Dance of masks


I gathered my coat, waved at the mass standing at the terminal and entered the luxurious limo. A young man in his forties, looked like he was barely thirty. He had a long dark coat and a flexible plastic ribbon in front of his eyes. I turned my head towards the window. It looks like it’s about to rain.

– Sir, yes sir. We are monitoring the stock market. Yes, we took the initial steps for buying a hefty portion of the valuable documents and we have alerted our lawyer firm to be ready if something leaks out to the media. – he spoke into the earpiece while limo shifted its sound to an electric hum and started lifting off of the ground in a steady speed.

– It’s going to rain. – I said absent in my thoughts, but the man paid no attention to me, – Do you think it’s going to rain? – I asked but he was too focused on his work.

– Smile at the people. – he ordered me fetching a portable drive he connected with a computer by his side.

I turned again towards the window and waved smiling at the crowd that waited us to fly away. After a few seconds of idiotic grin, limo rotated by 45 degrees and went in cruiser mode.

– I feel bad for doing this. I’ve studied for a half of my life. I got five degrees in psychology, sociology, advanced politology and two from business management. How did this happen to me? – I leaned in the seat and holding my chin, dubiously watching the traffic lights and other vehicles zooming the air.

– Ah, – long exhale and bending over knees came from the opposite seat where young assistant was about to drop some knowledge, – We are preparing to start a war for resources and dominion over one country. We are selling weapons to the rebellious factions on the ground, we are financing various movements that fight our political opposition, we are also controlling the media and own factory syndicates and you ask me if it’s going to rain and how did this happen? – I saw the pissed off face of the young man in a corner of my eye, but still remained determined to get my answers, – Those degrees you’ve mention, look good on a person, that’s why we wanted you. Mister Krein talked with you about this. You owe us this. There is no turning back. You know that. Why don’t you stop asking stupid questions and start doing what you were told to do? – he said that last like he was ready to throw a punch, when I swinged my head around.

– But when it’s going to end?! – I smacked the seat I sat on and he slightly jerked back to give me a wonderstruck gaze.

– But Mr. President, we’ve just begun.


Super Car

To help you get a daily dose of this blog, ignore these two links. – Facebook & Twitter

I said I won’t go political again, but this is just too good to pass. Also, too good to pass are these stories.

Blind shots

The Konian march

Clan of the Turquoise Forest



Night time blabbing 7

Lucky seven. I wonder how came up with that phrase? It doesn’t matter. What was I trying to say? Oh, yeah, nature is totally fucked. Yup, that’s right. After the 3 days of snow, I could wear a t-shirt today and not get cold. We are about to have a New Year and I can walk around like it’s mid summer. Da fok?

Since we had a nice weather today, I found something to do outside. What, you might ask. You are free to take a guess, but I already know it wouldn’t be a surprise as that’s the only thing I talk about lately.

Well, I was chopping wood. For all of the posts I made about me holding an axe and splitting logs, one would think I mowed down the mountain by now, but I didn’t. My country is well aware about natural resources, therefore those that cut wood, must plant new. Yay for the nature.

Tonight, however, ground froze. I was walking to the store to buy some cigarettes and I heard the grass crackling under my feet. As that sound overwhelmed my ears, I rose my eyes to the starry sky and saw the stars looking down upon me. Ahhh, so romantic.

No, I didn’t forgot about the Kitten. I would never do that to our mascot.


Maybe you want to send me some memes on Facebook or Twitter, maybe we can speak about stuff, or maybe you’d like to pass, who knows.

Hmm, what should I recommend you to read tonight. Ah, maybe something like this.

Late for glory

Mom, tell me a story.

