Friday, 30 October 2020

'War of Man' A Poem by Stewart Storrar - Lore Publication

War of Man
A Poem by Stewart Storrar


poem, poetry





With the clash of a sabre against steel,
And the might of one will against another,
On countless forgotten battlefields,
The winds of change dictate,
That final breath, on that final day,
The reaper of men basks in glory,
As you play the devil's hand in a cosmic story,
Of bound fate and decided destiny.

Or,

With the flash of a gun muzzle,
And the fight of one life against another,
On nameless roads of townships,
The winds of change dictate,
The final decision, in that fleeting moment,
The reaper of men creeps with shame,
As you abuse the devil's hand in a cosmic story,
Of false fate and broken destiny.

Or,

With the lash of your own mind,
And the battle of thought against reason,
On endless epochs of life,
The winds of change dictate,
That final thought, in a transient state,
The reaper of men stalks in grief,
As you fake the devil's hand in a cosmic story,
Of chosen fate and forged destiny.

I ask, on that fateful day,
When the dust settles,
And the wind halts,
And the reaper waits,
Who have you become?
And who will you continue to be?








This poem was written by Stewart Storrar, a Scottish writer and lover of poetry. This work of poetry was inspired by the idea that war never changes, but people do. Be it wars of an ancient past, modern wars, or ever person's own personal war. Just like other poems about life, this poem is about all variations of different wars people in our society face.

Lore Publication loves poetry and short poems about life. Be it short poems, a collection of poetry, or even select micro poetry submissions. We would love to hear from you when our submissions open again, so if you have a poem be sure to get it ready if you are thinking about submitting to us.

Until next time, stay safe out there.




short poems, poems about life




Friday, 23 October 2020

12 Creative Writing Prompts to Imagine Story Ideas - Lore Publication

Hello and welcome back to Lore Publication! If this is your first time finding us, we are an online publication that publishes all sorts of goodies - from free short stories and free flash fiction to writing tips and tricks for beginners. For fiction, we mainly publish horror, science fiction, fantasy, thriller and mystery themed stories. We also love to publish poetry from poets all around the globe and have built up a fair collection of content to enjoy! We also like publishing articles that can help writers improve their craft such as articles of different writing techniques and in today's case, creative writing prompts to give you story ideas and new writing topics.


Below we have a list of 12 creative writing prompts for the writing community to get stuck into during lockdown. It is time to get some writing topics and story ideas! Similar to our reading list for lockdown we published a few weeks ago, this prompt list is more aimed to keep writers busy during these hard times. Perhaps you may even find your next book idea or a few short story prompts lurking in one of these entries; which may even help you develop your current story ideas. Or maybe you just want to break through your writer's block for today with some new writing topics. In any case, here they are 💜




creative writing prompts, story ideas, writing topics






Writing Prompt #12: 
For today's first prompt in our list creative writing prompts, we will be giving you a word prompt to get those writing topics flowing. Think about the word and roll it around inside your head for a minute or two and take note of subjects, areas, experiences or people that come to mind.

Arctic.

Now, with a few notes on what this word brings to mind, pick one of them and let your imagination take you on an adventure. Write whatever comes to mind no matter how strange or dumb it may seem. After you have completed this task, read over what you have read and more subjects, areas, experiences or people should begin popping into your head. It is a good way to get the ball rolling which is why it is the first writing prompt on our list.






Writing Prompt #11:

For our next writing prompt, I want you to read the sentence below and finish it with the first thing that comes into your mind - even if it is related to the previous writing prompt. This is a good way to foster some story ideas!

I woke up in the early morning and...

Now that you have your starting sentence, read it back to yourself and begin to ask questions like a detective. Why? Did you wake up due to something? Did you wake up on time? Late? The second half of your sentence will be speculative based on your own experiences so begin questioning that with Who? What? Where? Why? and How? With this, you should be on your way to constructing a paragraph about something or someone.





Writing Prompt #10:

For this writing prompt I want you to imagine that you are a caterpillar. Do you know what type of caterpillar you are? If not, do a quick search. If caterpillars are not your thing, then imagine you are a bird. What kind of bird are you? After deciding what you are, try to imagine what the average day in the life for this creature would be. Write it from a first person perspective. What kind of challenges do you think you would face? How do you get food? Do you have off spring? Where do you live?

