K.G. Reuss's Blog, page 3

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

Greetings!

Soo. . . I forgot I had a blog. I do recall stating something back when I first started a blog about not being very good at posting. See? I did not lie or disappoint!

What do I have to say today? Nothing much. I’m currently suffering from a terrible cold. Even my bones are aching. Yuck! I hate being sick! I just got off from working a 24-hour shift on the ambulance (and I have to go back for another 24 hours tomorrow). Let me tell you, that is doubly no fun when sick! Taking care of the sick when you’re sick? Ugh! It’s rough.

OK. Enough talk about being sick.

It’s almost March! YES! I’m so sick of seeing snow and being cold! Northern Michigan isn’t known for its balmy winter climate so I am super excited about the prospect of warm breezes and green grass!

I’ve been working on the sequel to The Chronicles of Winterset, Oracle. It’s called The Chronicles of Winterset, Wildfire. I planned on a March 14th release, but. . . well, probably not going to happen. I’m thinking I may push the date back until the end of March or the beginning of April. Sorry. I’ve just been so busy that I haven’t been able to get it as finely tuned as I’d like. The book is written. I swear it is. I just have two minor things I need to fix before I send it off to my editor.

In addition to Wildfire, I’m also working on Emissary of the Devil. That book is proving trickier than I had anticipated. It’s been difficult to write. I’m not sure if I’m just tired from writing so much, if I’m having a word block in my head, or if I just need to be inspired (or maybe a combination of all three), but I’m stuck. And it needs to be completed in two weeks. TWO WEEKS! GAH! Talk about pressure and stress. Not cool. I’m trying, though.

First things first–I need a nap!

I’ll try to post more. I should be aiming at one post a week. Eh, I get sidetracked.

 

 

 

Tentatively entitled The Guardian; UNEDITED excerpt

 

I don’t know where this idea came from for this story. It may have been the countless lives I see disintegrate. Maybe it’s from my own regrets. Maybe it’s from a society I see that’s collapsing on itself.

Maybe the world needs more guardians.

Anyway, for whatever reason, here’s a story I’m working on! It’s unedited. I honestly just wrote it like ten minutes ago.

 

The Guardian

Most people don’t wake up thinking today is the day they’re going to die. I know I didn’t, and yet, here I am, standing over my own dead body wondering what I could have done differently. Wondering if perhaps I’d have bought the double mocha latte instead of the glazed donut if maybe I wouldn’t have died. That maybe the time it took to make the latte in comparison to the time it took to pull a donut off the rack could have altered the outcome.

I was lamenting on regrets, on the ‘should haves’, the ‘wish I had’, and the ever famous ‘could haves’.

I always had the thought in my head that by the time I’d died, the playback of my life would be filled with incredible scenes of far off countries, extraordinary experiences I had, grand adventures, maybe deep sea diving, kissing my crush, the gorgeous, unattainable November Reed, captain of the cheerleaders and all-around goddess. You know, things to make you say, “Yeah, that guy was such a bad ass!” Instead, it was a short flash of mediocrity- my birth, opening a Hot Wheels track on my eighth birthday, my first kiss to Jenna Murphy when I was thirteen, my first car, homecoming, Christmas with my parents, eating really bad fruit cake my Aunt Glenda made and smiling through it like a champ while my younger brother Dillon laughed silently and pointed at me from behind Aunt Glenda’s back.

My playback didn’t include anything really awesome, and for that, I was regretful and a tiny bit bitter. OK, a lot bitter, but hey, I’m a dead eighteen-year-old guy. I had dreams. I had goals! And now, all I had was a pocketful of dirt and an eternity of being able to walk through walls. That seemed like a cool ability when I was nine, but now that it was my new pastime, it would surely lose its luster fast.

“I hope you cheer up soon because you are seriously being a real downer, bro,” a voice said from behind me causing me to jump. I turned around and gaped at the owner.

“Jamie?” I asked, astounded as I recognized the face of Jamie West, one of my friends that had passed away the prior year in a drowning incident out at Lake Huron. The thought hadn’t occurred to me that I’d see people I once knew.  When no glorious bright light had appeared to me, I figured I had been forgotten about and would be left to roam the world alone. I had even given myself a pep talk about it, which really just consisted of me telling myself to stop being such a wuss and to “chin up”, something my mom would tell me when I was feeling down.

“Wow! What are you doing here?” I exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about my soon to be rotting corpse.

“I was in the area and heard you got run over. Figured I’d say hi,” he chuckled, giving me a bro handshake and clapping me on the shoulder.

“Yeah, well, what else was I supposed to do on a Wednesday morning?” I grumbled dryly with a sigh.

“Hey, man. You’re dead. The worst part is over. No sense in crying over spilled blood. You feeling me? Could be worse! You could be stuck in limbo, clinging to both life and death. I hear that’s not a cool place to take up residence.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I shrugged. “One minute I was crossing the street with a glazed donut in my hand, the next minute I was being flung through the air and struck by another oncoming car. It went black afterward and now here I am.”

“Damn, bro,” Jamie shook his mane of wavy blond hair. “Sorry it happened, man.”

“Yeah, me too,” I muttered, turning back to my casket.

“Nice outfit,” Jamie commented, staring down at my cold, lifeless body in the ornate box. “My parents put a suit and tie on me knowing full well I hated wearing that shit. Just goes to show that even in death I still didn’t get them to hear me.”