Building a planet

My Strange Life & Hobbies (Reuploaded)

Many people gathered tokens, playing cards and other fun things when they were younger, but not me. I collected empty cigarette packs, vile curses and tough friends like a true Slav Boy. Eventually I grew out of those, because a school time has started. Later on I got interested in arts and everything that had something to do with it. Any task I was given at school I measured in my system based on, could I be creative about it, and how much will it be allowed? Soon the arts became my life. During elementary, I liked to join additional arts classes where we practiced our talents. I even tried to make a comic book, but it failed due to my lack of time. At every school play I had one role reserved for me. When I was 11 years old, our hot English teacher gave us opportunity to act in English. Of course I took that. Yeah, son. In high school I took after – hours drama class. We made a play and performed in a very small hall in front of just few people. It is pointless to say… we rocked it. After finished high school, question rose: What now?. I spent whole summer thinking where I should enroll next. A friend told me about University for Pre-school Teachers and it was my first choice. I’m gonna’ get paid to play with kids. With them, I can paint, illustrate, make drama plays, sing songs and so much more, but the paramount was to actually give them courage in pursuing their talent. All of my interests in art I can divide in few groups. Here they are.


My mother told me that, the first thing I took was a pencil. Immediately I started to scribble on a piece of paper and kept doing that like it is the most entertaining thing to me. Maybe I was trying to write, rather than draw. Who knows why am I so twisted, that I had to start telling stories? Among my school friends, I was one of the boys that showed some talent, passion and enthusiasm for illustrating. Arts class was my favorite during the school time and still is. Unfortunately, my arts education is always being kept on beginner’s level, because majority of my classroom familiars were more focused on finding love than brains. If I wanted to advance, I had to do it by myself and in my spare time. Illustrating is still in me, in my interests and goals. With this blog, I have opportunity to practice more and get much needed guidance.


Writing came easy to me because I had strong imagination as a kid. I day dreamed, consumed by strong emotions that came out of me, making me look like a lunatic. Watching American A – class and B – class movies gave me motivation to learn more, to be one of the actors that had opportunity to kiss beautiful girls and everything that followed that lifestyle. That means I was in contact with English language, before it was my time to learn it. By the time I changed schools level, I already had vocabulary of 5 000 words. At age 11, I fully started to learn English.  My desire to learn another language entered turbo drive when movie entertainment machine was explained to me. I figured that writing for a movie could be my calling because I got assured; I’ll never star in a movie. Let’s be honest here, I didn’t had luck to be born in America.

As every beginner had its fails, I had many of mine. Few epic fantasies wrapped in Slavic mythology seemed as good idea to start with, because that was a thing severely lacking in American film production. When class was intensively boring, I decorated my notebook pages with illustrations, often wrote one liner plots that would be good to see on screen, performed by my favorite actors. In 2015. I have decided to write and not to stop writing until I convince myself that progress is unachievable. Grammar stood in my way. Even today it is occasionally rising to the surface. I try to control it and brush it to perfection, but it is an ongoing and time taking process. My English is also broken, because, some FUCKS didn’t care to communicate on other language, but on their own. Teachers had problems with them, trying to beat some knowledge into their little closed heads and failed at the attempt. Since I accelerated at English, my presence at the class was redundant. I knew I’ll find some use for it in the future life, and here we are.

Wood work

Spending my time off school, I had chores to do. I live in a village, so a lot of help and hard working was sort of demanded from me. Imagine you are using your strength to split logs and rise to remove sweat from forehead. You exhale hot breath to meet chilly air and gaze at the hazy landscape where only snow in the mountain peaks is shining attacked by warm rays of Sun. You feel the morning cold biting your inflamed skin as forearm cramps the iron axe in your palm… Damn, I feel GOOOD.

One thing I enjoyed more than others is working with wood, and since I like arts so much, why not make it more fun. It started with it when an idea came to me while chopping wood. A splintered piece of log was resembling of something I could use. That was the first wooden dagger I made. Out of all things I like doing; wood work is one I would define as a soul nourishment. I have made many other things after that. Among many I’ll list ashtray, key chain, incense holder, necklace and more. Challenge is to do it without anything else but a pocket knife, sandpaper and manual drill.


My social links for those keen on chatting.  – Facebook & Twitter

If you still hoped for a story, you can read these.

