Glimpses Read online

  CONTENTS

  Glimpses

  Copyright

  Also by Vincent Trigili

  Story Introduction

  The Faceless Ones

  Wasteland

  Rage

  The Null

  The Storymaster

  The Journal of the Investigation of Zylyn’s Writings

  Starting at Zero

  Poetry Introduction

  The Dance of Fire

  The Fall of Light

  The Hunter

  The Victim

  Which Way

  Trapped

  Proud To Be A Nobody

  Speck of Dust

  The Chaos Bringer

  The Enchanter

  Author Note

  Glimpses

  A Collection of Short Works

  by Vincent Trigili

  Copyright

  Glimpses

  A Collection of Short Works

  Written and Published by Vincent Trigili

  Copyright 2018 Vincent Trigili

  Editors:

  Robert Frazier

  Kristi Trigili

  Elaine Kennedy

  Ellen Campbell

  Therin Knite

  Cover art by Vivid Covers (https://www.vividcovers.com)

  Interior Formatting:

  Therin Knite

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Vincent Trigili

  LOST TALES OF POWER

  The Lost Tales of Power is a collection of novels that describe an immense persistent multiverse. The books are a mixture of standalone and miniseries all set in the same universe with overlapping and intertwining story lines. While the books are a mixture of classic science fiction and pure fantasy, some effort is being made to keep the books in the realm of the possible, or at least theoretically possible given some basic assumptions.

  BOOKS IN THE LOST TALES OF POWER SERIES:

  The Enemy of an Enemy

  The Academy

  Rise of Shadows

  Resurgence of Ancient Darkness

  The Sac’a’rith

  Spectra’s Gambit

  The Sac’a’rith: Rebirth

  Volume VIII and beyond - TBA

  THE DRAGON MASTERS

  Season One:

  Silverleaf, a young dragonmaster who was born into a world without dragons, and doomed to die as a madman alone in the wilderness until a young woman enters his life, and a mysterious army marches across the land destroying all its path.

  Season Two:

  Three years before Lord Silverleaf took his famous flight against the Fifth Council’s armies, Elwyn, a young dragonmaster kills his first victims ripping him from his peaceful life. Now, Elwyn must overcome the madness, and lead his closest friends into battle if any of them are to have any chance to survive the coming darkness.

  STORY INTRODUCTION

  At various points in my career as an author, I have been invited to submit short stories and novellas to anthologies. I have given some of these short stories out to my newsletter list over the years, and readers have requested print versions of them. Sadly, they were all too short to produce as individual books, so I have decided to collect them here and add in two specials that are not currently available anywhere.

  In the second part of this book, you will find a collection of poetry I have written over the years that is not currently available anywhere else. Most of these poems were written and released before the era of the internet.

  Before we get to the poetry, here is a brief idea of what you will find in the first part of this book:

  The Faceless Ones was written for a flash fiction charity anthology that was raising money for a children’s hospital. Several people have told me it reminds them of Logan’s Run, which is a story I have yet to read, but plan to someday. I use this story to teach people how to write stories based on simple ideas. The seed idea for this story was “a man eats alone.” The entire story grew out of that.

  Wasteland was also written for a flash fiction charity anthology and was originally two separate stories. The very first line of the story was the premise I started with to create it all. And, in case you are wondering, yes, I agree with the first line.

  Rage is a scene I cut from the beginning of Spectra’s Gambit. I originally intended it to be backstory for the character Kymberly, but later decided I did not want her to have had such a tortuous past. The version that is given out free to my newsletter, which was published in a different anthology, is much shorter than the full scene I have included here. This is the only time the full scene has been released.

  The Null was written for The Telepath Chronicles. It was my first offer from a big-name anthology, so I wrote a brand-new story for it and created an entirely new world. It is an anti-hero story, and I have been told by some it reads as a thriller. It is very different from most of my work, which tends to have clearly designated good and bad guys in it.

  The Storymaster was written to launch the Dragon Masters series. It is a tale about the passing of the baton from an older generation to a younger one. It originally appeared in the bestselling Dragon Chronicles anthology and is currently available as a stand-alone work at most places you can find ebooks.

  The Journal of the Investigation of Zylyn’s Writings was originally a special story added on to The First Quartet. That was a special limited-edition box set that contained the first four books of the Lost Tales of Power series. My sister was the artist who created all the sketches, and I wrote the story around the images. It was a fun exercise, and I am glad it will once again be available for readers to consume.

  Starting At Zero is a fun story about a young boy that does not quite fit in. He is small, slow, and daydreams a lot. The story was written for a Fellowship of Fantasy anthology that was targeting different kinds of fantastic creatures. I wanted to choose a rarer one, so I reached into Native America legends and pulled one out to base the story around.