Jamie’s parents were well off, and Jamie had always been under scrutiny from his dad. He’d always tried to talk to them, but they never seemed to have time for him. I remembered the day he died vividly. We’d gone to the beach to hang out after he’d gotten into an argument with his dad over going to college. Jamie wanted to chill at community college, work, and make his own way. His dad wanted him to ride into Princeton on his dime. When Jamie told him how he felt, his dad got pissed and a fight ensued. Jamie, in his anger, stormed out of the house, called a group of us, and we went to the beach. The beach always helped Jamie become calm when he was angry. He said it was the sound of the small waves lapping at the shore. I figured it was just the solitude of not having to listen to his parents nag at him that helped him. No one really knew how he’d died. He was laughing and swimming one moment, and the next, his blond hair disappeared beneath the waves. The next time I saw him, he was lifeless on the beach, the paramedics trying to bring him back.

“Hey, about that day-,” I started but Jamie cut me off with a shake of his head.

“Don’t even worry about it, man. It was meant to be,” he brushed me off and looked around the room. “Look at that. November came. She didn’t show up to mine!”

“Wow,” I murmured, taking in her long legs in her short black dress, her red hair spilling over her slender shoulders in waves. She wasn’t the typical redhead. Oh, no. November was the redhead that had that creamy flawless porcelain skin, the kind free of freckles and blemishes. Her large, green eyes were so full of life that whenever I saw her enter a room, I sat up straighter just so I could pull more of the same air she breathed into my lungs. With her spectacular breasts and ten out of ten ass, I was sure she starred in more than just my teenage dreams.

She wasn’t putting on a big fake smile like most of the people in the room. In fact, upon closer inspection, I saw her eyes glistening with tears.

“Still hot,” Jamie breathed, gaping at her.  “No offense, but why is she crying over you?”

“No clue,” I murmured, not even the slightest bit offended. “I think we spoke like maybe ten times in the history of high school.”

“Maybe she was harboring a little soft spot for Trent Parker, huh?” Jamie teased.

“Yeah, right,” I chuckled, despite the severity of my situation. It wasn’t that I was a bad looking guy. I had been fairly popular in a ‘hey, who’s that guy’ sort of way. I just never figured myself to be a November Reed sort of counterpart. My dark hair was always messy, my gray eyes always bright with laughter, my mouth always curved up into a smile. I was the fun guy, the goofball, the ‘I love you like a brother’ kind of guy.

I was content. And maybe that was my downfall. It all goes back to that stupid donut. I should have demanded the latte. It was basic symbolism. The donut represented my acceptance of the mediocre. Had I demanded something better, like the tasty, time-consuming latte, I might just be playing basketball with my brother in the backyard right now and not gazing morosely at my body in a casket.

“Can’t win ‘em all, Trent,” Jamie slapped me on the back. “Best to pick up the pieces you can and move forward. Dwelling on any of it won’t make a difference now.”

“And now what?” I asked, tearing my eyes away from November as she dabbed at her pretty, tear-laden green eyes. I hesitated on my parents as my mom wept into my dad’s neck, at my brother who stared deadpan at a wall, his lips twisted into a frown.

“And now, we “fly high”, just like all those posts say on our abandoned Facebook walls. “

“What do you mean?” I asked, turning to him.

“Follow me,” Jamie grinned, a brilliant oval of light appearing in front of him. “You’re going to love this!”

I turned and gave my family and friends one last sad look before following Jamie into the light.

Once Upon A Nighttime

AN UNEDITED EXCERPT!





I’ve been working on a side story between Wildfire, Emissary, and Secret Life. I tend to do that because it helps free my mind a little.

 


The backstory behind this particular story I’m working on relates to an event from my teenage years. As many of you know, or may have guessed, I spent a lot of my time writing when I was growing up. If I wasn’t writing, I was reading. As a teenager, I got really into writing music.  Anyway, I wrote a song called, ‘Face in the Mirror’. It was this heavy, brooding lyrical story about a man that lives in the mirror and he watches you, feasting on your beauty and your flaws, always wanting the part of you that you hate. The song always stuck with me (probably because I was so withdrawn and self-conscious growing up). Because of that, I decided to write a story about it. Who the man was. What he wants. The girl he watches. Her fears. His world. The desperate feelings of being trapped and wanting more than just being able to watch.


 


I’m considering writing this story in small portions as a novella box set of sorts. Just something fun. Give folks a glimpse into those awkward teenage years of mine (coupled with my very active adult imagination).


 


Here’s the first, work-in-progress chapter. The story is tentatively titled ‘Once Upon A Nighttime’.

                                                                        Chapter One

The sun was beating down hot and heavy, and I hastily fanned myself with my hand, the sweat dripping down my neck in long rivers leaving me with nasty wet marks on my green Ramones t-shirt.

“Ugh,” my friend Abby croaked, fanning herself with a box top she’d ripped off. “I don’t know why the hell you thought moving today would be a good idea! And where the hell is Logan with my water?!”

She looked around irritably for our friend Logan who had promised to get us some cold drinks. He’d been gone for over fifteen minutes already, and I was seriously doubting that he’d return any time soon. I knew if I had been given the opportunity to skip out on moving day, I’d have made haste so quick that my Converse would smoke from the friction of them pounding the pavement as I fled.

“Let’s just hurry up,” I said, wiping my sweaty brow. I snatched up a box labeled books and cringed as my back ached. That was a clear indication that I should start downloading my books rather than keeping heavy boxes of them to lug around. A tablet was so much lighter to lift than a tote filled with fifty books.

Abby growled her dissatisfaction as she hoisted a small box labeled ‘clothes’ into her arms and followed me to the back of Logan’s truck. We continued what we were now referring to as The Trudge of Death for another four trips when Logan popped back in, a huge grin on his face.

“Where the hell have you been?” Abby demanded, tapping her foot irritably, her sweet features twisted into a snarl, her long blonde curls bouncing angrily on her head as her foot continued its tapping. Abby was a major sweetheart, but she didn’t take crap from anyone, and that included our long-time friend Logan Welles. She was short and small, but fiery. Her personality reminded me of a Chihuahua. Super cute, but snarly when provoked.

