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There are a number of different works posted here, so the different works are mixed together. To view the chapters of a particular work, you can click on the links I am about to provide, or you can click on the tags located under the title and date of the entry. I have tagged each one by chapter and by the title. If there are other tags you feel would be appropriate, please just leave a message here.

The Call to Adventure: This is my main work, filled with prophesy, witches, fae, and meddling gods. The world is much like our own, but the supernatural lays over everything like oil on water, waiting for the moment to spill out into the open, creatures are waking, the Sidhe walk this world again, and our not-so-daring heroes have no idea what is about to come crashing down on their heads. [Status: Chapter 6 completed, languishing in wait of being typed]

In the Beginning: Welcome to the Dreamtime, to the Apocalypse, to the day when physics stopped being such a harsh mistress, and the Powers That Be walk in mortal form. [Chapter 2 in editing, Chapter 3 rough draft, Chapter 4 & 5 outlined]

The Northern Wind: This is a world that might have once been like ours, but that doesn’t really matter now. The Great Cities fell in a night and things from nightmare and legend poured forth into the world. Many generations later, there is hope that the world might recover, but only if all the pieces fall into place.  As such, this is a collection of short-stories, each complete by in itself, but fitting into an over-arching story. [Status: Second story completed, third story outlined]

Why?: What makes an Angel question God? Why is Lucifer hiding from the demons? And where is the Saint that must be found? [Status: Chapter 2 waiting to be typed. Rewriting Chapter 3.]

Stand Alone: These are pieces that do not fit anywhere else.

When this world was born, the Creator died. The Earth herself wept for the passing of her beloved father and all things joined her. So many tears were shed that they ran together, formed a river that became a flood that became a shallow lake there at the World Navel. The lake covered the body of the All Father, seeped into His wound and closed it up. The lake kissed Him upon the lips and His eyes fluttered open...

Was it truth or a dream? Both, somehow? And does it even matter? I can't answer those questions. Or, rather, the answer changes. At the moment, I am inclined to say both and I shall write it as such, record things as I recall them.

It began one sweltering night in July, shortly after the very last left-over fireworks died in the sky. That was important; I don't know why. I was working at a bookstore back then, which was also important for reasons that will become clear. He looked like anyone else, really. Just a guy in jean shorts and a t-shirt made clingy by sweat and kinda cute, but not my type. Even so, there was something about him that caught my attention. My gamer friends would later joke that I saw the flashing PC sign above his head and that's as good an answer as any. He ordered three books, which I presumed to be fiction from the titles, and his name caught my attention, Michael Tocsin. Imagine my surprise when I watched the news that night and heard that he'd been shot and killed days before he came into my store. I went out drinking with friends to get it off my mind and it worked, for a while.

I was hung-over at work the next morning. I forgot all about my headache when the three books arrived. That, more than having a potential ghost ordering from me, scared me. That just did not happen. It was actually impossible if the books weren't already on their way when the order was placed. I couldn't help myself; I bought them to see what it was all about. Each of them, after tax, came to exactly $7.77. Leather bound books are never that cheap. I read part of one on my smoke break and came to the conclusion that it wasn't fiction, exactly. It was a bunch of prophecies, or something meant to look like them. When I returned from break, there was a kid in the store. He was about fifteen and absolutely adorable. He looked like the kids I'd seen on Harajuku Street, all decked out in leather and make-up. If he'd been five years older, he'd have been perfect.

We talked a little while about manga and anime. He seemed shocked I even knew what they were. I laughed, "I'm thirty, not dead."

He blushed and changed the subject, "Hey, I found this book at my grandpa's and I'm lookin' for the next in the series. I think it's called The Tree at the End of the World. Hey, are you ok?"

I must have gone pale. It was one of the books I'd just purchased. "Um, no. None in stock, but I ought to be able to order it for you." I led him over to the computer and spent twenty minutes looking for it. No dice. I could find no trace that any of the three even existed, much less order them. "Look, I've got the second one, but I haven't read it yet. Tell you what, give me an email addie or something where I can contact you and I'll let you borrow it when I'm done with it."

"I'm Seksi_Kewl at--" I almost missed the rest of the address because I was trying so hard not to laugh. See! I do have social skills. I gave him one of my addresses just to be polite about it. I doubted he'd remember it anyway. He fiddled with the thin silver ring set in his bottom lip and then proceeded to shock the hell out of me by whispering, "Want to go out for some coffee after work?"

I swore I could suddenly see 'jail bait' tattooed across his forehead. "Um, I'm going to have to pass on that one. Maybe some other time, huh? I'm supposed to meet some friends and I can't bail on them tonight." He'd frowned, but thankfully let it go. He headed out a few minutes later, a bag full of manga in hand. I lied to the kid, though. I did bail on my friends and stayed home to read the first book. I couldn't make sense of it, not till I was lying in bed that night, almost asleep. It was then that it began to fall into place.

The warning shall appear as one of the dead when the last fire flower dies in the sky. The lake appears before you and with the dawn comes the petal rain and ruin walks the streets.

The first line was easy. Tocsin meant warning or something like that and he was dead. The fire flower must be fireworks. The rest, though, I hoped I would not find out. Somehow, I knew even then, I would and I would regret it.

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© 2006 All Rights Reserved.

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Copyright B. Rae 2004.

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Copyright B. Rae 2004.

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Copyright B. Rae 2004

What is normal? Who defines this? What does it mean for those who do not fit in the common definitions, but are still functional? Do we have any right to force them to kill what makes them so unique, to force them to kill off entire personalities? 

This is from the POV of "one" of my characters, Gage, but it is for those with the same 'problem' he has, the Troops of Truddi Chase, and so many others. But mainly for someone very close to me. It kinda falls apart at the end, still can't quite figure out what I want to do with it.

