Pony Boot Camp — Part Sixty

The Hand that Holds the Reins

(Pony Boot Camp 10^th Anniversary Chapter)

I made it back in time and slipped into the barn through the mild chaos the arrival of the Twoers had raised. Leather gear collected next to spit-dripping steel bits and of course ponysuits. More than one fellow filly needed my assistance to get out of the snappy material, as exhaustion, pain and roughly two hours of sweating rendered the procedure significantly more difficult for them as it had been for me a short while ago. We unbuckled, unlaced and unbridled for twenty minutes until the last pony was stripped down and under the outdoor showers.

Skeleton Crew — A Dark Steampunk Story

Skeleton Crew

by

Venom

—

~Chapter Two~

The Crew

It was not the heavy smell of machinery, not that of oil and heat. Lucy hobbled the vertical ladder down into the ship’s innards, along a cascade of brass lines. At intervals arrays of valves came into reach, and gauges appeared before her. Some pointers danced across their off-white dials, whilst others remaining in stoic stagnancy. And still the atmosphere wafting through this murky shaft was akin to that in a clock tower, not to the odour of ever-churning machine halls.

Skeleton Crew — A Dark Steampunk Story

Skeleton Crew

by

Venom

—

~Chapter One~

The Jump

Even without the rolling clouds it would have been on the wrong side of twilight. Now and then the heavy sky flickered with lightning, but the thunder did not yet reach the darkening streets. The sounds echoing from buildings and archways were originating from other sources, and they were heralding a far more sinister spectacle than a thunderstorm would be.

Rattling of buckles against cuirasses.

The rapid steps of armed men.

Her own flat boots on damp-blue cobble stone.

The Wall

The Wall

There was simply no way for normal traffic to use Unity Plaza on a Saturday night. From Tech Boulevard up all the way to the northern stretch of the Wall, Plaza Street was bound to be aswarm with party people. The hip bars were already attracting their crowd as darkness fell. In a few hours the elite clubs would power up, churning in and spilling out those eligible for this sort of life style.

“Wait…!” Rika squeaked in peril of losing her two friends within the human torrent.

Although only a few metres away, Erilyn was on the verge of being swallowed up. Luckily Paz’s cyan-dyed hair was outré enough even for such challenging environments.

Der See

Der See (“The Lake”) is the German translation of my little thriller The Writer, published earlier this year. It is a story of which I am particularly fond, mainly because of its “tight” writing and the way it asks the reader to do some backtracking and blank-filling on their own.

Der See

Eine Autostunde entfernt in Richtung der Berge liegt ein See. Ein ruhiger, schöner Flecken Erde, fast wie ein norwegischer Fjord. Unzählige Seiten füllte ich dort, seitdem ich das Schreiben ernsthaft betreibe. Da mein Foto nun auf Buchumschläge gedruckt wird, bin ich wohl tatsächlich ein ernsthafter Schreiberling geworden. Der kräftige Vorschuß, den ich für mein zweites Buch bekommen habe, spricht auch nicht unbedingt dagegen.

Drei Monate, nachdem mein Debütroman veröffentlicht wurde, gehe ich wieder zur Schule, und wenn auch nur für eine Nacht. Nur, um mal zu schauen, wer fett, wer verheiratet und wer sonst noch berühmt geworden ist während der letzten zehn Jahre.

The Writer

The Writer

An hour’s drive towards the mountains there is a lake. A quiet, beautiful place, almost like a Norwegian fjord. I use to go there to write, ever since I started writing in earnest. They now print my picture on back covers, so I reckon I am an earnest writer at last. The hefty advance I’d been paid for my second novel seems to support that theory.

Three months after my debut has been published I go back to school, and if only for one night. Just to see who got fat, who got married, and who else got famous during the last ten years.