The New eBook: A Mind Like No Other

FeaturedThe New eBook: A Mind Like No Other

Hello! It’s me and I’d like to share the announcement of my new short story, crime fiction, superpowered fiction story. I wrote it several months ago and published it on Amazon last Sunday. I’d like to share a few chapters to entice interest for anyone willing to read it (it’s free on Kindle Unlimited and a dollar otherwise). I don’t know what else to say, hah, so let’s just get right to it. Without further ado, my newest book! Enjoy!



As a young boy, he lost his mother to a gun. He sat before her dead body and carried her from the house in his small arms, wearing her silver necklace. As a result, he has grown cold and bitter, stronger and weak.


His landlady’s dead and he saw it all happen right before his eyes – without even being there. Young P.I. Hannibal Musa, a telekinetic survivor of darkness, has to solve her murder. His investigation will take him through the rough and twisted streets of Oasleham City. From decadent, burned churches to crime-ridden neighborhoods, he and his partner will come face-to-face with metaphysical enemies and adverse “allies.”


The Moon shone like a symbol of ephemeral light in the shadowy darkness, beaming down its beacon onto a lone house resting in the hilltops. These hilltops had no life growing on their sides. On this dark hill, the grass grew not green but gray. The trees possessed no leaves but rather, as if possessed, the trees stood, dead, with their branches like thin fingers seeking to claim the White Disk for themselves. Beyond these rows of haunted trees rested a house. This house stood awake in the deep hours of the cloudy night.

On the top floor of the house, underneath a twin-sized bed, a boy hid, shivering and sweating profusely from the tip of his brow.

So that’s how you’re gonna do me, huh?!” A voice shouted from downstairs. “You just gonna do me like that?!”

Get out of here!” shouted another voice. “Get out! Get the hell out!”

Tell me! Tell me why you left and took my son with you! TELL ME!”

Oh, dear God… Get out!”

No, don’t run away from me! No Allah to save you now! Scream! Scream! He can’t hear you! Tell me!”


Tell me!”




The boy under the bed curled into a ball, teary and sniffling.

Umi…” he whispered, gripping his legs tightly. The boy struggled to remain quiet, the gunshot sounds echoing in his ear and reverberating through his spine. The boy’s shivering intensified as the sound of creaking and soft footsteps approached his bedroom. The room was pitch-black dark except for the moonlight that palely shone through the window and provided the gravest of light into the deathly room.

The boy stiffened hard when he heard the footsteps stop in front of his door.


The door slowly opened with the barrel of a shotgun peeking through the doorway before the head of the man came through, the top half of his body shrouded in the veil of darkness. Then, like the wildness of a coyote, the man pounced forward, grabbed the boy by his leg, and pulled him out from under the bed.

No! Umi!” The boy clawed at the wooden floor, his fingernails bleeding as he was dragged from the floor.

Shut up, boy! Your mother ain’t here no more!” The man angrily lifted the boy by his collar and threw him to the wall. The boy fell to his knees, coughing from the impact. He slowly raised his head to see the barrel of a gun facing his face. “You and her can both get it…”

Tears began clouding his eyes as he stared down the gun, images and sounds of his mother’s pain continuously flashing through his mind’s eye like a mental slideshow. Veins began popping in the boy’s head and his pupils shrunk dangerously.

What the hell?” The man looked down at his arm, finding it tense and unable to pull the trigger. His arm bent at the elbow, switching the tip of the barrel to the man’s chin instead. “Wait… no!”


The boy watched as the body dropped to the ground with a loud thud, blood pooling beneath it. Numb and still coughing, the young child stood up and grabbed a flashlight before walking out of the room, fingertips bleeding and dripping to the floor like drizzling rain.

He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen where his light shined in the center and revealed his beautiful mother sprawled on the floor, several gaping holes in her chest, stomach, and leg. The boy walked over to the body and collapsed on the floor, his head bowed and his heartstring plucked, emitting a pained melody. His cloudy eyes then saw something through the mist; a sparkle in the darkness. The boy reached out for the glimmer and picked up a necklace, one his mother wore. It was stained with blood. The boy wiped the blood off on his shirt and clasped the necklace behind his neck, tears rolling down his cheeks from the windows of his soul.

