Fallen ApplesIt was a storm to end the world.Fallen Apples by LAHB
Verdigris hung thick and dense like fog in a valley upon the forest of bronze soldiers frozen for time immemorial in some titanic struggle in the vast lawn-space resting at the foot of Mark Wringlers imposing mansion. Rain roared down like fire belched from the throat of some ravening dragon, searing the large statues with its thundering might. The apples trees thrashed about in rage, shaking gnarled branches at the heavens for smiting them with such a hellish downpour. Lightning rent the sky asunder, crackling amidst the clouds and throwing sparks among piles of dry lives as casually as a child discards a toy whose minutes-old novelty has already been stolen away by the passing time.
Mark Wringler himself observed the apocalyptic scene from behind the safety of rich fabric curtains and heavy panes of glass, but still trembled with every rumbling peal of thunder which shook the house. The sound of the rain on the roof above was like the marching o
Tomorrow's Demons Part 10 EndDear father Alain,Tomorrow's Demons Part 10 End by LAHB
Please mail this to the post.
I would like to believe- especially in these troubled times when or nations rulers are at war with the very people they claim to represent- that we all live our lives for a purpose, whether that purpose, that goal is one we set ourselves or one that others lay before us. I dedicated my life to a hunt. I sought to capture a killer, a brigand. I sought to bring down Le Spectre. But now I must wonder if I was not chasing after shadows, chasing after a man- a thing- which did not exist.
Many will ask how this can be, when I myself reported Le Spectre dead three days ago, killed during the occupation of my home city. I myself fired the shot which claimed his life. Yet medals and honors and commendations for my service are empty, meaningless. I should know; I dedicated my life to my worst enemy.
You see, I did not kill Le Spectre. Le Spectre died before his heart stopped beating, before that bullet stole the bre
Tomorrow's Demons Part 9Damien grimaced. Curse it all. Anyone who could be accused of supporting revolution would, along with a handful of others who could not. Dozens, hundreds of lives consigned to the guillotine. If he stayed, he would be among them. The invaders would find more than enough evidence to accuse that quiet, dark-haired man, and even Le Spectre could not defeat an entire regiment of French Soldiers.Tomorrow's Demons Part 9 by LAHB
Oh well. What do I owe this place, anyway? I could never settle down, not even with the small fortune Le Spectre amassed. Hes still a part of me; his heart beats with mine, his hand guides mine. We are one. We always will be. We are I.
Sir! Sir! We found one! Damien was flattening himself stealthily against the nearest wall even as the words reached his ears. Cautiously he looked out across the moonlit streets, into the shadowed recesses lining the street. Seeing no one lying in wait for an unwary revolutionary like himself, Damien focused his attention on the group of men blockin
Tomorrow's Demons Part 8No word on Le Spectre yet? Alphonse asked. The man sitting opposite him sighed, and asked, No. You know that theres been no word on him for weeks. Either hes dead, or hes given it up.Tomorrow's Demons Part 8 by LAHB
Or hes just been inactive, Alphonse interjected.
If you dont mind my asking, sir, with revolutionaries demonstrating in the streets and the country moving toward civil war, what is with this fixation on Le Spectre?
Gregoire I cant explain it, the small man shuffled in his seat, smoothing down his neat trousers and brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculate suit. This this spectre, thats just what he is: a ghost. No one can catch him; no one has even come close. Then, after more than a decade he just disappears? Men like that become legends, and legends grow and multiply, breeding new criminals to pursue the passing time.
Gregoire seemed unconvinced. He rubb