Writing from the perspective of an animal or creature can get you into a frame of mind that you would not have considered before. This can help you forge a unique perspective of the world and see it from an imaginary angle that you can explore.





Writing Prompt #9:

For the next prompt, imagine you wake up in the trunk of a car. It is dark. You have a phone, but no signal. The car sounds like it is off. What do you do next? Do you know why you are in the trunk? What does it smell like? What does it feel like? Delve into your surroundings. What do you find? Is it a big trunk or a small one? Are you tied up? Keep on asking questions and watch a small story build around those questions.






Writing Prompt #8:

For this writing prompt, I want you to read the word below and begin writing down whatever pops into your head. It can be an item, a word, a series of words, a phrase, a sentence; anything. Keep this stream of consciousness going to build a cohesive story of any length; from micro fiction to maybe even a multiple page short story.

Rust.







Writing Prompt #7:

For this writing prompt, we will use an image to prompt us for story ideas. Look at the image and study it for as long as you like. Don't actively think about any particular topic but rather let your mind drift to whatever the image brings to you and use that as one of your main writing topics (as it is common for multiple different topics to pop into your head doing this). If you are unhappy about the topic that pops into your head, force yourself to write anyway. Forcing your writing in this way can force you to write about things or aspects you may not even consider naturally.


story ideas, writing topics, creative writing prompts







Writing Prompt #8:

For this writing prompt, I want you to think about five different things that this word below symbolises for you in your life. It can be symbolic for anything in your own life or just what symbolism the word generates for you personally. Use these five different things and weave them into a story!

Deep Purple Light.








Writing Prompt #5:

For this next prompt I want you to pull up your phone or music player. Shuffle it to random and skip through all your songs five times. Now listen to that song entirely and begin noting down words you like, or concepts that spring to mind while listening. After finishing the song you should have anywhere between three or four words to a dozen. Write these words out in a list from the most important to you (most relevant to your life) to the least relevant in your life. Now, from the bottom two words, use them to craft your next story. Push yourself into the realm of the unknown and write about something different.






Writing Prompt #4:

For prompt number four, I would like you to go to YouTube and search 'Malachy Live, Buchanan Street 2019' - then click the first video. Listen to the street artist's music and like prompt number five, begin writing down words you like or concepts that come to mind. Repeat the same process of elimination in prompt five to get some words that you may not use as often or think about as often - be sure to use these as the emphasis of your next story.






Writing Prompt #3:

For this writing prompt we are going to a phrase prompt. Read the phrase below, explore it, and write about how it connects to your life. If it doesn't resonate with you that is okay! Instead think about a fictional character that you love and think about how the phrase connects to their life to write about that instead.

Who are you, after the dust settles, after the dusk fades, after the tides of war settle? 






Writing Prompt #2:

For our second last writing prompt we want to give you another word prompt, but with a twist. Read the word below and list what connotations you associate with this word specifically. Now pick one of those connotations and write about how that effects your life or the life of your loved ones.

Auburn.






Writing Prompt #1:

Finally for our last prompt we want you to read this poem and imagine a character you have written feeling these emotions. How do they react? How do they handle it? How do they feel about these emotions? If you don't want to use one of your own poems, then be sure to use a favourite character of yours! The poem was written by Stewart Storrar.

It is the tree rustling in the shrill wind,
The amber leaf that falls from the tree,
The loose rock from the rigid cliff face,
The rogue cloud in a clear sky.

It is the smouldering ash,
To the raging flames.

The mighty sword,
To the broken shield.

What I am is your perfect chaos.

The chaos you refuse to face.






writing topics, story ideas, creative writing prompts








Thursday, 22 October 2020

The Snowman - A Free Flash Fiction (Thriller, Horror) (Micro Fiction) - Lore Publication

The Snowman

by Stewart Storrar

Welcome to Lore Publication, a place that brings you insightful fiction for your insightful mind. We are proud to bring you a wide selection of all kinds of stories from a range of genres including: horror, fantasy, science fiction, thriller/mystery and hybrid genres of these categories. While we love these genres the main theme to link them all is that we love stories with morals - as what is a story without any kind of moral?

