Monthly Archives: November 2015

The Professional Writer: Ike and I

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking more and more about my second blog.

Actually, that’s a lie.

I haven’t been thinking about it, and that’s exactly the problem.

A problem that led to a bit of a panic last night when I realised I had to pitch my ongoing idea for my ‘Professional Contexts’ module and came to the conclusion that I don’t have the motivation to keep a ‘writers blog’ going; mainly due to the fact that since it’s creation, I’ve posted a total of one thing.

And that one thing is something I wrote in class, ie. not for the blog.

So here’s how things are really going to be (I’m serious this time):

The new blog, now with the new domain name of BLERD Reviews is going to take a focus on reviewing comic books, comic-related movies, and whatever geeky extra film and television I deem relevant (read: Star WarsDoctor WhoAsh vs. Evil Dead, etc).

Meanwhile, the writing I do for my course that I deem readable will return here.

Starting with Ike and I, my retelling of the Icarus myth.

And as a sorry, I’ll throw in an alternate telling of Rapunzel (The Last Ride of Erhard Jäger) at the end.


Ike and I

I first met Ike Caruthers some years ago. He was quite a sight to behold; one of those muscular men you see parading around who know exactly how good they look. He had a perfectly square jaw, with beautiful flowing blonde hair and deep piercing blue eyes. His nose was long and straight, with a Grecian look about it. I usually take an instant dislike to such men; their overconfident personalities; their bodies that look like they’ve been pumped full of steroids. But Ike was different.

Although his bravado occasionally neared the overwhelming levels of his muscle-headed peers, I could see that he had a sensitivity about him. When he first entered the salon, his smile betrayed a sense of nervousness. In my eyes, he was already close to perfect, but he assured me that this was not the case.

I welcomed him, and he explained to me that he was preparing for a prestigious party at ‘The Labyrinth’ club in a few months time.
He had found a positively gorgeous angel costume, and with it he hoped to be the most beautiful man at the event. He made a joke about something called ‘peacocking’ before winking at me, as his smile grew increasingly more confident. He would go on to tell me his only regret was that his fair complexion left him with pale skin. He claimed that for his costume to be truly perfect, he had to look more sun-kissed than his rival, Martin ‘The King’ Minos. Minos was hosting the party, and the previous year had said some absolutely devilish things at Ike’s own event. This year, he was hoping to settle the score by outdoing the host with his gorgeous looks.

Ike continued to frequent my salon, continually complaining that he wasn’t yet ‘beautiful enough’. I warned him that he was in danger of overdoing it, but he assured me he would be fine. I had grown quite fond of him over the course of his visits, but eventually I had to deny him service. And so, just as quickly as he’d entered my life, Ike departed; making claims that he would find another tanning salon.

I often wondered how his party had faired, but in time, I found myself another man and we moved on with our lives.

I must admit that I was both shocked and saddened when I bumped into Ike once more. I was in the hospital waiting room when someone croaked my name, “Dave..? Dave Dalus?”

I turned, finding myself looking down upon a leathery, balding man who appeared to be withering away in the corner. With a heavy heart, I looked into those same piercing blue eyes and recognized him as my old angelic customer. He had skin cancer, he explained; the very thing I had warned him of all those years ago.

I ignored his continued claims that he was no longer beautiful and embraced him, knowing, unlike all those years before, that this would be our last meeting.

The Last Ride of Erhard Jäger

In my time as royal advisor, I have come across innumerable tales of creatures such as lycan, vampyr and the walking dead. But by far the most fascinating of these tales was that of my good friend, the late Erhard Jäger; a monster-hunter of some renown.

It began when reports emerged that a peculiar sickness had overcome the prince whilst courting an anonymous maiden. After one such visit, the prince returned covered in crusting red growths that pulsated and seeped the blackest of liquids. With each day, his cries grew worse and Erhard was summoned to the king’s throne room. He was informed by the prince’s erratic and frantic screams that a monster now dwelt in his beloved’s tower.

The next day, Erhard set off for the tower, where he found the peculiar sight of a long braid of hair hanging from the window, up which he made his ascent.

Entering, he found the room to be dark and filled with the stench of death. From the other end of the room came a soft weeping that beckoned Erhard forward. Cautiously, he lit his torch and surveyed his surroundings. The room had naught but desolate stone walls and a simple kept bed. As he drew closer to the weeping, he felt something crunch underfoot. Looking to the floor, he found beneath him a corpse covered in the eerie black liquid that now seeped from the prince’s skin.  

He crept closer still; holding the torch high, so that he might look upon the maiden, and what he saw was a sight that would haunt him till his end.

Where once stood a beautiful girl now stood something spat from the depths of hell itself. On half her head, her long golden tresses had been removed to show the skin crusted over in a hue of bright crimson. Cracks leaked the same black liquid that flowed from both the prince and the corpse behind him. From her eyes, now blackened across the sclera, this liquid also flowed.

He stepped back in a moment of uncertainty, causing her to focus on his presence. Pouncing forward, she bared sharp nails at the hunter, tearing at his skin with unimaginable strength and ferocity.

Understanding now that the girl the prince had loved was now no more, Erhard swung his strong fist across her jaw, hearing it shatter with unexpected ease.

The maiden stared at him, her jaw hanging loose and her skin peeling from her face, as the black liquid continued to course from her wounds.

Pouncing once more, she ushered a bellow from Erhard, as her claws pierced his skin; scratching into his face and chest. Thrusting her away, Erhard lifted his mighty axe, relentlessly hacking into the screaming maiden’s body, drenching the empty room in her now-black blood.

It is my intent to relay this news to the king, who is now in mourning, as the curse that overcame the maiden eventually took his son.

Of course, Erhard did not know of this occurrence when he stumbled through my door, his skin slowly hardening around her scratches into the scab-like substance that covered the maiden’s scalp.

Neither did he know that there was only one cure for their affliction. And so, once Erhard had relayed his story to me, his expression turned from one of remorse to one of shock, as I plunged my dagger into his heart, halting the beast’s invasion of my old friend.

I worry now that by killing Erhard I have done the world a great disservice, and if this brings about some dark future, here before you lies my confession.


Posted by on November 17, 2015 in Life


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