Chapter 1: The Rabbit-Faced Ravager

I hate this place…” thought Hannibal Musa, a young caramel-skinned man, walking through the streets of Oasleham City, Oregon, kicking a can as he walked. His hands in his pocket, the boy stopped at an intersection, waiting for the light to turn red. The boy stood under the foggy polluted clouds of his hometown, the sunlight filtered through the black smog.

He was a young man of moderately average height, standing with low black hair, a lean build, and demonic red contacts over his eyes, the sclera a deep black. It also doubled as the main thing that kept passersby from looking him in the eye. Besides the contacts, he also wore a faded black shirt, dark blue jeans, black boots that were untied, a long black leather trench coat – which he kept his hands in its pockets – and a silver necklace hanging from his neck. At the end of the chain was a crescent moon shape with a star resting in the center.

I hate the air, the feeling like you’re suffocating…” the boy’s thoughts continued to crackle, like a fire on wood. “I hate the overzealously religious people, the fact that there’s a nasty hobo on every corner, or that there’s literally a black cloud over this forsaken city…”

The light switched from green to red and, with a huff, the boy proceeded across the street. His eyes circled from the various homeless people lying in the alleyways and boxes, the well-dressed men and women just walking by on their smartphones, and the few cars that drove up and down the street.

Spare some change, sir?” a small old man dressed in rags asked weakly of the passersby. They ignored him or, even worse, treated him with disdain.

Hannibal stopped in front of the man and dropped several dollars into the man’s cup. “Here,” said he. “Get yourself something to eat.”

Oh,” the man breathed out, his cheeks rosy and the stink of alcohol viciously apparent on his breath, “thank you, young man. Yes, yes, absolutely, I will make sure this goes to good use.”

Hannibal could only sigh and shake his head. “Of course you will…” he whispered bitterly, continuing on his way.

What the hell is wrong with the world? Why does it stink so bad?”

No answer rained from the Heavens nor did one grow from the Earth. Silence only accompanied the question and another hard sigh followed it.

This world… is rotten to the core.”

Hannibal eventually stopped in front of a local hat store. The young man walked through the door, smiling politely to strangers as they walked out of the store with bags in hand.

Welcome!” greeted the owner, a bald man with a smile far too wide. “Welcome! Please, take a look through our fine brand here. Or here? Or maybe you’d like something like this?”

While the owner suggested all of those hats, Hannibal’s disguised red eyes rested on a certain hat on the shelf above him. The owner followed his customer’s line of sight and smirked.

Ah, that one?”

Yeah,” replied Hannibal.

The owner reached up and pulled the hat down – a black custom Fedora with the “disk” being narrower and longer at the ends. Hannibal held it, letting the cotton soothe his hands, before lifting it up and letting it settle on his head.

Oh, it looks great!” announced the exuberant owner. “Here, here, see for yourself!”

From the side of the shelf, the man pulled out a hand mirror and gave it to Hannibal. A small smile graced his face as he looked himself over, the hat’s shadow darkening his eyes even further than they already were.

I can’t even lie…” said he, stroking his chin, “I look pretty damn good.”

The owner nodded in agreement. “Yes, you do. That’ll be $29.95.”

Hannibal reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a wad of rolled up bills held together by a skimpy rubber band. The owner watched him pull out a $20 and a $10 dollar bill before handing it to him.

Thank you for doing business with Mr. Shaq’s Hats. Please come again.”

Hannibal tipped his hat to the man, took his nickel in change, and exited the door, feeling rather well about himself.

Alright, now- URGH!”

A vein on the side of the boy’s head pulsed painfully, forcing a collapse to his knees in pain and a grab of his throbbing skull. Everyone around Hannibal continued on their way, walking around the boy like he was a wet floor sign. Hannibal’s mind, however, was numb to the outside world. Deep in his mind’s eye, a scene took place before him…

Stop it!” yelled a female voice. “Get out!”


A hooded shadowy figure stood over the woman’s body, his gun smoking.