Paths of Uknar-dur

Grey clouds over humanity

Green Lords


Night time blabbering 6

Oh, my God. Another blabbering. Ugh, when is this going to end? Am I really going to stop writing this sort of posts halfway ready to fall asleep? Short answer to that is NOPE. It’s a venting sort of thing that I like to do. It helps me get back to my normal state. (please define normal, because I think we are all crazy here)

Speaking of crazy, funny thing happened today. As I rushed to my beloved computer in order to respond to daily prompt on WordPress (or as I called it WorldPressed), I saw the word GORGE in the daily assignment. Another word, another fictional story, nothing out of the ordinary. For a couple of minutes, I couldn’t recall the word HERMIT, then it hit me and I kept writing. Story written, post deployed, people read it, everything was fine, but then my Reader showed a post from one of my Lieutenants. A Comical Hermit it said. Haa, what a coincidence. So I start reading it. A weapon, a sword my Lieutenant wrote. Wait a minute, I wrote about swords. I kept reading. Hold on, a hill she then mentioned. Whaaaaat? Seriously. I also wrote about hills and mountains, and GORGES. Whaaaat?

What a coincidence. She haven’t read my story, I saw it in my stats, and she usually leaves a Like when she is around. Whaaaat? It’s like we started reading each other’s mind and wrote a similar story. Well, we had the same inspiration, so it was bound to happen sooner or later that two people write something remotely the same, but with someone I often talk too? No way.

Anywho, Kitten is always there to be my touch with reality, even when this day was pretty unreal to me… I write fiction, why am I complaining. I should be enjoying this.


My usual social links that people avoid clicking on like they are contagious.

Facebook & Twitter

Hey, I don’t know if you knew, but there are more stories on this blog. Like:

Lieutenant Stoner on the Rollercoaster

One more Jack, please!

This headline is waaaay longer than the life of the heroine in this story, but I know you’ll just skip it anyway, so let’s see how the Mary’s life ended in a very tragic circumstances. Shall we?

Paths of Uknar-dur

The land known as Uknar-Dur was known as an abandoned place full of hills, mountains, valleys and cold springs. Hundred days under the ice and snow, never looked appealing to the people of Nanur-Han south of the spot where tall mountains dropped with its roots. Mountains had paths, which was strange, because people of Nanur-Han always thought that nobody lives out there, but the marks in the icy ground said otherwise.

As every kid, I wanted to see who was making those tracks. Knowing that no one would believe me if I ever did found a culprit who lived in that desolated place, I still had an urge to go there. At least, I would sleep better since I couldn’t calm my mind in the night when jackals and lync’s howled at both of our moons and snarled at the hunting mutts that protected the village.

I took my bag previously stuffed with bread and handful of cottage cheese, said I was gone fishing and courageously started walking towards the mountain. I was in luck, as it was mid summer when most of men went following a Lord to war leaving women and children to take care of the village. Uknar-Dur, a sleeping giant was the safest place around us, as no body went up there to see how far it stretched, nor we had visitors from the lands beyond.

Soon, I was in the hills, a windy tops from where I could see the whole village steaming from the summertime chores, heard the sound of horses and cows dimmed in the distance, smiled at the people in harvesting golden grain I liked to play in. Ominous white tops rose high as eye can see, watching me like a mother when I did something bad. Even so, I went further in the gorge that was a natural pass into the rocky realm of Uknar-dur.

Night fell fast, owls told me with a creeping howl. Southern breeze was enough to keep me warm among the steep edges I crossed searching for a person that lived here. I laid low upon hearing a whistle in the dark, coming and going in amplitudes like it flew around me.

– Shall we begin, my young apprentice? – elderly voice asked the night and I pushed my head over the edge.

There they were, residents of Uknar-Dur. Hermit walked with his staff in the bottom of the spacios rim, where a shiny golden light brightened before him. A woman stood right there, holding an evil smile under the traitorous green eyes. Both of her hands started glowing when blades made of light started coming out from her palms.

– Yes Master. – she groaned and then the hermit rolled his shoulders throwing the torn rags off of him in one clean move.

– What is the first lesson? – he asked assuming a fighting stand where his palms bursted in turquoise flames and his staff changed stretching like rubber.

– You can’t fight what you can’t see. – she said in anger and a stream of light flashed passing the hermit when turquoise whipped and blocked the attack.

– Good. – hermit said smiling, – And for the second lesson. Have you remembered that? – he asked while walking in circles with the young woman.