Copyright B. Rae 2004.

In heaven, there is Oneness. There is the Light of God like the summer sun in a cloudless sky. So bright does this Light shine that there is only black and white in the minds of Angels, Good and Evil. These minds are autonomous but still a part, always just a part, of the Whole. There are no questions and there is no Gray because all know their place. There is no Free Will. There are no Souls. There are no physical bodies, nor the need for such.

But Earth... Earth is a very different place. Indeed, in some respects Hell itself is more like Heaven than this strange place where even Angels fear to tread. Or would if Angels could feel fear. Oh, Angels do touch our world, though only as forces of Nature. Angels ride the storms and dance with the lightening. They guide the crest of the tsunami and sing down the avalanche. What need of a body for this? But to interact, to directly touch the lives of the Souled, one must have a body. No Angel has had to endure this pain for more than moments for it is terrible indeed.

Image to be suddenly cut off from the Oneness, to be pulled apart by Duality, and for the Light to be as dim as the sun through storm clouds. Angels do not feel terror. Angels cannot question. They fulfill their task, shed mortal flesh, and forget discomfort. They never feel more than that; how can they when they have no Soul to wonder and worry with? Angels do not hope. They do not dream. They do not feel. Emotions are the domain of the Souled, of those blessed and cursed with Free Will.

There has been a single Angel given Free Will. Its name was Lucifer, the Morning Star. It Fell. In Hell, there is no light. But all things must change and what came once must come again. Another Angel has been given Free Will. It has been sent to Earth with a task to fulfill. This is the story of the Second.

On Earth it made a body and knew it would be long and long before the shell could be shed. Because Earth spins to the forces of Duality --up and down, earth and sky, male and female-- all that resides on Earth is subject to its tides. So what does an Angel look like?

He is glorious and terrible, beautiful in the way Geiger's paintings are, monstrous and utterly inhuman. He is very tall with long smooth limbs that seemed ever so slightly too long. He has strong, clean muscles that ripple under poreless skin that was truly alabaster. Certain individuals are described that way, but they do have pores and their paleness is warmed by the crimson blood that flows through them. Angels do not have red blood. Mortal men and women are a network of tiny lines and wrinkles, most barely perceptible, but an Angel's skin is perfectly smooth. His eyes are luminous as they stare out of this shining skin. They are a blue so dark they seem black to any without instruments or inhuman eyes. His hair is thicker, lighter, more lustrous than any mortal's, jet black and hanging past his shoulders. Were it not for the wings, he could be taken as a vampire. And his wings -- Ah! His wings!-- are purely white. But the darkness clings to them, hides in the spaces between feathers so they seem cloaked in velvet shadows. He shudders when he sees this.

He is naked. He notices this no more than a mortal man notices his own fingerprints. He wonders if Free Will had given him his Soul or if it was his Soul that gave him Free Will. Then he freezes, shocked and amazed. He had wondered. He looks out at the world around him and nearly weeps at what his physical eyes can barely see; it is so dark here. Only when he concentrates can he feel the Light. He stands unsteadily, unused to gravity, and nearly falls when a breeze makes him shiver. He blinks as knowledge becomes instinct. "So that is the Purpose for clothing." His voice! It is a pure, rich baritone, more vibrant than any born-man's. To him it is weak, thin, somewhat pathetic. He prays that the one who is to bring him such things as he will need will come before he experiences any more unpleasant surprises. He looks out at the countryside, but sees no one.

He feels fear for the first time as a though occurs to him. One before him was given Free Will and Fell as a direct result. Would he...? He can only hope he would-- Hope! It is a fragile, trembling feeling. He feels as if he should be flying. A bird squawks in startlement and he realizes his wings have snapped to their fullest extension of their own accord. He sighs and moves to a sunny boulder to perch, thinking higher ground will make it easier to spot the monk when he approaches.

A large rattlesnake takes up most of the top, but they quickly reach an accommodation. The Angel is very warm, if not so comfortable as the rock, and the snake feels... interesting. Once he is more accustomed to wearing flesh and feels less dazed, he politely asks the snake to crawl off. He runs his hands over the bark of the trees, astonished at the different textures. He spends long moments dazzled by the weight of his hair and the play of the air on his skin. He plunges his hands into a stream, amazed by its currents, like honey-thick breezes. For hours, he simply feels and experiences. He had never imagined that a rabbit could be so soft or that a bobcat's tongue is rough, or that a wolf's breath was hot.

Eventually he grows tired, almost overwhelmed by this rich world around him. He perches on the boulder yet again and wonders what sort of man will be coming for him. Will he be a dusty cleric, a wild-eyed prophet, or an earnest priest? Would he be fiery or meek? Certainly the One Above had called on all sorts before. His musings are cut off abruptly as the myriad animals that had gathered 'round scatter to the winds. An instant later, his guide crests the hill and the Angel has new emotions. Shock. Surprise. And the fleeting thought that perhaps someone somewhere has made a Mistake.

Copyright B. Rae 2004

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© 2006 All Rights Reserved.

Set in a vastly changed earth, it's from the POV of a young man who discovers there is more to himself than he ever suspected. Perhaps someday I'll figure out how to present the history of this world with something approaching coherence. Suffice it to say the world is now as filled with monsters as mythology would have had you believe. Humanity survives in pockets here and there using strategies ranging from Warding magic to bleeding edge technology. This all came from a dream I had many months ago. As always, let me know if you find a typo -- THANKS!  There may someday be more parts to this.  Not sure though since I think it stands well on its own.

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© 2006 All Rights Reserved.

This journal will be reserved for my writing, mostly fiction. I will be posting here in the next few days.