Anyhoo, after a long break, we are finally back to bring you a new story (which blurs the line to what a micro fiction is). While our publications have been very light in the later half of this year we are working hard to bring you more creative projects in the near future! With this in mind we introduce 'The Snowman' by Stewart Storrar for your enjoyment. It was written during a spur of inspiration by Stewart and we hope you like it. Enjoy!


flash fiction, micro fiction, stories with morals
Image credit: Tom Hilton via Flickr


The wind chilled me to the bone and the sky was a haunting shade of charcoal. So when my eyes met it, and the surge of pity fluttered through my heart, it warmed my very soul with a viscus empathy. The aura of the place and sight was a strange euphoria I had never known in a sea of depression I’d uniquely owned.


It was easy to attribute this pity and empathy to the sight of the snowman. 


My world came crashing down around me, my choking thoughts, my crushing emotions, and the intended action that took me to that frozen lake on that fateful day. It all collapsed into an abyss during that moment of forgotten memories. The simplicity of its fleeting existence captured my reality in a sacred bond between who I seemed and who I was. 


Its solemn look. 


Its limited existence.


Its slither of time.


Finding the snowman gave me something I never thought I could find; something I had lost for what felt like aeons. I looked to the snowman and thought one simple thought that shattered what I had become.


Why are you sad?


In its childish simplicity the question warped my life, now teetering in the balance, into perspective. In that sense I see now what nobody could show me and what the world had been hiding from me. 


I saw it in the snowman, and then I saw it in myself. That was the day the call to the void stopped and the call of life resonated with everything I had been, towards everything I was going to be.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------


This flash fiction was written by Scottish writer Stewart Storrar, you can find his Twitter profile here. Be sure to follow his work. Currently he is working on his debut novel Strand and his debut graphic novel that is yet to be announced.  He is an avid writer that has written multiple flash fiction, micro fiction, and stories with morals at their core. He loves storytelling of all shapes and forms. 


stories with morals, flash fiction, micro fiction



Wednesday, 29 July 2020

Child's Play: A Short Story (Free Short Stories) (Sci Fi Horror) - Lore Publication


Jane lifted the cup from the counter letting it rest between her lips as she drank the fresh orange juice. She heard the patter of feet along the tiled kitchen floor and as she turned she found her youngest child pottering towards her; a tired, dreary expression across his face.

“Morning you, what do you want for breakfast?” The small child glanced up to his mother with a somewhat frustrated expression as his face crumpled into a frown. Jane reached down taking her son into her arms to cradle his whimpering state, “What’s wrong pumpkin?”

“Tired,” the child whimpered. 

“Aww pumpkin, let’s get you breakfast then,” the child shook his head,

“No.”

“A bath?” Jane asked. The child nodded, 

“Uh huh.”

“Okay, come on then, let’s go,” another set of feet could be heard bumping down the stairs as Jane carried her son through from the kitchen into the hallway. Jane craned her neck to see her other elder son stumbling down the stairs in an almost zombified state, “Zane, hurry up or you will be late!” Zane sighed with a groggy voice,
 
“I won’t be late.”

“That was what you said yesterday! Get yourself fed and get your ass to school!”

“Okay,” Zane sighed and stumbled past his angry mother to head for the kitchen as Jane carried her youngest son up the stairs. Zane staggered into the kitchen with another sigh before heading for the fridge.

*

The man found himself escorted to the front of the gallery seating segments of a grand hall. The massive, decorative walls twisted upwards in strands and pillars of carved wood; totems to a rich, cultural past. They met an equally decorative roof, again, created from the carvings of ancestors that lived in their society thousands of years prior. The roof differed from the walls with their massive mirage of colours and swirling patterns that made up a muriel. It depicted various idols from a long forgotten past and various deities that society had long since shunned, yet somehow felt the need to preserve. He found it strange how such a prestigious entity would be allowed to keep such primitive materials as the building blocks of its most famous institution. Not that it mattered to him. The man found himself being ushered towards one of the more recent additions to the hall; a repulser shield. The technology to the man’s front seemed somewhat out of place; juxa-positioned with the ancient carvings and preserved splashes of art across the ceiling. Nonetheless the man found himself being scanned past the shield and walked inside. As the shield hummed with re-activation, it sent a chill down his spine.