Hannibal’s eyes reopened and they were wide as saucers, the experience he just had relatively alien to him. The woman in the vision, however, was not.

Ms. Johnson… no…”

With the speed of a mustang, the young man raced down the street as fast as his long legs would carry him.


The drivers angrily screamed at him as he sprinted and vaulted the hoods of their cars but he paid them no mind, his focus on the danger ahead.

It wasn’t long before he had finally made it and after he pounced up the steps, he proceeded to kick the door in with the might of a Spartan. His nostrils exhumed quick, quiet pants and his body dropped to a crouch as he saw, in the hall, on the first door to the left, the door opened partly with scathed footmarks below the door knob. Hannibal tightened his jaw and clenched his fist before quickly busting into the house and finding a sight that made him gasp in shock.

The woman, Ms. Johnson, laid on the ground with a gaping hole in her forehead. Her eyes were wide open but with soulless pupils, like open curtains to a dead house. Blood was splattered from her forehead and drops scattered around her face. Her arms and legs lay spread out as if she were peacefully laying in the grass.

Hannibal grimaced while looking at the sight, his heart heavy with bitter beats. The smell of death began to poignantly reach up into his nose as his eyes scanned the scene. As he stood there, staring at the body, however, a sudden realization came to mind.

That wound is still fresh… I just saw it somehow… This only happened seconds ago… meaning the killer is still here!”

Hannibal’s head was turned to the sound of a window opening and like a hound on the hunt, he ran to the kitchen where, beyond an open window, he saw the back alley on the side of the building and a hooded man running away from it.

Without hesitation, Hannibal dove through the window and landed on the ground feet-first before taking off after the escaping man. The killer began picking up speed but he wasn’t faster than Hannibal and soon, the young man managed to tackle the figure to the ground. Mounting him, Hannibal reached for the man’s hood when the pinned man, utilizing impressive flexibility, backhanded Hannibal and overpowered him enough to throw him off and onto the ground.

Hannibal’s eyes managed to catch a brief glimpse of a purple rabbit mask under the hood and the tip of a gold necklace sticking out of the man’s pocket. The man, in a sort of fidgety, twitchy motion, turned and ran out of the alley, leaving Hannibal lying in the grime, wondering:

Why didn’t he kill me?”

Liked it? Purchase the entire book (or download) right here.

My Debut (Free) eBook! (+ New Bookstore)

FeaturedMy Debut (Free) eBook! (+ New Bookstore)

Hello, all (says he to the few followers he has. Still appreciate the support and views, regardless. Means a lot!)! I come to you today with a great announcement – I’ve finished my first manuscript. It is called “The Legend of Himaguma.” It’s set in the Himalayas, present-time, and it is basically my teaser book for my writing. I have more stories I’m planning to publish, but I’d love to just get the word out of what I can do. Also, I have more exciting news – I’m launching my own bookstore via I’m calling it the X Store and it’ll be where I’ll publish my ebooks (along with other self-publishing brands, but that will be the site I’ll usually send you to). Now, I just want to sample you all with the first chapter of the story as it’s only 10k words or so, but it’s a good read, trust. Anyway, without further ado, here is the first chapter of my incoming ebook :


Chapter 1: The Cold



The cold… Pressurized wind sucking feeling from my lungs… Numbness… of body and mind…”

His hands grabbed onto the ledge, arms burning with still feelings and mind dizzy from a snowy high.

Pull yourself up… COME ON!”


Grunting, the climber ascended to the small ledge and turned over onto his back, letting the snow accumulate over him.

The cold… building over me, keeping my structure preserved… I feel it… Here, on this mountain – a wisp of wind, a howl of hurt, the crime of cold… the cold… the… cold…”

The climber’s eyes fluttered like a butterfly’s wings, edging on open and then tilting towards closed. His sight, covered by goggles, was becoming mistier from the frost and the ice bobbed his alertness.

I’m so sorry, Anala… I tried and fought for your sake… but the cold has caught up with me… the cold hushes me to sleep and has made me a pillow beneath my head… I can’t feel my muscles anymore. The icy burn has been replaced by a chilling numbness and all I’ve left now are my thoughts.”