– Weapon is deadly only if you master the speed and never hold back when striking. – she groaned again and set of blows bashed against the hermit’s staff that appeared in several places at once.

– Good. You are becoming faster. Someday, you’ll cut me like you mean it. Could you refresh my memory. What was the third lesson? – he played with the woman that was focused on the fight and I moved a little bit closer to the edge, my eyes glistening from the wonder I stumbled upon.

– Never leave a witness. – she said and whipped her hands around striking the rocky cliff I was on.

Without waiting for them to chase me, I turned and started running downhill. I ran as fast as I could, not stopping or turning around to see where they were. Darkness, howling, even wild beasts didn’t frighten me anymore, just the residents of Uknar-Dur wielding some ungodly powers, never seen before. I fell few time, twisted my ankle, but still kept running away.

When I got back home in the morning, my mother shouted at me, then she saw I was hurt and fetched me a remedy on a piece of cloth. I haven’t told her of what I saw or where have I been. I kept my mouth shut. Instead of coming forward with the truth of who made those paths in the mountain, I sticked to the story that best time for fishing was the night when everything was calm.



You know where to find me… Oh, you forgot. Oh well. Facebook and Twitter.

Hey, you like epic fantasy. Me too. Want to read more about ladies?

Galactic Bitch

Lovely woman

Her bed


Night time blabbing 5

Did you know we are all weird in the similar way? Yup. I’ve found that years ago, but hey, I am writing it now. Yes, we are weird. We all have a plastic bag stuffed full with other plastic bags, we all have a chair stacked with clothes so much you can’t see the chair, we all have a drawer we keep trinkets in, we all have that obscene habit of showering nude, which is immoral, disgusting and we should be ashamed for. (if you haven’t figured it out yet, I am just blabbing here)

There is one other weird thing we like to do, but tell everybody we hate it and try to kill our friends when they do it. What am I talking about? Music. You know, what I mean.

“Oh, my God. I like this song so much, I must play it in an endless loop.”

Yeah, that. And when someone else does it, even worse if they like the song you despise… Oh, you are halfway planning where to dump a body, but you don’t do it, you just scream in someone’s ear to TURN THE DAMN PLAYER OFFFFF!

I like doing something different. I start singing off the lyrics, dank and often swap the words with something stupid or funny, so that the person that insists on playing one of the same song over and over again, starts hating the singer and his work… I know, I’m full of wisdom.

Anyway, here’s the Kitten, and the song that is impossible to get out of my head. I know, because I tried.


What is your favourite song?

Haaa, good luck pushing that out of your head.

Also, the stories.

Lost tribe of Deros

Sugar rush

Call for battle

Grey clouds over humanity

It was late afternoon when clods huddled over the Atlas mountains in Africa. In contrary of a popular opinion that House of Gods was settled on the Mount Olymp Greece, it was actually more in the Moroccan region, on the opposite side of Europe. Peaks of Atlas were already catching a fluffy white haze when Gods decided it’s about time to have that tea everybody murmured about.

Ares first came at the table and sat on the chair. His beard was neatly gathered in a bun, as that was the ancient and proper way to deal with a manly facial hair he had. Bartender approached the table, a young skinny guy. He wore a uniform with a golden lining, an elegant black bow on his shirt and not scarce amount of oil in his short hair.

– A tea Sir? – boy asked, but Ares waved away in discontent.

– I’ll have wine. – Ares spelled those word like to a child that bartender was, but figuring out that lad wasn’t a retard, he cleared his throat and begun again, – A glass of wine please. – he said and clean shaved boy nodded with a smile before he went to fetch an amfore of finest Greek wine they had in a cellar.

– I’ll have brandy. – Perun said to the boy while his steps got closer to the table, and the boy nodded entering the bar illuminated by the pure rays of Sun, – What about that tea? You were the first one to suggest it, and now “mister Ares” want’s to get his evening dose, am I right? You old fart. – Perun gawked fetching the chair and slowly resting his fragile bones on the seat.

– Look who’s mothering me. You ordered brandy, you rusty goat. – Ares snorted and crossed his arms under his armpits.