  Now, without further ado, on to the stories!

  THE FACELESS ONES

  CARL WALKED INTO the restaurant knowing it would be the last time. He looked around with a deep sadness in his eyes. I will miss this life, he thought to himself as the cute young hostess led him to a table in the corner.

  “Will this do, Mr. Johnson?” she asked with a singsong voice.

  “Yes, it will do just fine,” answered Carl. He could not help but admire her vibrant youth as she walked away from him. It had been a long time since he had that much energy.

  This would be the last time he would ever eat at this restaurant. When the waiter came, Carl spared no expense and ordered a decadent meal. The cost would be astronomical, but he did not care. It was his birthday and he wanted to splurge.

  While he was waiting for his meal, another man came in and sat across from him. This man had no face; instead there was just a flat grayness that could not be described. It seemed to cover something, but what that something was could not be made out through the grayness.

  “It’s not my time yet,” said Carl.

  The faceless man just sat there, staring at Carl without moving. Somehow the lack of eyes on his face did not make the stare any less intense.

  The others in the restaurant averted their eyes. They did their best to avoid the faceless man and to ignore the situation. Everyone knew what the faceless man represented.

  When the waiter came with Carl’s order, he put it down and left as fast as he could; fast enough that he ended up spilling some of the food, but he did not stay to clean it up or apologize.

  Carl calmly ate his meal and wondered. H
e knew it was almost his time, and he knew that it was best for their limited community that he go peacefully, but he did not feel ready. He was still strong, and his mind was still clear.

  As he ate, he asked, “Why is it that no one ever fights?”

  The faceless man just sat there, patiently waiting.

  “Or runs even?”

  Around him the room was quiet. Everyone could hear what he was saying to the faceless one. Many had secretly wondered the same thing, but no one dared ask.

  “It occurs to me that I have nothing to lose by resisting. I mean, what can you do to me that is worse than what you are already planning?” asked Carl.

  Silence was the only answer Carl received.

  He knew that his family was expecting him to go through with this so that they could inherit his vast estate. They were not greedy; they genuinely needed the money. Ever since the meteor strike, there were no longer enough resources to keep everyone alive indefinitely. Because of this, when a person reached the autumn of their life, the faceless men came for them and they were never seen again.

  Carl’s parents and most of his own generation had already gone on. It was only fair that he follow them. It was what everyone did and what everyone expected. The only trouble was that Carl was not like everyone; he did not want to go. He wanted to keep his life. In a split second, he made up his mind, upended the table, and ran for the door. He would fight and he would run, but most of all, he would live!

  The faceless man’s expressionless nature made it impossible to tell if he was surprised or concerned by Carl’s actions. He brushed off the food that landed on him and calmly followed Carl.

  Carl ran for his life, sprinting as hard as he could to a section of town where he knew older residents spent their last few years before they were taken by the faceless ones.

  “Rise up! Rise up!” he yelled.

  Faces looked out windows and doors cracked open as he ran through the streets. More and more faceless ones started appearing. Slowly and methodically, they moved to surround Carl.

  “Rise up! Fight! Do not accept the status quo any longer! Let’s end this!” Carl called out.

  Some of the older folk started coming out of the doors to see what was going on. None moved to help him.

  The faceless ones closed in around him.

  “Don’t just stand there! Grab what weapons you can find and stand with me!” screamed Carl as he scaled a wall in an attempt to break out of the slowly closing circle of faceless ones.

  The faceless ones did not quicken their pace, nor did they pay any attention to the gathering crowd. No one had ever attempted to fight the faceless ones before.

  “Soon it will be your turn. Who will fight for you? Who will stand with you? They can’t take us all! Stand and fight while we still can!” called out Carl.

  Everyone continued to watch, but none moved to help. Carl was trapped, and the faceless ones reached out for Carl with bony fingers.

  “No!” he cried as he kicked the closest one and charged another, swinging his arms like a wild man. He fought with the ferocity of a trapped badger, and all the skill of a drunken schoolboy, while the town around him merely watched.

  The sheer numbers of the faceless ones overcame him, and they pinned him to the ground. He kicked and twisted with the last ounce of his strength but could not break free from their grasp.

  “You know the law. You will be punished to walk with us for eternity for your rebellion,” rasped one of the faceless ones.

  Slowly, a mask was lowered over his face, and Carl went limp. The faceless ones stood and started to leave as Carl’s face faded away.

  The new faceless one that was once Carl turned and saw someone standing not far from him whose time had come. He started to walk towards him.

  WASTELAND

  PART ONE

  “I HATE UNFINISHED stories,” my partner said as he handed me the vial. “You must finish it!”