*

The klaxon rang out in the classroom and Zane switched off his personal archive. He watched the holographic displays sink away into the bevelled cone-shaped disc and then took off his visor. He slid the coupled technology into his backpack as everyone began leaving the room. Taking one last glance to the teaching bot standing sentry at the front of the room, he turned to find another boy about his age staring at him. Zane stood from his desk,

“Sup’ Ro.”

“You coming out with us?” Zane shook his head, 

“Sorry man no can do.” Ro scoffed, 

“It isn’t the assignment is it?”

“No way,” Zane shoved Ro slightly, “I am going on Cortex.” Ro’s expression lit up,

"You already have it!" Zane grinned, 

“Yup, come on over. You can have a shot.” Ro almost jumped at the idea, stopping to hesitate for a moment, 

“What about your mum?” Zane shrugged, 

“I’ll just say it is an assignment. We need to use our holo-kits anyway, she won’t be able to see what it is.”

“Sweet!” Ro bounced off out the class room, “See you around six?”

“Sure thing,” Zane replied zipping up his bag. He watched his friend bounce out the class room. He slung his pack over his shoulder, took one last look at the idle teaching bot, then left the class.

*

He was sat down in a chair. It was isolated in the middle of the main chamber. To his front he could see the range of Judicial Bots analyzing him with their cold, mechanical optical movements in their version of what human’s would call a face. He glanced to the right and then to the left in turn to see two other rows filled by humans. The two guards secured his bonding unit and positioned themselves at either side of the chair he found himself restrained in. Each of the bots glared at him. They were spindly constructions of bolts and circuits, their ‘heads’ jutting out from a rather thin looking torso. The optical units seemed to be hollow half-spheres, with a holographic processing unit generated in the scoop of this half-sphere. Each bot had its own colour. The one directly to his front had a pure black and white holograph, whereas the others had distinctly one domineering colour. As he scanned over his judicators he knew deep down what was going to happen to him. All he could do now was wait for the inevitable sentence to befall his ears.

*

Zane gently pushed the door open. He slid his head in the side of the door and glanced around. With a sudden movement he flung open the door and Ro quickly slipped inside, gliding up the stairs as if he were a ghost. Zane then, loudly, shut the front door.

“Zane?” he heard his mother, Jane, call out.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wondering who came in!”

“Alright! I am heading upstairs!”

“Okay, be sure and come down to tell the bot what you are having to eat!"

“I will,” and with this, Zane followed his friend upstairs. Ro was already sitting eagerly glaring at the holo-circlet positioned in the middle of the room. Zane walked into the room and shut the door on the hallway.

“Where is it?” Zane chuckled ever so slightly, 

“It is right over here, chill out.”

“I have so wanted to play this!”

“And you will,” Zane retorted, reaching into his holo-game shelf. He let his fingers glide along the various titles until he found the one he was looking for; Cortex. He took the small plastic container from the shelf and opened it up to reveal a small metallic sphere. He took out the sphere, walked over to the holo-circlet, and placed it in the middle of the concave structure. With the sphere perfectly in place he gave a holo-kit to Ro and kept one for himself.

“Set it to frequency, five, five, four, hash, three, four, six.” Ro nodded with enthusiasm and tapped in the code slipping on the visor. Zane followed suit. As Zane ran the program he watched as Ro’s face lit up with untamed excitement.

*

The room was dimly lit and within it’s walls, one man. He sat in the middle of this quaint room surrounded by the encroaching aura of darkness that gripped him to his core. It was cold. It was quiet. The only sound he could hear was the sound of his own blood pulsate around his body. His gentle, yet fast, breathing was his only companion. His eyes granted him nothing but a glimmer of light directly above him. All he could feel was an overpowering sense of fear that kept him grounded. He didn’t know what was happening to him. His memory was shrouded. He didn’t know why or how but he knew, with every atom of his being, that he was facing up to a primal instinct of fear. A primal instinct that told him to run and never stop. 

