor explained in any book…



City lights are falling asleep.
The rain, emotional, so deep…
Beneath the dark, above the light
Another wrong turn that seemed right.

A cup of blood, a cup of tears
I swallow grief, I choke my fears…
But once exposed I start to die
And falling down, I reach the sky…

And there she is, beautiful corpse…
She seems alive, she’s dead… of course.
With her eyes closed, with skin so pale
A nameless goddess… fairy-tale.

They call her Luna, Moon of love
She never lived, but she’s above
Those who hold life in their hands
And cry and laugh with many friends.

She’s always there… but she’s alone
So strangely intact, like a stone
I wished I could just make her mine, but…
She remains there, frozen in time.

Original Story: Past Midnight [Part 1]

A short story called Past Midnight. Right now I’m just experimenting with some ideas but this will be written more elaborated in Romanian and I will try to get it published. Because English is my second language – creating literature isn’t my best point. But still…I want to write this.

“Finally..awake” that’s what crossed my mind when I tried to open my eyes.

The bright light from that room wasn’t much of a help for me, instead it created a barrier between what I should see and what I should understand. One thing that I was certain of was the deadly silence. Nothing disturbed my hearing.

After inspecting everything around me I realized that I was trapped into a nightmare, that some dark force brought me into suffering and misery. I was captive in a room without doors or windows. Only four white walls to keep me company…

Also there was a large mirror and apparently a locked safe, resting without worries while my subconscious started to force me into panic. I wasn’t sure which was creepier..the fact that I was sealed into a room without escape or the fact that soon – the air in here will vanish and I’ll die suffocated.

“Okay…first things first…do not panic” I told myself.

“There must be a logical explanation for this. Yes…logic and its mysteries. I’m in the middle of a puzzle and salvation rests within its solution”.

The mirror could help me get in touch with something. Apparently it can help me see myself – I am the key element. But the safe…that’s another problem. I have no idea what the combination might be and honestly I fear what might be inside of it.

Minute after minute I walked across the room trying to remember what lead me to this place and condition. Because I couldn’t answer that I started to look for clues.

“I know you’re there watching over me. Just what did you left behind for me to find? What’s your plan?”.

But nothing…there was nothing that got into my attention. No symbols, no written signs, nothing.

“Goddamn. Why am I here in the first place…what is the meaning of this”. My patience was at a limit. I fell down and started to scream.

“It would be impossible for me to find an exit without help. It can’t end like this…I shouldn’t be here”. Of course this was a cliche used by the guilty. Nothing is random, everything is meant to fit into it’s original place. Me resting withing this chamber was a way of destiny saying welcome home.

So I decided to take things from the beginning. There were three subjects in this room – a symbolic number probably. First, the mirror – a reflection of something…yes…a representation of truth.

“Mirror’s don’t lie. If there is an answer..only the mirror could offer it to me. Obviously there is something I’m not aware of, something I didn’t noticed yet”.

Secondly – the safe. An enigma. A locked safe always carries something important, crucial, vital.

“Information or probably a helpful tool, I don’t, but I have to find out. If the safe it’s here – I must find the code to open it”.

A codebreaker – a new definition for my person. I never thought that this would bring a significance to my life. Well if the safe contains means of survival then I must open it.

I started to feel thirsty which was a bad sign since I had no water with me. I had to work fast on this enigma before the lack of food and water would cause hallucinations. With a sense of justice imprinted in my brain I approached the mirror carefully. This was where the mystery began…right here I was supposed to find the escape route.

The only thing I could see was my reflection – my red, tired eyes, my face trying to decipher an existential puzzle, my hands shaking because of natural curiosity.

“Well…tell me what to do” I said to myself. But there was no reply…

[to be continued…]

Destructum: The Summoning

(continued from – Destructum: Intro)

Destructum: The Summoning

The cold air in the night was reflecting a cruel emotion. Screams of desperation were about to invade the local ambiance’s peace.

Even with three heroes among them, most of the people in here were doomed. Aeb Thanag’a was gathering enough energy from his spirits, so he could engage in starting the dark rituals.

His skin was getting some elemental gray nuances while his muscles struggled underneath it. His eyes we’re presenting orange lighting-lines almost like a cannibalistic desire…he was so concentrated upon this action that  everything around him just..dissipated. The ritual would consume almost all his resources of energy.

Just a mile away – a young boy just went to sleep after having dinner with his family. A sweet smell of pumpkin pie was emanated from a small corner of the room. His parents went on with their home-duties, while the little one sat near the window and watched the crystal-rays that were illustrated on the near-by trees.

From distance – he seemed to notice a bluish sphere that was rotating with enormous speed.

Aeb Thanag’a managed to create his evil portal – shaped as a blue globe of fire. Once that portal was open, his evil army could enter this realm.


The demon’s powers were great. He alone could summon up to 25.000 dark devils from his natal realm – The Clouds. After opening the portal – he just had to say some sort of prayer that would unleash the bowels of a great horde of enemies.

So – that evening, thousands of little dark devils, with terrible ambitions we’re about to invade Nhaedoria. The peasants that were enjoying the tranquility of the autumn evening had no idea what cruel fate was thrown upon them.

[to be continued…]

My Angel’s Clone [Original]

Upon the dusty shelves I spread my feelings

Dark, ritualistic grains of power left alone

And you, without a worry in this world

You’re nothing else than my angel’s clone.

So beautiful, yet so macabre

With your closed eyes to see me through

I wonder how you got up there

Am I imagining or this is you…

Are you watching over me right now

Is this your escape plan from them?

Or something makes you stay in here

Reminding you of life’s sacred gem…

Whatever the right answer is

I’ll miss you til the end of days

I’ll seek for you on rainy mornings

“I’m just your angel’s clone” she says…


Just a short intro for a fantasy essay reflecting points of views on RPG concepts.


The lands were covered by a shady fog that evening. All over there was a tense flying entity that inspired nothing more than dark contemplation. An objective silence was leading the place. Nothing disturbed the tranquility. The fog was moving so gently that it wouldn’t move a single molecule of air.

There were no rays reflecting from the moon, nor stars to transfer invisible shades. Was a typical mid-autumn evening in the lands of Nhaedoria.

Left alone in this mystic environment, Aeb Thanag’a, the fallen angel from the Clouds was thinking about searching for a place to start it’s dark ritual, allowing him to summon more infernal minions. This evil action was like a spiritual manifestation from within the demon. A crystal fire and dark ashes were coming out from the demon’s surroundings, while he was moving angrily his arms and legs. Then an dark orange light was to appear on the sky and a vast army of devils being rained down. The silence was about to be disabled…

He wasn’t aware of the fact that he was sitting on the domain of the Three Sisters – the protectors of this district of Nhaedoria. These three warriors were among the most powerful in all the lands. An inevitable battle was like a struggling destiny for them. An yet this destiny seemed a little bit too real at that moment…

[to be continued…]