Indigo Priest

Indigo Priest

Dark days are staring upon the city. Its people are blind and unaware of the danger it shelters; the crimes and the villainy that roam the streets at night go unnoticed. But underneath the filth the city cries, breathing dying words, begging me to help.

This is my city. My duty is to save it, regardless of the price.

The day may transform me into an ordinary person, but when the sun closes its eyes I put on my mask, my true identity, and become the shadow of the city, the shadow of the people. They call me Indigo Priest and I….

-   Kevin go to bed! It’s way past ten young men! How many times have I told you not to read this late? Put that comic book away.

-    But mom…

-    No buts. Sleep. Now. – Kevin’s mom turned off the lights and shut the door. He put his comic book underneath the pillow and hid under the blanket. She didn’t know. She couldn’t possibly know. Mothers never understood.

Today I did what I was supposed to. I protected. When tomorrow the city needs me again I will be there to save it… “


A Flash Fiction that was supposed to be a Friday one but because of “the Lord Almighty” ‘s  decision it ended up to be a Saturday Flash.

Anyways, enjoy ! 


R. J. was coming back from the store carrying two bags filled with enough food for the weekend. He wasn’t planning on going out, just wanted to stay home and work on his motorcycle. He always had the idea to build something on his own and honestly he thought he was quite good at it. R.J. had started building it part by part last summer and was close to finishing it but since then other daily boring tasks and duties like work, or chores or his mother and sister visiting and nagging him for not being married yet had got in the way.

R.J. smiled to the thought of being alone and practicing his hobby undisturbed. Then he smiled to the dark clouds that were coming and to the wind bringing the smell of rain.

He wasn’t bothered by such weather. In fact he loved it.

The man opened the small wooden fence and walked the white alley leading to his suburban home, but stopped before unlocking the door. He looked behind his shoulder, feeling the urge to grab an apple from the tree that grew in his yard. R.J left the bags on the ground and crossed the smoothly trimmed grass.

A distant thunder called the storm, grey clouds without a shape or form nested high above R.J. Some forsaken and lost sun beams were fighting their way through the gathering darkness, their golden color reflecting in the windows of the house creating a frighteningly beautiful contrast with the dark-blue sky.

R.J. wrapped his hand around one big red apple. The sun’s trajectory had leveled up with the position of the apple, hiding behind it, and when R.J. picked the fruit the strong light blinded him. He dropped the apple and shadowed his eyes with hand. He blinked hoping to chase away the white circles that had started to dance before him.

R.J. took a step back wanting to look the other way when a low-frequency sound begun to insistently ring in his ears. R.J. closed his eyes and tried to block the noise with both hands, thinking his head might explode if it continued. The pain banged like drums in his brain, making him disoriented. He just wanted it to stop, please oh please stop, or I might cry, or just lay here and die. The solution came to him from somewhere deeper, an unknown place in his mind. It asked of him to open his eyes, and look where the sun was shining through. R.J. resisted on that idea, but his subconscious voice spoke again, telling him the noise will stop once he looks into the sun.

“Do it”. This time he didn’t resist.

R.J. looked straight into the burning body, the white and pure glow. The ringing stopped. Then a whisper, the memory of his voice from just a moment ago became only a humming sound, some sort of language R.J. thought that was unreal, so ancient but so very beautiful. The sun was talking to R.J. He felt his body drifting away from him under those words in alien notes, under this bright and welcoming face of the sun. His limbs were no longer his own and R.J. didn’t know if he was still standing, flying or lying. Didn’t matter. It was an amazing feeling.

 But something else was moving in, an invader. He had let it in. His insides burned and for a moment R.J. imagined this is what it feels like when the sun is living in you. Then he felt fear and snapped out of the hypnotizing song. He screamed but his mouth did not open. He tried to move but his feet stood still. He tried to see but the view before him flew away leaving only blackness. Then R.J stopped existing.