He glared around his immediate surroundings to see nothing but darkness. His last known memories were beginning to resurface; the gallery, the ornate wooden pillars, the ancient ceiling paintings. It was only when he recalled the Judicial bots that he began to realize where this place was and - for a moment - he did not want to believe it. Every muscle in his body trembled. Every bone in his body ached.

He glanced around what he assumed to be some kind of chamber and weirdly enough his eyes were wide open but granted him no information. The place smelled unnervingly clean. The disinfectant stung at his nose and clawed its way down the back of his throat like some invasive flavour of an exotic food. He found that his hands were still bound. Not only were they bound together but they seemed to also be bound to the metallic chair he sat on. He tried to move his legs to find the same restraints clasped around his ankles; these restraints also bound to the chair. He could feel a cold bead of sweat begin to trickle down from his brow into his eye. His lips were cracked, dry, and peeling. His hair dirty and unkempt. He glanced down to his naked body gleaming in the light projecting down from above to find streaks of dried sweat sticking his body hair to his irritated skin. 

Then it happened.

His head shot to his front as a whirring nose could be heard. It flashed into existence with a loud screech that scared him. Whatever the noise was, it seemed to be distant, but getting louder. Whatever was making these sounds was approaching him. As this strange whirring noise traversed the darkness towards him he grew ever more curious about its origin and ever more fearful to discover it. It was only when the noise could be distinguished as being generated above him, that his head began to skew towards the epicentre of whatever was generating it. His eyes pierced the darkness to no avail. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the sound disappeared. An eerie silence befell his surroundings. The sound simply ceased to exist as quickly as it had appeared. Judging by the amount of time the sound took to get nearby, he assumed the place he now inhabited was fairly large, but the sound had generated no echo.

Then it happened again.

This time the screeching sound seemed slightly faster; the whirring was faster. The sound seemed to be equally distant as it was the first time it appeared. The only difference being it was behind him this time. The whirring sped up and the closer it got the more it reminded him of some kind of drill. He recalled the ancient drill devices dentists used to utilize in the 21st century and, to his horror, it sounded almost identical. Visiting the museum was one childhood memory he wished he had never retained. The mechanical whirring grew ever closer, just as it did before, only this time it didn't stop. He anxiously tried to look to either side of him to try and catch any glimpse he could of what was approaching him. As the sound grew tremendously loud he began to feel a proximity sense tingle on the back of his neck. Just before he screamed in frustration the whirring stopped. Whatever was behind him vanished.

Suddenly, he felt a burning, piercing pain penetrate the back of his neck. His hands clenched the arms of the chair, his head jerked, and his lungs let out a blood curdling scream. He felt some kind of hot instrument burrow into the base of his neck. The blood spurted onto the metal and almost instantly cauterised due to the immense heat. He felt the skewer drive deeper into his flesh until its tip ground away at the bone of his spinal column. He felt the hot metal melting away his skin around the small entry wound. He felt the layers of fat in the skin tear. He felt his own searing blood run down his back. The instrument stopped moving and began heating up. The last thing he felt was a jolt as the instrument pierced his brain stem.

*

“What did you do that for?” it was Zane speaking. Ro let go of the holographic spike in his right hand as he turned to Zane,

“What?” Zane shook his head, 

“You get more points the more pain you cause?”

“Oh,” Ro paused, “I didn’t know.” 
Zane sighed, 

“Let’s fire up another one.”



 Information on the Writer - Before You Go!


Stewart Storrar is a young Scottish writer that writes short stories, flash fiction, and is currently working on his debut novel among other creative writing projects. Child's Play is a dystopian sci fi horror story he wrote to highlight his concerns with VR headets and virtual reality merging with the real world.