“Sorry,” Logan grinned sheepishly, taking the box Abby was holding. “Kyle called and was telling me about the new Call of Duty game-,”

“I don’t even care,” Abby said, holding up her hand to silence him. “Like, seriously. Where’s my water?”

“Oops,” Logan grimaced, shifting the box in his arms.

“You were gone all that time and didn’t even bring us water?” Abby asked, her green eyes open wide in disbelief. “Give me that!” She grabbed the box from his arms and huffed away from him.

“I’d get her a water if I were you,” I chuckled, pushing tendrils of my red hair away from my face. Logan grinned, watching Abby walk out to the truck with the box in her arms.

“I don’t know. She’s kind of cute when she’s mad,” he said.

“She’s also fire,” I laughed. “She will seriously cut you if you don’t get her a water.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, pulling out his wallet and looking down at its contents. “I’ll be right back.”

“You better run!” I called to his retreating back, and he waved me off and broke into a trot. The store was only a block away, but knowing Logan, he’d be gone for another half hour.

“Where’s he going?” Abby asked, narrowing her green eyes at him, as I loaded the last box into the truck.

“To get water,” I replied with a yawn.

“What do you want to bet he returns with two Cokes and a bag of Skittles?”

We grinned at each other both knowing all too well how often Logan got distracted. He was an outgoing, friendly guy with the boy next door good looks. His chocolate brown hair fell into his hazel eyes and he had an athletic build. He played basketball and video games, not in that order, and he had a love for all things nerdy. He was constantly going on about Star Wars, Call of Duty, and Dungeons and Dragons.

The three of us grew up on the same street and I couldn’t remember a time when we weren’t all together. Things were different now. We were going off to college and this was our last night together before everything changed. Logan would be heading off to study psychology at Berkely, I’d be headed to Stanford, my dream college, to study medicine, and Abby would be off to UCLA to study design and fashion. We wouldn’t be far from one another, but it still wouldn’t be the same. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I couldn’t look from my bedroom window into Abby’s and shout for her to come over.

Logan had agreed to drive me to college since my dad couldn’t take time off from work to do it. It wasn’t too far out of his way anyway. My mom had left us when I was eight so it was just me and Dad, in it for the long haul. I knew my departing for college was hard on him, but he had my best interests at heart and had agreed to my leaving to pursue my dream of becoming a doctor. I wasn’t going to live on campus. I was entering as a sophomore. I’d started taking college classes as a sophomore in high school and had accumulated enough credits to enter college as a second year student, much to my father’s pleasure. College wasn’t cheap! I was getting scholarships, but would still have to pick up hours at a part time job somewhere. My dad was our town’s sheriff, which didn’t pay much. He had his own bills, and I didn’t want to burden him with mine. I had enough money saved up from my job at the Java Jones, a local coffee hut, to last me until I found something out there.

Abby and I laid beneath the willow tree in my backyard, something we’d done as kids. It would be a game for us. The tree was so large, its limbs so thick and low hanging, we’d pretend we were in another world since our world was so blocked off by it. My dad had even built us a tree house in it, complete with a tire swing, slide, and a fireman’s pole. We’d camp out there, giggling into the late hours of the night, Logan always tiring of our girl talk and falling asleep before we did.

“I figured this is where you guys would be,” Logan came into view, pushing the low branches aside, two cherry Cokes in his hand.

Abby and I exchanged looks and giggled as he plopped down beside us.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Abby snickered, taking the drink from him. “Thanks.”

Logan shrugged off our laughs and rested his arms on his knees, a faraway look in his eyes.

“This is going to be so weird.”

“What?” I asked, already knowing what he was talking about.

“Us. This. Leaving.” He gestured around sadly. “Remember when Ronnie Babcock and James O’Neil tried to infiltrate our tree house back in sixth grade?”

“Yeah, and you stole your mom’s new carton of eggs and pelted them with it from the window in the treehouse! Your mom was so pissed!” Abby laughed, shaking her head.

Logan grinned at the memory, and I had to admit, it even brought a smile to my face.

“So many good memories,” I murmured, feeling nostalgic.

“We’ll make new ones,” Logan said, nodding his head.

“It won’t be the same though,” I sighed. “We’re going off to college, guys! We’re going to meet new people, see new places, experience new things without each other!”

“Ari is right,” Abby frowned. “This is our last night together. This is it. We have to make it count!”

“What do you have in mind?” Logan perked up, his hair falling into his sparkling eyes.

“Go raid your mom’s liquor cabinet, I’ll get pizza, and Ari can pick out movies. It’ll be like we’re fourteen all over again! We can stay in the treehouse and have one last hoo-rah!” Abby said, her eyes lighting up at the idea. My dad had put electricity in the treehouse when he built it because I’d had a fear of the dark growing up. I kept telling him there was a scary man that would watch me from my bedroom mirror, something my mom had given me as a birthday present. It was really quite a beautiful mirror with its full length oval  obsidian colored glass, and intricate gothic design. The feelings of being watched only got worse when my mom left us. Over the years I’d sort of grown out of my fear of the dark. It did rear its ugly head from time to time, like when there was a storm and the power would go out in the middle of the night and I’d awaken to the desolate pitch black of my bedroom, the unnerving feeling of being watched from my mirror settling over me.

Maybe it wasn’t the darkenss that scared me. Maybe it was that damn mirror, which is why last summer I’d moved it to the attic, far away from my dark bedroom. I’d slept a lot better since then.

“I’m down,” Logan said, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Ari?”