Silence fell. The sky waited not daring to release the rain. Maybe the Earth too, stood still for one breathtaking tick of the clock.  

What made everything spin and turn and scream and cry and just live again or die, were his lips slowly curving into a small smirk, yet leaving the face without any cheerful expression. He closed his fingers into a fist, than released them. He cracked his neck releasing the pressure. He looked down staring into his white sneakers and lifted one foot then the other. And he walked out of the yard leaving one apple to roll on the ground and two bags of food to be blown away by what wind may come.

A few meters from the house R.J.’s body stopped. His eyes weren’t blinking. Then R.J’s head nodded.

It has begun Brothers. It will be over soon Brothers.”

He continued walking towards the city.

A thunder clapped shaking the world. Soon it started raining.


Monday Sci-Fi flash ! Can guess what inspired it ? ;) Enjoy 


The man merged with the darkness of the backstreet alley. He rested his back on the wall and took out a ragged paper from his inner pocket, a poorly done map of the functioning areas in the under city tunnels. He reached his other pocket to make sure the small bottle with blue liquid is safe.

Loud shouts made him kneel down and stay alert.

There was a riot happening out on the streets. Protestors had been bombing the city with shouts and aggression towards the government for the past few days. But they couldn’t be blamed. An end had to be put to human enchantment. People needed to snap out of their delusion and see what Nanotechnology does to them, how it steals away the last bits of their humanity. How easy they become someone’s puppets. There were biomechanical tests first, now this. At this point fear had escalated ten times more than before; those rebelling knew soon there will be no genuine human, not a soul left completely pure here in the capital.

The man hid the map and stood up. He had to get to the shaft near the Bridge without being spotted by the police forces. Caleb, his brother needed the medication he was carrying and fast. The tunnels were not a pleasant place for an ill person to stay.

He moved closer to the noise, slowly walking out of his hideout. He was actually grateful to the people with posters fighting the armed men, making a fuss, shaking the foundations of this great city but it was he and his people who were the true rebellion. Unseen, unknown, ghosts, bringing the vultures down to their knees step by step.

He walked into the daylight, putting on a pair of dirty sunglasses. Tucked in his long black coat he made his way through the angry mob, and disappeared into the smoke from the gas grenades. As always the best way to stay unnoticed is to blend in with the crowd. Or with the background.

Mystery man

Friday Flash! 

Come meet the

Mystery man

There used to be this man, this tramp who came around my neighborhood when I was a kid.

He used to just sit on the green bench we had placed next to the small garden silent and seemingly waiting. We, the children at that moment used to lose every interest in our previous games and just sat near him, staring into that mysterious man and his hazel eyes. Some of our parents seemed to know him but stood aside, just eying this intruder into their peaceful ordinary lives.

Unlike them we felt this stranger had answers so we asked him millions of questions, from the most ridiculous to the ordinary ones like what his name is and where he lives.

He never gave a straight reply; instead he started singing, then interrupting his own self he cheerfully proclaimed some quote be it from a writer, philosopher or musician. And somehow to us that seemed so reasonable and genuine that we didn’t bring our questions up again.

Soon before the day was over this figure with no name stood up and walked away following some path, a one the tramp can only know.

We resumed our games soon forgetting about him and during the night his image, the fact that he’d been there during the day slowly faded away from our minds as if he never had existed. A man without a story, without directions or a home, we thought can someone like this be even real?

But the morning came and so did he very real indeed, a tall slim man with various clothing, layer upon layer of colors, a dirty long hair tied in a tail and a dark brown beard.

Now the memory of him gets a bit more vivid – I remember him to be well spoken, even bright in his own peculiar way.

I may have tried to study his young face but don’t recall learning anything from it. Calm as always, not bothered by his looks, cheerfully answering our questions without actually giving a desired answer. Just like the days before.