We hope you enjoyed this from Stewart! You can check out his Twitter account here so be sure to follow his future works such as his newer short stories and flash fiction. Be sure to follow Lore here on Blogger as well as Twitter to keep up to date with our new releases!


short story, sci fi horror


Wednesday, 22 July 2020

The Arcane Mandate: A Short Story (Free Short Stories) (Horror Story) - Lore Publication

The Arcane Mandate: A Free Short Story (Horror) 


Hello and welcome to Lore Publication once again! For those of you who are clicking onto the blog for the first time, this blog is run by Lore Publication and aims to bring you free short stories and free flash fiction for all your reading needs. We love to publish works of fiction in the horror, science fiction, fantasy, thriller and mystery genres but will consider a mixed genre story just like any other! Lore prides itself on being a place that readers can get high quality, thought provoking fiction and for upcoming writers to make a name for themselves. Just as free ebooks are a way for readers to get awesome content and writers to get publicity, our stories work in a similar way. Lore doesn't just publish stories and from time to time we will publish articles about writing. This may include an article on writing tips and tricks, writing prompt lists to help with writer's block and even writing techniques for beginners! With a short little introduction out the way, let's dive into today's post.

Today we are publishing a chilling tale of horror called The Arcane Mandate, written by Scottish writer Stewart Storrar. Enjoy! 💀



Image credit: simonwijers via Pixabay


I woke up earlier today. The rains were dormant, waiting, and I needed to finish what I had started. The house was fairly empty, only my mother was home, and she was still fast asleep. It was five in the morning and the sun hadn't started the day yet.

I swung my legs out from under my bed. I felt the harsh, splintered floor boards poke at my feet and so I pulled on a pair of thick woollen socks first before anything else. I then decided to pull on my cargo trousers, a thin cotton top,  and a woollen fleece; I was wrapped up to defend against the chill from the Alaskan highlands. I pulled on my sturdy walking boots and reached for my raincoat. Having wrapped myself up, I grabbed my hunting knife and my Jō Staff. It was time to leave.

A small note was left in my wake, sitting atop the kitchen counter and I was off. I left without making much sound and had packed my lunch in my sling bag. The brisk morning air stole my first few breaths from me, before I was able to acclimatise to the dying remnants of the night’s chill.

The walk had only begun. I had made it countless times before to make sure I was capable of its completion within the time frame. Today was the day, I had waited months for this moment, and everything so far was perfect. All I needed to do was get to where I was going. If by some feat I failed due to fucking up the timings, I dread to contemplate what that would mean. Nothing needed to go wrong but, usually, things always did. This was my third attempt and this time I was going to get it right.

Failure was not an option now.

I managed to reach the first totem in time. This was met by an overwhelming sense of not only satisfaction, but relief. The first time I had attempted this I had missed the first totem by a mere ten minutes. I glared to the pine tree towering up towards the heavens and it was most certainly the one. It wasn’t hard to identify the totem as it was near impossible to miss the various insects pinned to the tree’s bark in a wide, circular fashion. I took a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the spectacle. 

Before long I sat my sling bag down and unzipped it to begin my search. It had taken longer than I had hoped before I pulled out the small metal tin that I was looking for. I opened this tin up to reveal my insect for this year; a house spider. It was already dead. Taking the pin that was also stored inside the tin container, I gently began the delicate process of stripping the limbs from the creature. One by one, the long, thin legs were pulled from the carcass using the needle. The process took around a minute meaning I was still on schedule. Finally, I slid the pin through the main body of the dead spider and pinned it to the tree. One down, three to go.

I packed up my kit fairly quickly and gave a quick glance to my wristwatch. It was only quarter to six and I was already on my way to the second totem. I needed to be careful. There had been previous occasions where I overshot a specific totem and arrived far too early. I could not allow the same mistakes to happen again and again. After all, repetition of the same thing over and over again expecting something to change was (apparently) the definition of madness. Strange that. If Einstein had indeed said it, or at least something to that effect, then it must have some grain of truth to it.

Marching onward the dawn began to make its presence known to the new day. The sun was no longer a soft glow on the horizon as its powerful, auburn rays cut across the forest behind me. That meant I was heading in the right direction; west. I did spare a thought about the weather forecast. It was unusual that it was wrong but that did not affect anything, not really.

