Joshua Burkholder
Below are various samples of my work. Feel free to read and let me know what you think.
Subliminal Barriers
Prologue
As usual, dreams haunted the young man sprawled in bed. They always seemed so real, more like memories. He knew he was dreaming every time, but that never stopped the suspicion that they were, somehow real. Jack tried to wake himself up, fearing that this one was a memory. Instead, he fell deeper in:
Wind howled through the darkness, blowing the leaves from the surrounding trees. Long skeletal branches reached into the night. If you got too close, they would snatch you, holding you in their timeless embrace. Lightning flared, illuminating the snarling teeth and dark eyes hidden with the trunks.
He was walking quietly, trying to keep just out of the branches’ reach, hoping that they would be unable to grab him. The wind howled once more.
Lightning flashed and he stopped. There it was. He always took a different path, constantly hoping that this time he would avoid it. He never succeeded. As always, the first thing he saw was the boy’s hunched back soaked in sweat. The trees were gripping his skin, merging with it forming some kind of composite monster.
The boy was laughing and crying at the same time; his torn skin bleeding. Fear filled his eyes. The teasing had gone too far and forced both the woods and the dark-haired boy in front of him to crack. Tears rolled freely from his eyes as his bottom lip quivered. He pleaded silently with the boy to stop, knowing full well he could hear his thoughts. The boy in front of him was assaulting his head as the trees whipped his body.
“Stop it,” Jack screamed.
The Passing of the Mantle
First off, allow me to apologize for my language, although not for the reasons you might think. My father was an author, who enjoyed the power of words and the spells they weave. From a young age he taught me words that I had no right knowing. It drove Mom crazy; I guess you could say that it still does.
Every story begins somewhere, not always at a beginning, sometimes they begin at an ending. Every ending could be looked at as a new beginning, depending on whether you think the glass is half empty or not. I’m babbling, I know…trying to be mysterious.
Where this story commences did not feel like a beginning. It felt like the ending, the ending of everything I knew and loved. It began at the end of my father’s life
Celtic Warrior
Buzzing fills his ears, familiar and comforting. His skin tingles from the kiss of the needle. Blood is unavoidable and pain comes immediately. It is not the first time; it will not be the last. The pain will only get worse, but it’s always worth it.
A clanking sound next to him accompanies a minor groan. Looking over, the girl next to him has tears in her eyes. He shakes his head; it was only a pair of earrings.
This one burns. The blood is wiped away revealing fresh, bright ink. The artist looks intently at his arm, following his sketch. This is his fifth tattoo, but it feels different. He dismisses the thought; it should be no different than the others.
“You all right?” the artist asked.
“Yeah.”
“What are you doing here in Ireland?”
“Just visiting. I lost my job, had a little bit if money saved up so I came over. I always wanted to visit but never had the time. So here I am.”