Through the howling wind on the high mountain, through the sharp cold piercing the skin, the climber could hear it – footsteps.

I think he’s coming for me… the Angel of Death. Coming for me now… I’ll see you soon and I hope I’ll be able to look you in the eye, fighter-for-fighter.”

A deep sigh left the climber’s lips as he shut his eyes peacefully, skin pale and brown.

Remember, o Mt. Kangchenjunga… Do allow this resting place to be here… a tombstone – memory to all below…”

And his eyes closed and his breath wrestled from his throat, ascending to the cold.



Anala! Anala!”

Oh… I-I’m fine… or, I will be… soon.”

Don’t talk like that! Let me go get the town doctor! Maybe he can give you some medication-”

Don’t be silly, Rohan. The doctor…” – COUGH! – “has other patients to attend to and we already know what’s the matter with me…”

It’s not fair… It’s not fair…”

Shuuush… It’s okay. This cancer hasn’t broken me yet. I’m not angry at what’s happening to me…”

It’s not fair! Hospitals shouldn’t turn away people because they have no money! There should be… there should be some other solution… You had dreams… to climb the mountain, to look down on the world from the top of Mt. Kangchenjunga. To see the world and spread peace… you were supposed to-!”


You… you…”

Shush now, Rohan… it’s okay, my childhood friend.”


You’re bleeding! I’m going to get the doctor!”

No, i-it’s okay… please, just stay here with me, Rohan.”

“…Okay. Don’t worry; I’m not going anywhere.”

Can I ask you to do something for me… a-after I go?”

W-what is it?”

I know you wanted to climb that mountain with me… and see the world from the top, too. So, I want to ask you… to ascend without me.”

I-I can’t do that…!”

Please… don’t stay near my grave every day… you’re like a brother to me and I… I want you to continue living life and connecting with others… Don’t climb by yourself, okay? Take someone with you… who will protect you… and… and… watch…” – Cough, Cough… – “over… you…”

Anala? Anala! Anala! ANALA!!!”



Rohan sat up quickly, looking about the room with stiffness creeping down his spine. He sat in a spacious cave, the light crackling from a tall fire fueled by wood and stones.

Rohan quickly realized that he was under a blanket of wool and he wasn’t wearing his climber’s gear, just his clothes underneath as he sat next to the flesh-warming flames.


Rohan – a brown man with luscious black hair, a baby face, and brown eyes with small stubble on his chin – eyed the meat that rested on the other side of the fire along with a cup of water the width of Rohan’s height.

Without a second thought, he scurried over to the water and sunk his face into the clear, sweet liquid. Bubbles surfaced as Rohan smiled contently.


Droplets trickled down the man’s grinning face before the climber stumbled over to the steaming meat and began tearing at it, his stomach roaring like a road-loving jaguar.

So thirsty, so hungry… God, this is amazing!”

Once he had humbled his hogged hunger, he stood up and began exploring the cave. In the back of the cave, there was a small space that he could crawl through.


Icy water puddles could be seen in the pathway and sharp rocks collected on the other side. Rohan then turned his attention to one of the most prominent features of the cave: the two paintings on the wall.

With the low light of the flickering fire, Rohan examined them. They were varied and wild, written in dried blood. It depicted a huge white monster pursued by ibexes and men with spears. The next painting showed the monster from the back, standing on the ledge of the mountain, and looking down at the world below. Rohan could see the misty clouds and wintry wind circling the giant’s white figure.

Incredible…” whispered Rohan, gaping. “Whoever did this is some kind of master artist…”

Rohan reached out to touch the painting, his hand inching slowly to the icy walls.


He stopped cold when he felt a hot breath wave over his entire body. It was extremely odorous and overwhelming, stinging Rohan’s eyes.

With blood racing through his veins, goosebumps rigged, and hairs standing on edge, Rohan slowly turned behind him.

Wha… what…?”