It took just under an hour to reach the next totem. It was exactly as I had left it. The tree itself was home to old, rusted nails I had hammered in on my last attempt. I sat my kit down and rummaged about until my hand found the tough wooden handle of my claw hammer. I pulled it from the bag and made use of the claw side to pull the nails from the trunk and pocket them. With the rusted nails clanking around in my pocket, I knelt down and picked up the grey squirrel by its tail. The limp body of the creature swayed and the blood stained fur giving off a metallic aroma. It had only been dead a day and I was thankful no wildlife had claimed it for their own use. Last year a wolf had made off with my kill.

I wasted no time and fetched a nail from my pocket. I positioned the squirrel appropriately and with a few direct strokes of the hammer, nailed its tail to the trunk of my second totem. Although the creature had been dead for a day, blood still spurted from the flesh with each blow. I felt the cold trickles off the liquid on my face but continued nonetheless. After hammering its tail to the trunk, I completed my piece with all four limbs. I stood up and took a few steps back. It was upside down and perfectly aligned in the centre of the tree’s truck. I gave it a short, yet respectful, bow. It needed recognition for its sacrifice. It had died for my needs, my cause, but it was a noble way to go. For a squirrel at least.

My final totem was the farthest away meaning the last stretch of my journey was going to be the most tiring. I took one last look at the second totem and packed up my things to  began the ‘long slog’ of the pilgrimage. It was the last leg and by far the hardest to complete. It wasn’t so much the distance of the totem but more the final totem preparation that was difficult. It had always been the final totem that had failed me in previous years. This year was going to be different. This year I was going to finish what I started.

I reached the final totem on time. I could smell it long before I could actually see it. Part of the reason it was so far out was due to the smell it gave off. The secrets of the mandate had to stay hidden. They were royal. Arcane, even.

The first thing that hit me was always the smell of rot. Not the damp, decaying rot of the tree but rather the rot of past years’ chosen. This year it smelled particularly bad. The fact the pig had been a chosen last year was most likely part of the reason why. Those animals practically lived in their own filth for the majority of their lives. After the smell, came the bones. The old, decayed, stained bones of the chosen. The past three years had spawned countless carcasses. I had gone on a few practice runs, but even the practice runs needed real chosen. I wouldn’t dare disrespect without a real chosen, even if it were a mere practice run.

Then, it was the totem itself. It was the epitome of death. The smell was rancid and overpowering. It looked horrific; like something out a cheap horror movie. Except this was no cheap horror movie. This was the real deal. The old, stained blood was real and ancient. The bits of flesh, the shards of bone, the fragments of skulls; it was all real. Most importantly, it was all me. This year, however, was going to be different. This year I would complete the mandate. My ticket to salvation lay at the base of the tree and she looked terrified. In another life she may have been the one, she was certainly pretty enough.

She knew what was going to happen now. Be that as it may, it was time to prepare the last totem.





Writer Information - Before You Go!


We hope you enjoyed this latest tale from Lore, written by Stewart Storrar; Lore's founder. You can follow Stewart's other work by following him on Twitter here

We are also over on Twitter so be sure to follow us there too for news and updates on new content. Bye for now!

Wednesday, 15 July 2020

Our new Imprint - Dark Lore - Lore Publications


Our New Imprint 'Dark Lore'


Dark Lore's Logo


After a month or so of radio silence on our part, it is time for some good news. Over the past year since Lore Publication's new site launch we have worked on bringing you all poems, short stories, articles, original series' and even a book review - new territory for us!

While we have been publishing content from our old medium site and some new content from talented writers across the globe, Lore's Chief Editor has been working on his debut novel that is now nearing completion. With this debut novel almost ready for the online marketplace, we decided to launch a new imprint of Lore Publication called Dark Lore to handle our first commercial book launch.

So what is Dark Lore?

Dark Lore is the imprint we are launching to handle works of speculative fiction such as crime, thrillers, and drama as well as handle other types of fiction like horror. The imprint will exclusively publish full length book titles from the genres - so fans of these types of books take note!

On the lead up to our first commercial novel being available, we will have less free content being published here on the site but fear not! Our website will always be a place for short fiction, poetry, articles, and reviews that readers will be able to read for free. That is the core of what makes Lore what it is and that is most certainly here to stay.