Often we the children that were drawn by this persona wondered about the real man behind the mask of mystery. In our eyes he was never just a tramp, only a vagrant of the streets. No. We were able to picture him as an adventurer from some distant lands, or a time traveler lost in an unknown world far from his home. He could have been from the future, searching for someone to trust his knowledge to. If we followed him on his departure, every time just around the corner he would disappear without a trace, melt into some shadows, or be gone with the wind. I was convinced there is more about this man than what meets the eye.

The insecurity, uncertainty about him never frightened me or the others. Unlike every other grown up we knew this one seemed to hide something, maybe the biggest secret of them all? So we thought.

Now at some point this story about him was brought to us by some unfamiliar face. He didn’t know his name but only a part from the story of his life.

See the mystery man once was a boy with ambitions, which grew up to be a man highly educated, passionate about music, arts and literature, and with promises for a great future. He met a girl, falling deeply in love with her, offering not only his heart but his soul as well. Needles to say when he put everything aside for this chimera of beauty he did himself wrong. After some years she left him letting insanity take her place. Days and nights, weeks and months he couldn’t overcome his love and instead of that welcomed confusion, paranoia and total loss of identity in his life.

Then he lost everything else – house, job, money thus becoming our mysterious man.

The story seems fitting somehow doesn’t it – tragic with a plot to inspire songs or movies.

I remember not finding this “love” story satisfying enough and being courageous to go and ask my father if it was true. I was the first one to find out the truth.  Not my truth, but the one that life had chosen for this man.

He was once smart yes, but never that bright. He was a kid with mental issues which resulted in him being a homeless person. His mother had died several years ago living him all alone to follow only the decisions of his troubled mind. Still he remained without a name, but the story was confirmed by other well-respected adults.

Not a special person then. Not a mystery at all.

The next few days he didn’t come. In fact he hasn’t come around here for years now. I usually look out for him in the summer. That was the season in which he decided to linger here before leaving forever to a destination unknown. He never answered our questions, never told us his name. Or his true story. I don’t believe he actually though it mattered much.

And I don’t believe this story of painful love or this ugly truth about a man, whose mind forced him into living on the benches or frozen construction sides, collecting food from trash bins.

I decide to give my trust to my memories telling the story of a man who came to meet us, got to know us not revealing himself to anyone, and left before the summer was over taking away our answers. I believe he knew them all. He’ll always be a time traveler, an explorer, a vagrant from some other planet but never just a man with his mind astray from sense. Who knows, one day he may come back still this young and tell us the biggest secret, tell us of the future or what other worlds look like.  I hope I will be still here to meet him.


Small flash for a Sunday night :) Hope you enjoy


I stand tall on the edge of a world which has just fallen asleep. I kiss the stars and whisper them a bedtime story. A goodbye.

Staring into the blackness of the night I dream of my future, of my long, long ago written destiny.

I close my eyes and wait.

I am a descendant. In my heart I carry a task, a promise, a wish yet to come true.

Until now I may have been alive, but never felt like it. No creature on this Earth should know such feeling. Cursed, hollow like.

But soon I shall be released from it. After centuries I am given the opportunity to make this right, to escape on my own. At last I will be reborn. I’ll be truly alive for the first time.


Bright lights tickle my eyelids tempting me to open my eyes.

Ah, here it is, the Sun arising, more beautiful and warm than ever. I can see the ring of flames around it, so far away from the mere mortals below and in such great distance from me the one to become immortal.

And it’s smiling down at me, calling me to fulfill this ancient attempt of my ancestor. It’s provoking me this golden mocker.

I am ready.

My bare feet are just an inch from thin air. I can taste the hot breath of this blazing giant above me.

But I need more than that. I need to touch it, grip it, steal a piece from it and keep it in my soul.

I jump, but it doesn’t feel like jumping. I am a God with wings spread shadowing the day, flying towards a new beginning illuminated by a desire.

I fly; Icarus flies to never fall and never die.

Beginning: April the 1st

 When a practical prank goes very, very wrong.