His eyes met a monstrous-looking, 18-foot beast with white fur and powerful limbs. The beast’s face was like that of a monkey’s but with the snout of a grizzly bear and the yellow eyes of a serpent. His face was more wrinkly than an old man’s, his ears were like a kitten’s, and his entire body was covered in a thick white fur, the uncovered parts (belly, hands, face) an almost pinkish color.

Want… se-conds?” asked the creature in a deep, soul-piercing voice that echoed throughout the cave.

Rohan couldn’t answer, however, as his eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he fell back.


(Sorry about the size shift after the intentional size shifting/color shading. The rest of the work, on my site, doesn’t look that)

Alright, so, like I said – it’s rather short so this is a good amount of it I think to entice. Anyway, it’s all free so you can just download it here : and leave a review in the “Books” section or on my blog here! I’m VERY excited about this as it means bigger and better things to come. I’ve already got several other better manuscripts in the making and will be released soon. As such, I’ll be including the link to my new store in all my posts for the coming weeks. And that is all, folks. (If I missed anything, I’ll just come back and update it – you won’t even notice) So, please, check out the site, bookmark it or follow it via the mailing list and show it some love. I want to do big things and I hope you’ll be the people to elevate me. And with that, I’m out! Have a great day!

A Mother’s Monster | Chapter 1

A Mother’s Monster | Chapter 1


“Where is it, where is it?”

“Lisa, slow down!”

“Wait, Lisa!”

Rustle, rustle!

Three small figures dashed through the green standing strands: a young, freckled, blue-eyed boy with a blonde bowl-cut; a dull-zaffre eyed, bright-skinned girl – slightly younger than him – with hazel bright hair that followed the wind in flow; and a girl with a muddy blonde tress and stark irises sprinting ahead of the former two.

“Lisa!” cried the boy. “Lisa, Mom said we can’t run away too far!”

“You’re not getting away, little rat…” muttered Lisa, trampling over flowers and butterflies and anthills, racing through the outspread plain, surrounded by pale-hued evergreens.

A small brown fur-coated critter hopped – meandering – left and right, whirling Lisa’s eyes in opposing directions. It skipped under blades, clouded by calm green. Birds oversaw the chase from their perch upon the branches, complacent clouds swimming forth. The Sun glared down heat, peering through the skins of every walking creature to their bones.

“Ugh!” groaned she, leaping some moments after to seize it.


The boy and the girl behind arrived beside her, panting with strings of sweat careening down their flushed faces. Hands on their knees, hunched over, the two gasped and shined smiles upon Lisa’s rise from ground; in her hand, she held a bunny.

It was petite and furry, gray-brown with black-red eyes. It’s stone-like nose twitched, lengthy ears bending slightly. Its head glanced around, bod breathing swift.

“I caught it!” exclaimed Lisa brightly, shimmering smiles blanketing the children’s faces. She smirked, glaring down at the creature with eyes aglown in Caesarean conquest.

“Whoa!” exclaimed the other two, leaning in toward the bunny. The blonde-haired girl giggled, tapping it twice on the nose.

“It’s so cute!” said the girl. “Can we keep-”


A small wind blew, brushing the hair of the blonde girl across her small face. Wide-eyed with tears accumulating, her still face implacidly gazing upon the twisted neck of the bunny.

Its head was twisted around, stoic eyes fixed on the sky, skin wrung in folds around its neck. Lisa’s expression remained unchanged, the boy’s hands hooded over his mouth, and the girl, red-eyed with her small pink lips quivering, yielded to her pale knees, hitting strong the rough floor.

“L… Lisa?” whispered the boy. His foot cemented in place, trembling.

“Yes, Tom?” Lisa lifted her head towards him, smiling angelically.

Tom’s eyes refused to blink, his mouth agape – repeatedly opening then retreating without measure for any language – as he stared at Lisa.

“That… that… why did you… why-”

“AAAHHHH!!!!” The other girl shrieked, her howl warding to flight the avians. Lisa frowned at the girl, releasing from her hands the rabbit.

“No!” cried Tom, diving for its body.


He landed on his stomach, chin skidding slightly against the rocks. He held its body in his palms, panting and sobbing quietly at the sight. Lisa gazed down, bewildered. She turned to the sound of approaching footsteps: a middle-aged dirty blonde woman with spectacles and sky blue eyes came near.

