Chasing the Ghosts of Gods is a story whose origins date back to the days when all of my storytelling was done as part of an online roleplay game. All of the characters are ones I created for the game, but after a while, the stories that I wanted to tell stopped having anything to do with the focus of the game, which was wrestling, and took on a life of their own. Chasing the Ghosts of Gods is the story of two lovers and sons of elder gods, who had their souls torn in half when they perished. When the souls were reborn, they were reborn in their divided states, meaning four individuals have possession of the soul pieces though none know of the curse that's been placed upon them. The soul pieces have been attempting to reunite with their other halves and their lovers for centuries, trapped in bodies that experienced a natural human life cycle of birth and death. The only way for their souls to ever become one again is for all four to come together at the same place in time and rediscover the love they once shared, but the closest they've ever come is gathering three of the pieces together at once. With each attempt it grows more difficult and the gaps in years are greater with every life cycle they experience. Chasing the Ghosts of Gods is the story of what just might be their final opportunity to get back everything they've lost.
Chasing the Ghosts of Gods updates every Wednesday. There are currently ten chapters available on Vella for you to enjoy. Below you'll find episode 1. I hope it intrigues you enough that you'll read more.
Chasing the Ghosts of Gods
#Fated Mates/Soul Mates
#Soul Bonds
#Divided Souls
#Curses
#Rocker boys
#Desert living
#Mental health and addiction struggles
#Self-Destructive Behavior
“Laugh, God damn it!”
Spinning, arms out, Rick roared at the cluster of people
pressing in on him, their frowns and pinched expressions grating on his nerves.
Who the fuck were they to judge, these pathetic sheep who pointed and stared,
mocked what the gods created in a fit of drunken revelry. Dionysus would have
been proud, he thought as he cocked his head to the side, and studied the dark-skinned man that was rapidly moving towards him.
“Hey, look man, we don’t want no trouble here. Why don’t you
just go on about your way, man, it’s all good.”
“If it was all good, then you’d be laughing,” Rick remarked,
the grin slipping from his own lips. Didn’t they know it wasn’t funny unless
they laughed with him? What good was a clown without its audience? Perhaps he
should have painted on jester makeup today.
“I don’t see what’s so funny.”
Well, now that was downright depressing. Face to face, damn
near nose to chin, Rick stared into the chocolate eyes staring down at him, a
tough feat considering he was close to 6 foot 4. This guy had two inches on him
and yet the prospect of fists flying only served to make him smile again.
“Don’t you know we were just put here to make the gods
laugh,” he asked the ebony skinned giant, chuckling at the uncomfortable
confusion on the other man’s face. “So be a god and laugh. You know you want
to.”
“Listen man, we’ve already called the cops, why don’t you
just leave, let us get back to our picnic.”
Little kids peeked out from behind their parents legs. Men
stood, just a little bit ahead of their women, younger people to the front,
older to the back, they outnumbered him twenty to one, easily, and yet every
single one of them was looking at him like he was the threat. He could feel
their fear, like a stale oppressive weight closing in on him. Amusement bled
into disappointment, a heavy sadness that left him ducking his head, shuffling
from one foot to the next, filled with a sudden, nervous energy that was never
good. Not like goodness was something he associated with himself often. He
tried, but his efforts were more often than not met with confusion or outright
disgust.
Like now, and the whole thing was pissing him off ‘cause all
he’d wanted was to make these people happy, make them smile and laugh for a
moment ‘cause laughter…
Well, there just wasn’t goddamn enough of it.
Shouldering past the giant, he glared as the crowd parted
for him, damn near tripping over themselves to get out of his way like he was
toxic. Maybe he was, there were enough chemicals in his veins to pickle a
corpse, even after embalming, and he wanted, no, he needed something to pour
all his unchecked energy into.
The blast of a siren, short and instant, was like a scream
for him to stop, but he ignored it and continued on. Smirked at the second
blast and clenched his fists, itching for a confrontation.
Run
He froze at the sound of the voice, deep and rich as it
rolled through his mind, a welcome presence after how long it had been silent.
Too bad it was telling him the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. Fuck
running, that group of killjoys had pissed him off and a good fight would take
the edge off until he could find one that paid.
Run
“No.”
Great, he was answering the voice out loud. His nana used ta
say that you weren’t crazy ‘til ya started talkin’ back ta the voices. Guess
he’d crossed completely over into certifiably nuts ‘cause he’d stopped moving
all together and was squinting at the ground, ignoring the slam of the car door
as the cops got out of their vehicle.
Unless you like padded
walls, you will run. Now. RUN!
He did run then, all shreds of defiance fading at the
thought of those empty walls and the silences, such long stretches of quiet
that he’d found himself filling them with songs past the point when his voice
was hoarse, and the smallest sounds forced past his throat brought discomfort
and pain. The silences were quite possibly worse than those empty walls and
always, always, the voice was silent when he was there, mocking him with its
wordlessness until he’d been certain he’d been abandoned.
From somewhere behind him he heard a cop shouting his
description into the radio in between puffs and wheezes as he fought to lose
them. There were trees up ahead and on the other side of them an alley and a
stretch of mostly abandoned warehouse that he knew well. Their footsteps were
fading as they fell further and further behind, and in the time it would take
them to return to their car and attempt to catch up with him, he could lose
them in a maze of steal and brick.
Branches scratched his face as he plunged into the wooded
area. A tree limb snapped against the side of his head, dangerously close to an
eye but he never flinched, not even when the brambles gouged scores of flesh
from his arms and hands. Some of them tangled around his legs, sending him
sprawling and he scrambled to his feet and tugged, ripping the left leg of his
jeans as he pulled it free. There was gray space ahead, concrete and streetlights, he scrambled for it, the mud on his boots causing him to slip just a
little as he hit the sidewalk.
Sirens were everywhere, but the voice was urging him on,
whispering encouragement as he plunged across the street, horns honking, the
feel of speeding metal brushing so close that it touched his hand. Pain spread
from his fingertips up his wrist, but he never paused to see the damage.
Instead, he passed the first building and wove between the second and the
third, slipped around the backside of the fourth one and through a busted
window, gashing his arm on the glass as he slid into the dim of a hot and dusty
room. Mice scurried out of his path as he scrambled towards the stairs, knowing
it was safer to go up than to stay on ground level. They were close enough that
he could jump from one building to the next if he needed to, though the sirens
were distant now and the voice was quiet again.
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