Check out the

 Beginning: April the 1st 

The five shadows were sitting around a barrel fire,  inside a crumbling, old and leaking, sanatorium outside of town.

Around them laid rifles, knifes, hammers, bows and arrows. In the half-light the fire offered, one could see broken nails, worn-out clothes and tired faces.

-   Well. Today was a bit brighter. – spoke a man-  No one got infected or killed. And we found a new survivor. The others will be happy to hear that. How are you boy?

Four people, eight glimmering eyes looked at the fifth shadow. The boy moved closer to the barrel so they can see his face better. He still looked frightened.

-  How do we name you? – asked a rusty, coughing voice.

-   Name me? – shivered the boy, confused by the question.

-   Aye son. We’ve all got nicknames.

-   Why?

-   We’re no longer men with homes and families. Our previous lives exist no more. We’re shadows boy. No faces, no identity. But still we must remember. So we thought by adopting the names of sentimental to us items and moments belonging to the past we might keep the memory a bit alive.  I am Jazz, the fellow over there is Spinning Top, to your right is Mexico ‘91 and this here is Crazy for his own personal reasons.

-   She liked Patsy Cline – answered a drawn out voice.

-   So what’s your name? – interrupted them Spinning Top.

The boy thought for a moment. His mind was blank. But in the darkness that surrounded his thoughts, there was one thing which brought good memories.

-  Baseball. I’ll be Baseball.

-  You seem more like a dog lover to me but… whatever you say – the four men laughed.

-  I say we give him a proper welcoming. Today we have beans, beans and well… beans –Jazz handed over a can to Baseball.

-  How long have you been on your own? – asked Mexico ‘91

-  Couple of weeks I suppose. I didn’t realize what was happening until my uncle ran into the house, throwing up b-blood.

- ‘S okay boy. We all saw some horrible things.

-  Do any of you know how…it all began? What caused it?

The four men looked at each other.

-   Tell him Spin – said Mexico.

-   We’ve heard it from Marlboro. He was a poor bastard. Smoking killed him. Helped those filthy monsters catch him. Anyways, he told us that two boys about your age did the whole thing. Story goes like this. These two guys, best friends or something, were proper pranksters. They did big and crazy stuff every year for April’s Fool. So two winters past one of them, think he was called Karl, came up with the idea to lie to everybody he’s dead. Stupid right? He called his best buddy Mike and told him to start writing condolences on his Facebook page, making everyone believe he died. They even made a dozen obituaries with a picture, year of birth and death and all.  Karl’s parents were supposedly away for a week, some rich holiday, somewhere. So perfect timing for the prank ey? After the preparations were made, Karl was not to go out for a weekend, talk to anybody, open the door, and answer the phone. And after the weekend had passed, the ultimate prank would begin – he would go out, go to school, just smiling and saying “hi” to everybody freaking the hell out of them. Kids stuff. Unfortunately before the prank the little brat got unlucky. Bad joke turned on him; he slipped in the shower and broke his neck. Died on spot. His friend Mike was devastated. The little geek that he was, he had an even crazier idea then Karl’s. One year he worked on some secret project, down in his basement, not telling anyone. So a day before this year’s April the 1st dear old Mike goes to resurrect his dead friend, making his most wished prank come true. Really true. Only that the dead kid turns out to be a zombie. For one night the infection spreads like a bloody cancer. Mike goes down first. After that a chain reaction. The whole state in one week. Zombies. If you ask me, no one would have ever imagined that the Zombie Apocalypse would start with a silly thing like that.

-  I still think its rubbish this story. Marlboro was nuts. I say it’s the government testing us. See who survives, then take them in and make tests on them to create a stronger human being.

-   It doesn’t matter how it started. No one cares. There is no one left to care. We focus on surviving, not on fairy tales – Jazz put down the can of beans. The fire had faded away – We keep fighting. One day this whole thing will be nothing but a bedtime story.

They all kept a hidden hope, a sense of faith and believe that Jazz’s words would someday be true.