She wrapped her arms warmly around Lisa, pulling her tight. The woman then examined the scene: the other girl hysterically sobbing, her chest heaving and her face sister to a rose; the boy staring distraught at the still creature in his hands; Lisa placidly regarding everyone.

“What happened?” cried the woman.

Tom, his blood-tinged face buried in his arms, muttered, “Dead… Lisa… dead…”

The woman shook her head slightly, mind slipping the anchor of understanding.


Tom raised his head, directly staring into the woman’s sky-blue eyes with his bloodshot red, tear drowned eyes. “Lisa… she killed the bunny.,.”

The mother gasped silently, shaking her head again.

“Uh…” stammered she, “there must be some-some mistake…?” She gazed to her daughter, whom she held in her arms.

Lisa closed her eyes, settling into her mother’s arms. She inhaled softly and whispered in a breath: “You lose…”


Been absent for awhile: I apologize.

However, I do have short stories planned and I’m writing a play specifically for the blog. Thank you to everyone who’s been patient and everyone who follows, likes, and even comments. All of it is seen, appreciated, and helpful.

Also, for any who would like more frequent content from me, follow my second and third blog here: Poetry in Pixels and Mr. X’s Melody. Poetry, art, and music. You can’t go wrong.

Anyway, thank you again. Life’s life, but you know how it is.

See you soon. Peace!

Diary of a Slavewoman

Diary of a Slavewoman

Thursday. VI/4th, MMCV


The beatings were light today. I remember when I first was sold to the Count. ‘Twas he and his son who often hit me. Mostly in the mornings as bonding activity. Indeed, they are closer for it. It is important, after all, for a man to father his son.

Sunday. VI/14th, MMCV

I wonder how Mother is doing? I have often thought of mailing her, but poor Mother dear is still stoned in an age where communication was instantaneous. The War took care of that; it took care of many things. But poor Mother, denied by reality. I should mail her.

Sunday. VII/12th, MMCV


‘Twas quite fierce today, but heat is aged to me. Born in Arabia, raised in Persia, the Sun is my sister, closely adored and despised at once. The Count pays me the most attention this day, after Church. I suppose God drives lust in men.


Wednesday. VII/29th, MMCV


Today, a slave tried escape. She raced under the blanket of the night to know of freedom. Freedom – the breast of life, the cup of pleasure. But she was hunted for her treachery. Hunted and torn. Such is life, such is life. Freedom now is death, death now is freedom.

Monday. VIII/10th, MMCV


New slaves were inducted. I am tasked as head mistress of the Count to learn them the ways of the plantation. As I write, I weep. When last had I wept? I weep not for them, but I, who suffers to further the hand of tyranny.

Saturday. VIII/29th, MMCV


The Count has gone to Colombia to conduct business, leaving me and his other servants, along with his wife and boy, alone. Often, I ponder the War of the World and the War of Colombia. Such women lost, such lives waned, such children pained – what is war but a pillager of life?

Tuesday. IX/1st, MMCV


My sister slaves have approached me today. The Count has deigned them the deed of choosing among themselves which should be of his personal concubines. Fierce with youth, rife with rage, they all concoct a plan to kill him – youth, youth – and ask my aid. I rejected, but hoped.

Tuesday. IX/8th, MMCV

My young sisters, how I pity them. Such hatred for their slavery, such impatience. How I implored the Count mercy, yet they are to be burned like Witches. Cruelty… or, perhaps, freedom found in fire? I know not which, only grief… and broken rage.

Friday. X/16th, MMCV

The days grow cold and short. The Count is to be stationed beyond Colombia and has tasked me to acquaint him. His wife and he of late have quarreled. I wonder of her heart? How feels she of a mistress? How I? And in reflection, I feel dead and suspect so as well of she.

Wednesday. XI/11th, MMCV


The Señora has been publicly put to death, accused of adultery. How many wives have men put to death for this claim? How I hate men, how I hate women; how I hate the sky, how I hate the sea; how I hate this world, how I hate myself.