Creative Writing Pieces by Dave. I have a lot of nearly completed writing but I am in the process of transferring them here since this has been primarily an indie games blog for so long. This is a work in progress. Keep an eye on this section
I could do anything with the Christmas Power Glove. Decorate trees, bake gingerbread cookies, send letters to Santa… inscribe my name on the moon. Woah, wait a minute, I’m letting this get to my head, it’s too much. I’m not saying I’m blaming him, but I had a bad feeling when the glove shot 10-foot streams of fire and melted the snowman someone had made behind my car on the driveway. His carrot nose looked like a burnt hot dog. I knew we weren't dealing with some ho-ho-homemade electronics projects, the Christmas Power Glove was bad, so bad. It made me feel like Fred Savage in The Wizard.
It’s one thing to florally describe all the astrolabes, dusty old library books, and half-eaten tomato sandwiches in the wizard's quarters. Time is an illusion though, and his mother was calling him for lunch. So, the wizard, tall and messy, consumed by silvery pajamas, descended into the kitchen that morning. He thought this might happen, on this day of all days, such a perplexing dilemma and no simple course of action: there was only one pumpkin ginger beer left. Merlin’s kidney's! What to do. Alas, the grilled cheese sandwiches and stew were epic and, no less, legendary. If only he could find a suitable plan.
I watch as two passenger ships collide at the apex of the low orbit aurora borealis area of Polaris’s relay planet. Both ships collapse, yet not, into each other in a strange caduceus of magic in the starry backdrop of the vessels’ course. The twisted coils of brass and flocked, black steel disappear. The ships vanish into a trapdoor in the universe. I sip, also, on weak fruit tea with my left hand. I mix some of my own herbs in--genuine, dried-up dream flowers from the Hilo K system that were resting in a jar at the bottom of my purplish-green, prismatic matrix, tree-leather satchel.