– What?! – Mars shouted in disbelief, – I just ordered tea and you guys took alcohol?! Ugh, this will not happen again. Boy! Hey, boy! – he searched for the lad, then he went looking for him.

– Oh, not him again. – Ares whispered in his beard, when Mars turned around.

– You said something? – Mars lifted one of his eyebrows and pouted his lips.

– Now you hear, but when I called you earlier you acted deaf! – Ares shouted over his shoulder, when Mars came closer and leaned over the Ares’s chair.

– I was busy with Venus. – Mars acted insulted while Perun watched what was happening in the world.

– With that old witch? You are so old, you wouldn’t have power to perform. – Ares gloated in anger when Mars jerked back, now completely livid with Ares.

– I am still younger than both of you! – Mars said, when Perun turned in his seat.

– Who are you calling old? You better not be calling me old, you barbarian. – Perun frowned at Mars and started getting his slipper when Mars cleared his throat and grinned leaning over the table.

– Yup. You both are older than fire, and we are all barbarian Gods you dimwits. – whisper was like a blade slicing through the pride of the old Gods of war which all three now started shouting and yelling.

Situation caught heat when Perun started slapping Mars with his shoe and Ares started kicking Mars in his old bum. Boy called the security and young buff men set them apart. Other Gods laughed at the old bickering war Gods, as this was their usual thing to do on mondays. After this fight, they all were forbidden to take any alcohol.


Atlas Mountain

Facebook and Twitter links nobody clicks on.

And here are some stories that you might have missed.

Green Lords

Black cloth

Death from above


Night time blabbing 4

Wow, I got to start paying attention to what number I am putting in the title so I wouldn’t confuse someone, or even worse, confuse myself. I freaking begun writing this segment for just no other reason than to say something half awake. I felt I am most honest when I don’t give a damn about anything, but try to crawl back to my bed and splash over the mattress. And then I remember I have shit to do, like edit my novel (not fun, stop laughing), try to read something, keep the fire going (it’s winter time as I write this), prepare everything for tomorrow so I wouldn’t have to go out in a blizzard to fetch some wood etc.

While I was smoking my cigarette, I thought of mistakes I made writing my novel. When I gave the novel to my friend for an opinion, he yelled at me for making such obvious mistakes. “And you want to call yourself a writer?” he said, which I have to admit, it hurt for a while, then I realised something.

When you are beginning to write, it is 0K to make mistakes, I actually encourage you to make as many as you can. Because you get to be shouted at and learn how not to write. If you get frightened from the reaction of the people around you, because you are afraid of bad writing, you are not gonna write much. If you haven’t abandoned the this idea of becoming a writer, you’ll most likely start writing again, but then you’ll be older.

When somebody reads the beginners mistakes you made as an older person, people will laugh at you. You are of age where such mistakes are considered impossible to make and yet, you are making them. After that, you’ll be fetching a rope and a tall tree.

Yeah, I don’t know what was I trying to say here. Um, make mistakes if you are young and don’t listen to every opinion and advice. Grow a thick skin, because people like to make others feel small if they can. Ahh, I going to my bed now. Sweet dreams and say Hello to Kitten. (cyber cat I’ve found on the internet, not my pet)


You can leave me a message on Facebook or Twitter or don’t do it, I don’t know anymore.

If you have an insomnia, here’s a way to pass the time.

Night time blabbing 3

Night time blabbing 2

Night time blabbing

Green Lords


Street lights forbade the sight of us hiding in the cars we used to came close to their hideout. It was months in since the Bankers relocated to our terf, dealing with new synthetic drug. We had to eliminate them and get back to our former glory. SUV parked few spaces out in the park where kids played during the day. After the signal, a drone started buzzing above the roof, scanning the terrain in a thermal vision. Trap music played loudly from the two level house we were about to storm into. I pulled my bandana up and cocked my M4, ready to rock, when my driver bowed to take a sniff and shook his head. His hand gripped the steering wheel where his sight locked to the end of the street.

– Police drones are out of reach. They are rotating the shift. We are ready to go. – man in the comms alerted me about our status and I gave a mission a green light.