With that short note our of the way, we hope you are staying safe in lockdown and you enjoy our new title when it is released! We haven't decided on a date yet but all in good time. Have a good day!


Tuesday, 12 May 2020

'The Wait' A Poem by Cristina Iacobelli - Lore Publication

'The Wait'

by Cristina Iacobelli


poem, poetry
Image credit: cocoparisienne




I am waiting to live

A life yet to come,

Longing to see

That which lies beyond the stars.

If losing is a game

To be played in solitude,

I want to win my battles

With humble attitude.

 


I am surviving

With the burning desire to exist,

Conscious that the static

Requires mutations,

Confiding in the advent

Of enchanting wonders to discover,

Generated by a tenacious determination.

 


In the unsustainable, insidious,

Resounding reverberations

Which torment my sleep

And my awakening,

The blurred image

Of a clearer tomorrow

Wistfully accompanies

My restless, pensive,

Dreamy days.

 


I wait,

Patiently.

I strive,

Interminably.

I endure,

Inexorably.

Exhausted by the implacable sufferance

Which limbs and spirit tears apart.

 


Every time I repeat to myself

That the stormy, whirling,

Overwhelming nightmare will pass.

But, it never passes.

That everything will change.

But, it never changes.

 


I keep waiting,

Hesitant, but confident at the same time

That the end of the tunnel

Timid, dim beams unveils,

Brightening more and more.

 


And then, as if by magic,

The haunting, perfidious,

Macabre, vile obscurity

At their highest, mighty presence will fall.

After the interminable, cold nights

A new sun will arise

Which my poor, gelid bones

Delicately will warm.



The dusty ashes

Dazzling crystals will become.

The thunder, with its impetuous voice,

Will cease to rumble

And, as a knight in front of his damsel,

Its head will bow

To the much yearned calm.

 


The pounding rain

My desperate tears will wash away.

In a breath,

The excruciating agony will vanish.

Fleetingly,

The unbearable dreads will melt away.

And yet, the deep, unmerciful scars

Indelible will linger.

 


Water and fire

In a brotherly embrace will unite.

The sky will overflow

With iridescent rainbows

And celestial, sparkling

Nocturnal brilliances.

The immense, inner light

Its intense glow will emanate.

Of candid essence I will shine.

 


Alive

Incredibly,

As never I have felt.

Free

Boundlessly,

As never I have been.

Myself, at last.

Me, so unique, so complex,

Splendidly,

As never before.

 


The vivid, sublime visions

More than ever true will be.

The limpid, blinding,

Magnificent reality will transpire.

With endless attentions and loving gifts

So Tenderly will fill me.

Touching me softly, healing my wounds,

Cradling me sweetly…

 


And this

Incessant,

Cruel,

Wearing,

Trembling

Wait

Into pure blissfulness

Will transmute.







Written by Cristina Iacobelli. Cristina is as a multifaceted artist, a  bilingual poet, storyteller, screenwriter for film and television, filmmaker, author, as well as actress, singer, playwright, songwriter and composer. Her artistic skills extend to photography, drawing, painting, dancing, and much more. She is someone profoundly and passionately in love with words, music, and The Arts in all their forms.

Poetry is innate to her; she began poem writing at a tender age to pour out my emotions; later on, it became so important as to include it in my storytelling and other artistic creations. Her poetry are inspired by her real life experiences and every poem she writes reflects this.

To this end, she likes to summarise the essence of her poetry in her simple aphorism:

Poetry is Life and Life is Poetry.


This wonderful piece of poetry was brought to you by Lore Publication. We love to publish poetry from talented writers across the world, giving them a platform to share their poem creations. Acting as a community, Lore's founder believes that words and art are what separate us from the animals. He wants to honour that by sharing the best poem creations, an art form of the word, with the world.


If you are interested in having your poem featured here on Lore, no matter what type of poem it is, visit the 'Submit' section or email us at: lorepublications@gmail.com


We will welcome your poem with open arms and let you know if we feel it is a fit for what we publish here on Lore. Have a nice day!