“Let’s do it,” I grinned, fighting the butterflies in my stomach as I remembered the mirror that was hidden beneath a large wool blanket in the attic above my bedroom.

This was it. No more thoughts about that stupid mirror. This was our last night as neighbors, best friends, and treehouse heroes. If only I’d known how much I’d miss them, I’d have hugged them tighter, told them how much their friendship had meant to me, and how I wouldn’t be able to face my world without them.

A new world. One where the man in my mirror was very real, where the darkness I feared could consume me if I didn’t remember to breathe, if I failed to remember who I was.

If I failed to accept who I really am.

Emissary of the Devil, Testimony of the Damned, Second Excerpt

This is an UNEDITED excerpt from my upcoming book, Emissary of the Devil, Testimony of the Damned.

 

 

 

 

“Do you need anything?” I asked softly, my thumb rubbing circles on the top of her small hand. She peered silently at me through a veil of tears, and I drew in a sharp breath upon seeing the pain engulfing her.

“Let me take you to bed,” I murmured, getting to my feet. I lifted her into my arms once again and brought her to my bedroom and laid her in bed, making sure to tuck the covers up tightly around her neck.

“Brax?” she whispered hoarsely as I made to turn the light out and leave the room.

“Yeah?” I asked from the doorway.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded softly. “Stay with me.”

I padded quietly back to the bed and stood awkwardly next to it before grabbing the blankets and pulling them back. I hastily climbed in as she turned towards me, her eyes glistening brightly. I stared down at her, my breath caught in my throat, her blues eyes gazing up at me like I was some sort of saint, and I suppose in that moment, I really was. At least in her mind.

A tear slipped from her eye and I wiped it away with my thumb.

“Brax?” her tiny voice called out to me again.

“Yes?”

“Do you believe in God?” she whispered, staring up at me, her sapphire eyes pleading with me to give her the answer she so desperately needed to hear.

“I believe that sometimes God isn’t always there,” I murmured delicately, brushing her dark hair away from her tear-stained face. “That sometimes He leaves us to sort out our own matters. Sometimes we make it through and find him, and sometimes we get lost along the way.”

“Are you lost?” she asked softly, her hands pressed to my chest. I closed my eyes and breathed out trying to regain my composure, the flurry of activity in my head and heart conflicting, making me want to say and do things that I shouldn’t. That I couldn’t.

“Not anymore,” I replied, opening my eyes and gazing down at her. “Not anymore, Maggie.”

The Secret Life of Death

An UNEDITED excerpt from a project I’m working on entitled, ‘The Secret Life of Death’. I began writing this story before ‘Oracle’ was even a thought in my mind (which you can purchase on Kindle by following the link at the bottom of the page). Before Emissary of the Devil was started.

Read it. Let me know what you think! It’s rough, I’ll give you that. I haven’t really sat down and gone through it, but I wanted to share it with you! I hope it nabs your attention and makes you demand more!

 

Prologue

“Don’t miss me,” I whispered, watching her blue eyes moisten as she touched the polished mahogany wood beneath her fingers, her full lips pulled down in a deep frown. It was more than superficial. It cut into her soul. She bowed her head, her long black hair spilling over her slender shoulders. She squeezed her eyes closed, and a small tear leaked out making a trail down her alabaster cheek.

I reached out to wipe it away for her, but pulled my hand away quickly knowing that it wouldn’t help. I was too far away for my touch to affect her anymore. Worlds away. A single breath away. A bad decision away.

She let out a shuddering breath, more tears snaking their way down her cheeks. She hastily brushed them away, and I ground my teeth in frustration.

“I don’t want you to hurt, Rae-Rae,” I pleaded softly, using my nickname for her. “Please, don’t hurt for me!”

She didn’t say anything as her grief shook her small body. She reached forward and rested her hand over mine and I felt a strange warm tingle shoot through me that caused my knees to buckle and my vision to spin. As fast as it hit me it disappeared, and I was righted once again, stuck in my own personal hell.

“Reagan,” my best friend and her brother, came to her side and pulled her in for a tight embrace. “We should go.”

“Don’t go!” I begged frantically, stepping in front of them. “Don’t leave me! I can’t do this!”

“I-I can’t, Jace,” she breathed out between her sobs. “I can’t leave him here!”

“Rae,” Jace answered painfully, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

An older man approached them dressed in a black suit and tie, a kind smile on his wizened face. Jace glanced quickly at him and back to Rae. He tugged gently on her arm and she nodded in defeat. Her hand went back to mine and the tingle shot through me again. She leaned over the edge and kissed me gently on the cheek, leaving me with the brief warmness I’d felt before and a feeling of finality.

“I will always miss you,” she whispered. “Always.”

Jace wrapped his arm around her and stared down at me, a hard expression on his face. He shook his head, his dusty brown hair falling into his hazel eyes.

“Sleep well, brother,” he said fiercely, his eyes wavering brightly as he held back his tears. He pulled Rae away amid her sobs and went to join our friends Mason and Ben who were looking just as wrecked as Rae and Jace. I glanced at my parents, my father holding my mother tightly in his arms, his face a mask of pain, my mother nearly inconsolable.

“Don’t go! I’m sorry!” I shouted desperately to my family and friends as they walked from the room. “Please! I’m so sorry!”

I turned back to see the old man in black close my casket and I rushed forward in a vain attempt to erase the past, to stop the future from happening.

“You can’t stop it. You made your choice, Asher Donovan,” a soft female voice said from behind me. I shot forward, ignoring her, and desperately tried to open the casket where my cold, dead body lay. My hands plunged through and I let out a cry of frustration.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I said, defeated. “I made a mistake.”

“As did we all,” the girl whispered coming to my side and resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You have a date with Destiny, Asher. It’s best not to keep her waiting.”

