Avantgarde Stories

After loss tore her world apart, Raine Dyer vanished into the forest living in a forgotten cottage. There, beneath the canopy's twilight glow, she stumbles upon an ancient clay statue hidden among the roots. From that moment on, dreams bleed into reality. Whispers follow her. Shadows shift. And the forest remembers more than it should. A haunting tale of loss, isolation, and the secrets buried beneath moonlit soil.

Have you ever wanted to know more about the world of my novels, from the array of species that inhabit it, to depictions of elements from various stories shown in a different perspective? Then this collection is the tale for you... This book consists of worldbuilding footnotes and details about my stories' universe, and a collection of the various species that have appeared in my novels up to the present point, as well as various forms of literature, from short stories, to fictional guides, to poetry, and other experimental writing, each piece related to one of my past novels in some way or another. This anthology is an ongoing project, which means it will be updated as new parts are added, be it new poetry or short stories, new species and other updates that may come in when new novels are written in the future. While much of this collection is intended as a worldbuilding guide, it also serves as a testing ground to experiment with different writing styles and ideas. Dark Shards also offers readers a deeper insight or a unique perspective on a certain story or its elements. So what are you waiting for? Come and journey into the darkness with me...

A status blessed upon the heavenly orders can never be defied. Can the strongest blessing withstand the chaos of the most gruesome curse? That you shall uncover in this land of war & disorder.

We can talk all we want about nothing.

Magnus Whitlock describes his life on a plane of existence known as The Nexus, serving as his own pocket dimension where he can control almost everything except the nebulous concept of human sentience and emotions. With a device that lets him communicate with others in a network of people in the same type of existence, he learns of how this reality was formed and devises various plans on how to reshape it to recreate everloving bliss for everyone instead of the suffering that plagues it.

The conclusion to [The Defenders of Man].

A hypnotic journey into a 50s' like parallel universe with a group of artists that want to escape from the tyranny of a not-so-earthly dictator all put up into a sarcastic helter skelter full of plot twists.

A poem for times of discord.

This book is not suitable for audiences with zero percent sense of imagination and a mental age of two and below. I'm not really a great poet, just a guy who knows how to hold the pen and write the twenty six letters of the alphabet. But I like thinking about so many things, like love, robots, emerald onions, heartbreak, nonsensical stories, break-ups, death, and different poetry styles. And maybe you do too, so do give this book a try. :) Having said all that, enjoy. ;) Oh, and thank you @notafairyprincess for the wonderful 10/10 cover!!

Orion Wanderlust is a young boy full of color, creativity, and imagination. He constantly lives in a daydream. But like every dream, they were interrupted by harsh reality. When his beloved father figure, Mr. Sol, turned into a black hole, Orion decided that he wanted to save and found a new home for Earth. This is a tragic story about a child's innocence, growing up, space, and death. This is my first short story ever, please be nice.

It's one word

This isn't just a book; it's a structural rebellion. This is an anthology of experimental fiction designed to challenge how we consume stories. From a protagonist who realizes they are being deleted in real-time to a mystery where the clues are hidden in the page numbers, each entry dismantles a different pillar of traditional writing. Expect narratives that move backward, dialogue that speaks directly to your inner monologue, and plot twists that happen outside the margins. It is a journey for the reader who is bored with the "beginning, middle, and end" and is ready to see what happens when the storyteller stops playing fair.

When awareness returns, the person is climbing a staircase. How long have they been climbing, and for what purpose-there is no answer. The author of this work is GOTOU Humihiko(https://gthmhk.gitlab.io/gthmhk/isnmg.html). This work is provided under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. The original Japanese text (https://gthmhk.gitlab.io/gthmhk/syouhen.html#kaidan) was translated into English using ChatGPT-5.

"If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I'm not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something." ― Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country A collection of random poems I've made, with very little discernable overall theme. Some good, some bad, all mine. Ho-hum

Poetry describing my experiences with certain songs. [Typically ambient.] Part descriptions: 1 - 5: Tetsu Inoue - Ambiant Otaku

We slithered beneath a cathedral of beech-fleshed Nephilim, their synaptic boughs brooding above our thrifted Chevy like spires of Babel- Ether held. Quiescence shackled. Static wraiths of neural tonic and THC jolted through our nerves- jaw locked at the damp root. Breath bound. Once we were spewed from the verdant lattice into the glaring grey open, wheat tides unfurled across the plains- furnace-lit glades breathed. Moirai cut. April's breath, glassy as my marble-floored gaze on gloaming's edge. Your earlobes-gemstone suns set in Sheen's trinkets- swayed as we drifted through liquid swells- The engine stirred in the fume-thick sanctum of tacit confessions and broken plans. We, Janus-mouthed hyenas, chattered everything, everywhere, all at once- trying to claw a life beyond instinct, since our son needed a language not built from blades. Our son, a slumbering barque at anchor, hull pressed to polyester, tilted in his car-seat, dreams drifting afar. Eros' milk calcified into bone. You crept, ivy, through the map of my heat in the dark-geometry without boundary, as though I was shaped for the eve we seep. I was trellis to wisteria twine- the bind that held- palms pressed to wall, eyes spasmed- azure crescents melted into treacle- salt rising from throat. All mothers, piranesi-bricked into themselves, releasing their locks. The changeling's kingdom you cage was never beyond saving- after the keys, after the release, there is a trace in us they cannot name. Day Zero.

looking for a part 2 to my 1st Royal Blood book? (COMING SOON)

From @InspiritusPress & the @LiteraryFiction Network, a collection of experimental poetry, prose, photography by 15 brilliant contributors. The body is the sole mediator between man and universe, the moment between birth and death. Sometimes, there may be unity, love, transcendence and liberation. Other times, separation, lunacy, limitation, atrophy, violence. In this visionary anthology, the physical body and its relationships are celebrated, examined, distorted, degraded, dissected, exposed. Gritty and grotesque, surreal and transcendental, curated selections from acclaimed and established authors, emerging student writers, local Torontonians or Literary Fiction Network contributors: B.W. Powe, Takatsu, Evan J. Hoskins, N.J. Greenfield, Aaron Capelli, Daven Sharma, Thomas Arthur Farrell, Sierra Marilyn Riley, Skyler Clarke, C.J. Garrett, Deniz Sonkan, Colette Thomas, Nikita Shorikov, Aaron L. Sheng, Mae Claudette Costan

time travel/cosmic horror anthology