From five cars, a dozen men came out to the light, approaching our target with utmost caution. I trained them well, since I knew a lot from my previous black ops missions in Mithria. They formed a line under the window where an enemy guard passed checking out the street. One after another tapped the man’s shoulder in front of him, all wearing the green bandanas and military style helmets we took via blackmailing one of my friends.

Sergeant Tarnak, a policeman I bought cheap with constant supply of synthetic drugs, occasional whore and information about enemy gang business, stood first to break in the door of the Bankers’s headquarters. He swinged his mallet and popped the smoke grenade in the hall when we rushed in. Two by two groups of men broke off to frisk the room where screaming came from. A man jumped in front of me, so I shot him – two in the chest, one in the head. I did the same when a screaming whore did the same and came at me. Heavy panting, adrenaline rush, just like in a war clash.

– Second door. Enemy is hiding behind the wall. – voice sounded off in my earpiece, then I saw a drone levitating near the window.

Rapid burst of fire through the wall and the body thumped down. The men behind me walked in and searched the area before they got out and stuck back to me. I signaled them to move and so they stepped forward.

– Tripwire. – one of them said looking down, – A set of charges are buried in the wall. Defusing. – he added when I turned around and headed back to the room where Tarnak shot the player bringing the silence in the house.

– Report. – I said, anger in my eyes, when a masked footmen came to me with his shotgun aimed low.

– They relocated their headquarters. This was another trap. They knew we were coming for them. – he said when his friend interrupted the conversation.

– Is somebody telling on us? So… we have a shadow in our ranks? – he sounded inaudible because of the kevlar mask, but we got the meaning of his words.

– Activate the Midnight Fever. – I said half way in the door frame as I wanted to see how is defusing going, when pump action gangster stopped me.

– Are you sure? She can get killed. – he said knowing that Kira can get hurt, even tortured by the Bankers if she gets caught in their lair.

– It worked on three other gangs we shut down. Why do you think she wouldn’t succeed this time? You think other gangs evolved? We evolved too. Take her off from the task of luring a city mayor into a blackmail scam and send her to infiltrate the Bankers. – I angrily pushed those words through my teeth while pointing my finger at the footman that nodded upon given orders.

– Clear! – the choir sounded off from the upper floor telling me that the house was empty.

– I can investigate where the Bankers’s last operation was held and sell it to you for the right price. – Tarnak grinned like a weasel he was, but I waved my head aside and went out of the house where our guards stood watch around the corners and behind the trees.

– No. We will let them come to us. If I was to be attacked numerous times in five weeks, I would prepare to return the favor. Relocate our base and set up a trap for them in the old one. – I snarled into the comms and turned the safety on.




Haven’t seen coming, did you? Did you know that you can get my post faster if you have Facebook and Twitter? Well, now you do.

Also, don’t let these stories go unread.

Rusty heart

Bad business

Patrol car 2976


Night time blabbing 3

I finally figured it out that my muse is a gangster bitch. She likes laying on the couch behind me, her legs stretched and lifted in a tough guy pose, while her smokey eyes watch at me struggle like a fish on dry land.

She knows I am hooked on writing, so she is dosing inspiration to me like I could get an overdose. In a back of my head, I hear that vibrant trap base pounding with cool beat that just makes her laugh at me like I am small beans to her. Total domination, that’s what she wants, that’s what she has.

Smoke exits her perfect lips on a resting bitch facial expression that awaits for me to turn around and start a fight I already know I’ll lose. Sometimes she gives me a hit and lets me zone out in a rapid fire of letters. At that moment, she slides her fingers over her gun & skull tattoo that occupies her thigh seductively shaded with a black lingerie. I am well aware that’s her toying with my brain like a cat that just caught a mouse, but in some masochistic way, I kinda like it.

She doesn’t let me touch her, kiss her or say something to her. Silence, she likes laying there on the couch in silence and just watch me. That bitch!

Anyway, Kitten  is here to save the day and comfort me when the inspiration wears out.


Yeah, I got social media like Facebook and Twitter.

I also have other stories like:

Lovely woman

She wore black

Crush on her.