I nodded knowing this was my fate. The end to my life. She opened a portal in the middle of the empty funeral parlor and I stared into the Beyond. She turned and smiled kindly at me, her chocolate brown eyes shimmering with her tears.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“The Fates will hand you your sentence,” she whispered. “I am certain that it will be the same as mine.”

“So that’s it? It’s all over?” I asked, bitterly.

“Don’t think of it as the end, Asher,” she said, gently taking my hand and pulling me forward into the brilliant light. “This is really only the beginning.”

 

Chapter One

Katie Foster.

Her name is still on my lips as I look below at the trodden down city of Detroit from my perch atop One Detroit Center. She was everything to me: My friend, my love, my life. Everything about her was wonderful, right down to the way she would sometimes let out a little hum while she slept.

I pushed her beautiful blonde hair and smile from my mind and took an unneeded deep breath as my target came into view. My inhuman eyesight zeroed in on a smartly dressed balding man with a slightly soft midsection, and the brunette on his arm, both laughing like lovers often do. I shook my head in disgust at them and stepped off the ledge and let gravity pull me towards them, the speed of the fall pulling the unnecessary air from my lungs, the wind whipping through my shaggy black hair.

I landed behind them soundlessly and rose from my bended knee and glided into the backseat of the man’s Mercedes without a soul noticing me. I watched as the brunette, his young and very attractive secretary, placed her hand suggestively on his thigh. A nerve near his eye twitched and he licked his lips in anticipation as he pushed the pedal down hard and the expensive luxury sedan lurched forward in excitement.

The man drove well out of the city and I leaned back in my seat and listened as his secretary giggled and continued rubbing his thigh, her hands roaming dangerously close to the point of no return. I rolled my eyes as she leaned in and began planting gentle kisses on his neck. A bead of sweat appeared on his shiny head and his breathing picked up as his eyes flicked hungrily to her taking in the shape of her breasts and full lips.

I shook my head and looked away as I waited for the perfect opportunity to carry out my work. I allowed my mind to drift back to Katie and I closed my eyes as I breathed in deeply remembering her sweet scent. Remembering her lies, her eyes when I caught her with him, the way they flashed not in regret at being with him, but in regret at being caught. I remembered the flash of headlights, my hand bearing down hard on the throttle of my motorcycle as I pushed it harder, eager to meet Death. I remembered the pain, all of it, right down to the last breath that I didn’t bother to struggle taking.

The car suddenly lurched to a stop causing me to snap my attention back to the occupants. We had pulled down a forgotten side road lined with trees that were bathed in their brilliant fall colors and the man eagerly leaned over and began kissing his secretary, his hands pushing her already too short black skirt up higher on her creamy thighs. I clenched my fists furiously as I noticed a flyer in the backseat at my feet for a dance recital for his young daughter. Sacrificing the trust of the ones who loved him for a quick, easy piece of ass.

Just like Katie.

I plunged my hand through the back of his seat without a moment of hesitation and curled my fist around his beating heart. I felt it stutter within my hand and I watched as the look of shock crossed his eyes as he clutched at his heart attack. His secretary screamed and grasped at him, her voice shrill from her cries. I squeezed tighter and he wheezed out closing his eyes one final time.

I pulled my hand from his chest and tried to ignore the high pitched screams coming from his secretary as she clawed at him in fright. I chuckled when his dead body fell forward and pinned her to her leather seat, her red lipstick smeared across her face, her eyes frantic and terrified. I looked over and rolled my eyes as the man suddenly appeared beside me in the backseat, his brow furrowed in confusion as he stared mutely at his dead body.

“Come on. I don’t have all day to sit here and listen to her scream,” I said, flicking my thumb in the frantic secretary’s direction.

“Am I dead?” the man asked, staring dumbly at his slumped over body in the front seat.

“What do you think?” I muttered.

“I can’t be dead! I have my daughter’s recital and it’s my wife’s and my anniversary next week-,”

“Oh please!” I spat at him. I slid through the car door and the man immediately appeared at my side and dropped to his knees begging me to listen to him.

“Please! I can’t be dead!” he repeated, his eyes misting over in tears.

“Like any of it matters,” I snapped, kicking him away from me. “You were cheating on your wife with your secretary! I doubt you gave a shit about your anniversary or your daughter’s recital.”

“I made a mistake! I can change! I promise! Just give me another chance! Please God!” he begged breathlessly, grabbing frantically at my legs.

“I don’t give second chances. You had it all and you blew it. There’s nothing I can do about it so get off your knees and stop praying at me. I’m not your God and even if I were, I’d still not give you another chance based on the things I just witnessed.” I snarled disgustedly at his quivering, begging form.

“My wife. She-she’s going to find out about Becky. Please! I don’t want to be remembered like that! I made a horrible mistake!”

“Sorry. Can’t help you,” I said dismissively, turning away from him as he pounded his fists into the cold ground and wept. I pulled my Scythe from my pocket, the small black device we used beyond the veil to communicate, and hit a button on the side.

“Jobs done. Come get him. He’s driving me nuts,” I said into the small mic. I was greeted with a deep chuckle and I rolled my eyes. Figured that Louie would be hauling today.

“What’s wrong, Asher? Bad day?” Louie’s voice came from the Other Side.

“Just get here,” I said sighing as I heard Louie laugh again and click his box off.

He was on the way which meant I’d be free of the balding man-child in front of me soon.

“What will happen to me?” the man at my feet asked in defeat, his gray eyes flicking up to me in fear, the familiarity of the question pushing an old memory forward that I hastily tucked safely in the remote recesses of my mind.

“I’m only a Reaper. I don’t deal with tossing people into the lake or letting them through the gates,” I answered dryly, looking down at his tear streaked face.