  With that, his eyes closed for the last time as his life finished pouring out of the multiple wounds in his torso. I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t like it one bit. I slowly drew my sword and grabbed a handful of his hair to pull his lifeless head up by.

  “Pyrpoló,” I said. The blade on my sword turned white hot as a flame ignited inside of it. With a single fast swipe, the blade burned through his neck and cauterized the wound.

  I sadly placed his head down and looked at the vial. In it was the promised cure‌—‌the last hope for our dying society‌—‌and it just fell to me to deliver it.

  “Your sacrifice will not be forgotten,” I said quietly as I commanded my sword to extinguish itself and sheathed it.

  The sky was darkening; they would come soon. I scanned the horizon, looking for shelter, and saw what I hoped to be an abandoned house. I ran with all my might towards it, as there was not much time left. When they found the corpse beheaded and the vial gone, they would be enraged, and I could not afford to be around when that happened.

  Behind me, the wind started to kick up, and it brought with it a blood-chilling howl. Great. I cursed. They’re early. I should’ve guessed they would come faster this time.

  It all started when that blasted fool tried to fight back with a designer virus. It worked at first, but then the virus mutated and its victims became like wild animals, hunting the last of the race. It seemed that nothing short of decapitation or fire could stop them.

  But the vial I now carried would change all that. I did not know how, but I had to get it back to the command center of the Resistance before there was no Resistance left.

  I cursed again as I reached the building. All the windows and doors were missing. It would not be much of a shelter. After a slight pause, I ran inside it, looking for something I could use. Out here in the wasteland, there was not much left, but sometimes you got lucky.

  As I entered the building, I saw movement to my right. I quickly drew my sword and spun away in case an attack was coming. In the corner was a young woman dressed in what looked like older military armor, with a bow slung on her back and two hunting knives at her hips.

  “It’s not safe here,” she said and made a break for the window.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” She was not infected, and out here that meant she was a friend. In these desperate times and conditions, no one could stand alone.

  “Away from here,” she said. “Come, if you’re coming.”

  As weak of a plan as it sounded, it beat waiting around to be infected. I jumped out the window and ran after her. We ran for hours with the sounds of howling infected ones behind us the whole way. They were slow, but they never tired, and there seemed to be an endless number of them.

  “I don’t think I can keep up this pace much longer,” I said. Or at least I tried to say it. I am not sure how clearly it came out.

  She didn’t show any concern about my condition. “If you want to live, you will. We are not far from shelter.”

  I was greatly amazed by her ability to talk while we ran. It was not long before we reached a wood building that was still mostly intact. She rushed in and slammed the door behind us, but did not bolt it.

  “Shouldn’t we lock that?” I asked.

  “No time, and it wouldn’t do any good,” she said as she ran to the back of the room and pushed aside some debris. “Quick, in here,” she said as she opened a hidden trap door.

  I dove for the door and, too tired to care how bruised up it would make me, tumbled down a flight of stairs. I just lay at the bottom trying to regain my ability to breathe.

  Eventually, she came down and crouched beside me. “You could have done that a bit more gracefully.”

  I sat up against the wall and groaned. “No, I’m not sure I could’ve.”

  The room was almost completely dark, and we sat in silence as we listened to the infected search the room above us.

  Once they were gone, she said, ”We can stay here a few days until they give up, then we can move on.”

  “Do you have any s
upplies down here?” I asked.

  “No, so I hope you like fasting,” she said. “Where are you headed?”

  “North, to make a delivery,” I said.

  Her silver eyes went wide as I held up the vial. “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Freedom in a tiny bottle.”

  She started to say something, but the noises above returned. We sat there in silence for a while and I eventually dozed off. When I finally awoke, the morning sun was shining through cracks in the floor, and I saw a note scratched in the dirt.

  “They’re tracking your scent, but they won’t know mine. I’m making a run for it,” it said. “Create a distraction to cover me.”

  She had taken the vial while I slept. I knew she was right, and that her plan was best, but I still felt betrayed. I charged up the stairs out of my hiding hole. With an adrenaline-fueled yell, I set the shelter on fire and charged south.

  I saw them coming out of hiding. They hated the sun, but perhaps they thought I still had the vial, and that drove them after me.

  “Pyrpoló!” I screamed as I charged them, lighting everything on fire around me that I could, hoping to completely destroy any scent trail that the girl might have left. I enjoyed hearing them scream in pain as I continued to run south and set the wastelands on fire, drawing the infected further and further from the girl, and our last hope.

  PART TWO

  “I hate unfinished stories,” I whispered into his ear as I took the vial from his sleeping hands. I gazed longingly at him, trying to make out what he looked like in the darkness. It had been a long time since I had seen a friendly face out here, and I did not want to forget his.