“You’re Death,” he whispered as a statement, not a question. I nodded once and looked past him as Louie appeared through a swirling vortex of color.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Louie asked nonchalantly, looking from me to the man at my feet. It wasn’t unusual to have a soul kneeling in front of me begging me for more time.

“It’s going,” I answered, bored. I looked over as I heard sirens approaching. Becky must have called for help.

“You lead such an exciting afterlife, Asher. What do you think?” Louie asked looking down at the shaking man again.

“He won’t give me another chance,” the man whispered sadly, his hands trembling. I shook my head in disbelief at Louie who chuckled again, his white blonde hair falling across his angelic face.

“What makes you think you deserve one?” Louie asked looking over to where Becky now stood, her long brown hair spilling messily over her shoulders, her eyes red from crying. The paramedics had removed the man’s body from the car and were attempting CPR on him.

“I have a family,” the man said sadly through a choked sob.

“A family you seemed to have forgotten about as you stuck your tongue down young Becky’s throat,” I pointed out. The man opened and closed his mouth several times before answering.

“Haven’t you ever made a mistake?” the man asked, the tears spilling from his eyes, his voice wavering.

“Yeah, Asher! Haven’t you ever made a mistake?” Louie asked innocently, his blue eyes dancing in mirth.

“Take him and get the hell out of here,” I grumbled, knowing exactly what Louie was getting at. Louie grinned at me and lifted the man to his feet in one fluid motion.

“Come on. We better go. No sense in pissing Death off even more. Hate to see him go on a killing spree,” Louie said, his eyes shining with mischief. He really enjoyed irritating me. He reached over and gave my arm a soft punch.

“Call me if you need me,” he said with a grin and with a motion of his hand the vortex grew larger and began to dance with the brilliant light from Beyond. He pushed the man through and gave me a cheery wave as he disappeared to the Other Side.

I turned as they faded away and stared as the paramedics put the man’s body in a bag and began loading him into the ambulance. A golden leaf fell to my feet and I shook my head sadly.

“Quia ego consumam cunctas incipit,” I whispered turning my back on the ambulance as the paramedics closed the door.

Life isn’t hard. Being Death, now that’s hard.




Check out The Chronicles of Winterset, Oracle, available now on Kindle!
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Emissary of the Devil: Testimony of the Damned

This  is the UNEDITED except of my upcoming book, Emissary of the Devil, Testimony of the Damned. Let me know what you think!

 

 

 

Prologue

I am not a good man.

In fact, I am no man at all if we’re being honest. I haven’t been for a very long time. My last human memory is of me sliding my blade into the heart of another and then plunging the dagger deep into my own. I can still remember the bitter taste of crimson mortality on my tongue, the way I choked on it as I struggled to rake in my last frothy breath, the terrible realization of what I’d done hitting me like a well-aimed punch to the stomach.

My evil deeds did not leave with my last breath. They were not erased, freeing me from the monsters in my head, the monsters I birthed from my own jealousy and rage. Oh, no. They followed me right on into the afterlife, and I found myself quivering on my knees at the blackened gates of Hell, begging to do anything, anything, to avoid the fire that would burn my soul for eternity.

I never believed the Devil to be a compassionate being. As I knelt before him in all my quaking fear, I found that we were a lot alike, the Devil and I. We were both creatures with a plan, a purpose, and we used those we wanted in order to further ourselves. We were both great deceivers, both able to stare our enemy in the eyes as we plunge our daggers deep, and we had no problem taking what we deemed ours. Perhaps that is why when I stared at the charred grounds the Devil stood upon, his shiny black shoes in my line of sight, that I accepted his offer. I saw to further myself, to right the wrongs of my mortal life in the hopes of rest. Of peace. Of release.

I agreed to be his servant, his emissary. To corrupt mortal souls and bring them to his gates so that he could build a vast army, an army worthy of the crown he wore. He promised me a legion, an army of my own, to be a Crowned Prince of Hell, if I collected enough souls.

I tainted the minds of the weak, of the broken, of the scared. I broke them down, prying apart the tender cracks already lining their delicate psyche. I was their disease, the devil on their shoulder, a demon hell-bent on gluttony, of having what I thought I deserved, what I needed, what I wanted. Me, righting my wrongs from my mortal life, only brought forth more demons, more monsters, to plague me, to eventually plague the earth should the Devil stand before them with the same offer as he had presented to me. I brought those souls kicking and screaming into Hell, the Lower Kingdom, a wicked smile painting my lips.

I did not feel guilt, remorse, or regret as I collected thousands of souls for my king. I convinced them to sin, to kill, to steal, to maim, to rape, to be what He wanted them to be. It wasn’t until nearly four hundred years into my servitude that I met my match, my other half. The one thing that could make me or break me, that could cause me to fall from the precarious lip of Hell that I had been balancing on for so long.

An angel so beautiful that all angels before her would fall to their knees in recognition of a queen, a savior. I immediately recognized the same pain in her that painted my insides, the same pain she tried to push down, to ignore, was the one I had been running from for hundreds of years. It was the same pain that had created me. That would create her. And that was my way in. I knew that she could save the world of man. It wasn’t until too late in the game that I realized she was more than the savior to man. She was my savior. My salvation.

I am not a good man. I must repeat that.

I am no man at all. I am the demon Abraxas Shepherd, and I have a story to tell.

This is my Testimony of the Damned.

I Wanted to Send You A Love Letter. Instead, I Ate Popcorn and Fell Asleep

I’m currently considering writing a serious romance novel. No magic (aside from the magic of love…awww), no paranormal twists, no creatures of the night. I even have a name for the story.

The catch?

I really suck at romance! I even cringe when I try to read romance novels (the, uh, smut variety). I figured I could try to write a romance novel in an attempt to relax around it. I don’t know if that makes any sense to anyone. It does to me.

If this helps to enlighten you all on the subject in regards to how terrible at romance I truly am, I have no idea when my wedding anniversary is. We got married in July 2009. I don’t know the date. I remember signing my marriage license on a cooler of beer. I think that speaks volumes about the sort of carefree person I am. It also lets my husband off the hook because he doesn’t remember the day either!

Our pre-dating.

I met my husband in 2008 through a mutual friend….on the internet. And when I say internet, I really mean Xbox Live. Yeah, that’s right. I met my husband while playing a video game. Call of Duty 4 to be exact. And, not to toot my own horn (I’m going to do it anyway…toot, toot!), but I was/am pretty darn good. And so is he. We met on the battlefield, and I whooped his butt all over the place! He says he tried hard. So hard, in fact, that his hands were sweating.

I’d like to say it was my gaming skills that hooked him, but I’m pretty awkward and say very weird, random, off the wall sorts of things, so I think that my personality may have been the basis of my appeal, not my gaming skills (although I’m sure they didn’t hurt). I asked him out. . . three times. He finally said yes after the third time, and thank God, we lived in the same city.

Our first date.

One of my friends had gotten married in Vegas and came home to have a reception. I figured it was a good opportunity to have a date! My car was making weird noises, and he asked me if I was worried about it. I told him I could fix it. So, I turned up the radio to block out the weird clunking noises. He laughed nervously. I think it was at that moment that I really hooked him.

We were together every moment we could be after that night. He peed in the snow for me. Tried to tell me he loved me that way. Didn’t really make it past the first few letters. I couldn’t say no to someone like that! It took a lot of effort, bravery (because it was daylight), and beverages to make that possible. Our marriage proposal was similar.

Our wedding.

We got married in a park. I walked through copious amounts of bird poop down a makeshift aisle. About fifteen people showed up, none of them my family since they lived in Michigan, and I was in Iowa going to college. I paid thirty dollars for my wedding dress. We bought our cake at Walmart. As previously mentioned, we signed our marriage license on a cooler of beer. . .then we went to the bar. Now, the way I see it, the bar had a DJ that we didn’t have to pay for. Everyone could drink, dance, and have fun. Our wedding dinner consisted of hot dogs. I ate a dill pickle as my dinner (hot dogs are nasty!). Our minister was a friend who got ordained online. We had no professional photography, fancy limos, or any idea about what we were doing. I think that’s what made it work. No pressure, no stress, just a desire to wing it. To have fun. We’re both like that. The goofier, the better.

Obviously, romance isn’t something I do. And, to be honest, I wouldn’t even know how to react if presented with hearts, flowers, and kisses. I’ve just never been the type. It doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. Give me a book, my laptop so I can write, and leave me alone. It helps that he likes to be left alone, too. It’s almost a perfect relationship. Well, it would be if he’d stop leaving his socks all over the house. That drives me nuts!

So. Romance. Clearly I’m not good at it. Perhaps I’m not meant to be. Or perhaps I celebrate romance in a different way.

If I wrote this romance novel, I’m sure it would turn into some kind of awkward comedy. It wouldn’t be intentional. That’s just how I am- awkward.

Now, my marriage wasn’t/isn’t the only weird thing. I could tell you tons of stories that highlight how off the wall I am. Well, we are. I’ll save those stories for next time. They’re pretty good!

I’m not very good at this whole blogging thing. I never know what to say. . .just like when I’m in a social situation. I end up sharing some awkward story that makes people force a smile while looking at me like I’m some sort of crazy person.

I don’t edit these blogs either. I just write them. If they’re correct, yay. If not, meh. I hope you are all as carefree as I am. Just enjoy the words.

Unedited Excerpt from The Chronicles of Winterset, Wildfire

We finally reached our destination, and I breathed out nervously as Brena knocked lightly on the large oak doors. It was opened immediately by a bright-eyed older man with a snow white beard that cascaded to his knees. His powder blue robes billowed behind him making him appear larger than he was.

“Ah, Princess,” he clapped his hands happily and ushered me in. I turned to Brena for guidance, but she only smiled at me and gave a little nod before the doors closed on her. “I was wondering when you’d get over here to visit me! I’d have come to you, but your brother insisted that you be left to rest. Why for is beyond me! I could have had you in tip-top shape already!”

“I’ve only just started getting around,” I mumbled, averting my eyes from him.

“And that’s my point! We’d be miles ahead if I’d seen you sooner,” he stated with a bright smile as he gestured for me to take a seat in a plush velvet chair in front of his very large desk, a quill pen, scroll, and a stub of a near burned out candle sitting in the center of it. I looked nervously around the spacious circular room, glancing at all the strange plants and bottles filled with different colored liquids adorning the many shelves that lined the walls.

“Please, Princess,” Gregor encouraged.

I sat down on the chair, my heart beating quickly in my chest, unsure of what to expect. This didn’t seem like a typical doctor visit, but this was Winterset, not home, and I was a princess, an Oracle, not a normal teenager any longer.

Gregor took my hand in his wizened one and peered at me with his clear blue eyes.

“Ah, you are special indeed!” he murmured. I felt a zing of energy flow through me as he squeezed my hand, the warmth quickly spreading through me as it eased my sore muscles. I quickly pulled my hand away as he smiled kindly at me, his task complete. I tested my fingers and arms, noting how good I felt, despite the agony in my chest.

“Not bad, huh?” Gregor asked kindly. “I’m no Oracle, but I can heal like the dickens!”

“But can you mend a broken heart?” I whispered, tears springing to my eyes. I wiped hastily at them, and Gregor turned and stared kindly at me, a sad smile marring his aged face.

“Heartbreak is a sickness, one not easily remedied. The heart can become diseased, broken, sometimes incapable of being well again. The sickness leaves a scar, deep and everlasting with the ability to poison what’s left.”

“But can it be fixed? How do I make it better?” I whispered softly, meeting his somber, gleaming eyes.

“Ah, that is the tricky part, unfortunately,” Gregor sighed, settling down on the edge of the ornate desk in front of me. “One can choose the treatment, which is time, but time doesn’t always fix what’s broken. Or one can simply embrace the sickness, become it, spread it, wallow in it until there is only a shadow of a heart left. You cannot touch a shadow, and without the warmth of touch, you become cold. You become the sickness. You become the disease.”

“And the darkness?” I breathed, my heart beating painfully in my chest as Calix’s face flashed through my mind.

“And the darkness,” he nodded sadly. “You become the darkness.”

It was in that moment that you realized it was more than you could handle, and yet, you continued to read, to absorb the words on the screen, knowing that they, like a horrible nightmare, would stick with you forever.

Greetings!

They told me to start a blog, so I did. Don’t ask who ‘they’ are. No one really knows. As far as I can tell, ‘they’ appear to simply be a collective bunch that sort of order people around.

First order of business!

I don’t edit. Like ever. I write. I leave the editing of words and stuff to people better equipped for that sort of business. I may throw a comma in here and there, but usually I’m so hell-bent on getting the words out of my head that I don’t bother with all the grammatical stuff. So, if you came here looking for perfection, you found it- in a manner of things being imperfectly perfect!

I ask that you simply appreciate the words on the page, the story they tell, and let them take you to another place, even if that place happens to be Facebook or your email! I understand that you won’t always be interested in what I have to say, and that’s cool. I openly admit to not being very interesting. Heck, most of my time is spent asking to be left alone. It’s not like I’m living like a rock star out here in the sticks of Northern Michigan.

Perhaps you’re wondering who I am. I suppose I could give an introduction. I am K.G. Reuss, word wizard, secret squirrel, and bookaholic. I started reading and writing at a very young age. My grandma bought me my first ‘big girl’ book around the age of 5 or 6 years old. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. I read that book front to back a great many times and still call it one of my favorites- and that may be due to the fact that it was my first (and we never forget a first love, right?) and that my grandma, one of the most inspiring women in the world to me, gave it to me. She passed away two years ago and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her. But enough about that sadness.

I grew up in Northern Michigan and did all the things a bookworm does-I read. A lot. I didn’t have many friends growing up, preferring to spend most of my time alone, a book in my hand. I was labeled weird and was shunned a bit by some of the snootier members of my family (some even resorting to hiding my books or burning them. Yes, that happened). I was a quiet kid with a sharp tongue when provoked and most didn’t take kindly to me fighting back when backed into a corner. I soon earned the ‘freak’ title, but I ran with it. I always chose to embrace the things that made me different rather than sulk about them. Even today I will grin when called a weirdo.

My teenage years were about like my younger years, only I had a car to get to the bookstore. I didn’t go out and party, and I still didn’t have a ton of friends, but the ones I did have, I loved. I spent a lot of time reading and writing. I played in band (saxophone and was a drum major), I spent some time in drama (and I even helped write and direct one of our plays as well as produce a couple), I was a cheerleader (I had a boyfriend on the football team and I wanted a free ride to the games. Sue me for being thrifty!), I was an honor student, I played softball for a short time, and I played video games with the guys. In one of our yearbooks, I was photographed with a caption of “Marilyn Manson lookalike”. Thanks, assholes! Marilyn Manson was, and is, still one of my heroes. The guy has a way with words, and I admire that.  I was voted Class Critic (which was no surprise. Honestly, I should also be voted Workplace Critic, too).

I graduated from high school, got a couple scholarships, and I made my way to college. There’s some dark patches during this time, and I don’t feel like getting into the nitty-gritty of it all. Let it be known that during this particular point in my life, I was beginning to find myself. A brief overview would simply be that I had a boyfriend, and we lived together after graduation, and even married. He wasn’t the person I thought he was and I suffered by his hand, and his words, more than any one person should. It took me the better half of twelve years to work up the courage to leave. When I finally did, I felt like I was reborn, fresh breath in my lungs. It changed me into who I am today: I won’t take an ounce of crap from anyone and I’ll fight back until the oxygen leaves my lungs. I won’t be a victim. Ever. Again. That I vow, I promise.

I ended up remarried at some point back in July 2009. Don’t ask me the specific date. I don’t remember, nor do I really care. It’s not that I’m apathetic, it’s just that I’m married to an okay dude, we have kids, I have a career, and I have a hard enough time remembering where I left my keys. I don’t need to add dates and stuff to the jumble in my head!

So, that basically takes us to the present. I work on an ambulance, I read a few books a week, I’m a mom, and a wife. I love metalcore. The heavier, the better! I enjoy photography and ghost hunting when I have the time. I make it a point to go concert hopping as often as possible, too!

And….I write. I dream. I try to make it all come true. Mostly. I mean, as best I can. I’m currently working on the sequel to Oracle and another series called Emissary of the Devil.

That pretty much glosses over who I am!

You can find me on Facebook at

Facebook.com/kgreuss

or Twitter at

Twitter.com/kgreuss

or Goodreads at

Goodreads.com/kgreuss

or here….

Honestly, I’m really terrible at social media. I forget to post and I’m really not very interesting, as stated above. However, I will try to entertain a small handful of people!

My book, The Chronicles of Winterset, Oracle, is now available on Kindle!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01HYTWRIW#navbar

Thanks for checking out my blog. Hopefully I’ll remember to keep posting.