Next Year, Things Will Be Different

By Tyramir Ross, john biscarner and J. C. Sayer

Next Year, Things Will Be Different
A collection of three short stories by three different authors.

Next Year by Tyramir Ross
Walker may not have finished high school yet, but he and his team are certainly finishing off every one of the G'laek they can. Now they face one of the oldest and most powerful of the ancient demons they have encountered. Can Walker use the power granted to him in Quellios of the Rising Waves, the great staff that conjures fire, as well as his own brains to save himself and his friends?

Illusion Of Choice by John Biscarner
When given the chance to have everything your heart desires, what would you ask for? Many of us have thought of what we would ask for, but have we ever really thought about the consequences of said wishes? Darren, a young teen, has been asked a simple question: "What do you want from life?"

The Garbage Man's Boy by J.C. Sayer
In the 1950s, the small northern Ontario town of Mallieu was terrorised by a serial killer named the Ferry Man. Ron, the Garbage Man's Boy, navigates small town politics in the wake of these murders, finding hidden truths he probably shouldn't have found, while trying to protect the ones he loves from a terrible fate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lemorn Literary Works
• Release date: Jun 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310592164

Tyramir Ross

Tyramir Ross was born with a real name that is not this pen name somewhere in Canada. A recluse and hermit, he prefers that you’d read his book to discover who he is, as that has more clues to his character and psyche than any mundane listing of geographical and historical factoids ever could.

Book preview

Next Year, Things Will Be Different

*-*-*-*-*-*

Tyramir Ross

John Biscarner

J. C. Sayer

Published by Lemorn at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 Lemorn Literary Works

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations and products depicted herein are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

Cover image by Starla Huchton at http://www.designedbystarla.com/

http://www.lemorn.com

Contents

Foreword by Joel Petley

Next Year by Tyramir Ross

Illusion of Choice by John Biscarner

The Garbage Man's Boy by J.C. Sayer

About the Authors

Foreword

Being a teenager is lame. It's an age where nothing is certain but acne, bullies and heartbreak. It's a place in our lives when more often than not we feel powerless in the face everything. In such a situation many of us ponder on the possibilities of what having power would really be like. That would be hard enough without the added complications brought on by the supernatural, the godlike and the insane. This collection is a series of tales that briefly explore the difficulties inherent in the possession of power and the potentially dire consequences of wielding it.

Joel Petley

Freelance Writer

Web: http://joelpetley.com/

Tumblr: moderatelyjoel.tumblr.com

Twitter: @moderatelyjoel

Next Year

Tyramir Ross

There was a pain in Walker’s chest. Bad pain. As in, the not good kind. Not that there was a good kind, that Walker had ever experienced, although he had heard good things about girls in leather with riding crops. Nothing he’d ever gotten into. Nothing he might ever get into.

There was something important about the pain. It was there for a reason. But then, wasn’t that the nature of pain? To be there for a reason? Walker couldn’t wrap his head fully around the idea. Everything was kind of… woozy.

Probably not good. Woozy was definitely not good. Woozy was probably worse than pain-and-not-the-good-kind-pain. Had he been hit in the head? He couldn’t remember. Which, in itself, was probably another bad indicator.

Trying to make himself focus, Walker struggled to open his eyes, but everything was spinning. Another bad sign? Seemed to be a lot of those. He had to focus. Had to make himself focus. But thoughts were flying every which way. The nature of pain. Bad signs. Where was he? Cathy’s eyes. He’d always thought she had nice eyes. Not as nice as Priya’s, maybe, but still nice. And Priya’s hair. He’d wanted to run his hands through her hair for years now, but he’d never had the courage. Had enough courage to fight demons, sure, but ask the girl of his dreams out on a date? That seemed impossible.

Wait. Demons. Or, demon. The Hellbent.

The name flew through his mind. He just had to focus on it a little more, focus on what it meant. Something the Messenger had said. Some kind of warning…

And Priya’s smile. She had a good one. A little lopsided, a little hesitant, like she was always happy to be smiling, but almost unsure if she should be because she was always so full of joy while others weren’t. And…

Walker shoved the thought aside and brought all the focus he could on his present situation. There were noises. People fighting. He had to help. Without thinking further, he did the one thing he knew would bring him fully to reality.

He ran his hand along the wound in his abdomen, felt the wetness that had to be blood, and then shoved a finger into it, hard.

Pain exploded into him. Bad pain. Definitely bad pain. He’d like to think he grunted, but the grunt of agony was closer to a scream. It brought everything into startling clarity for a second.

Geoff, his football jersey covered in red wetness with his axe, Riggosz of the Misting Blood, in hand. The left side of his face was a ruin of flesh, but that was Geoff, always pushing through the pain for the win. Against him stood darkness, darkness shrouding shadow, cloaking night, wielding midnight.

That was all the pain was able into bring focus before it made Walker pass out.

~*~

It was a dream, Walker knew. Still, it was a good one.

He was staring out the study room window, watching the football field. The players were assembling, getting ready to run another round of practice. Not that he paid any attention to them. The game wasn’t particularly interesting, and he didn’t particularly like anyone on the team, but there was something to be said about cheerleaders. It was cliché, and Walker normally detested clichés, but there was definitely something undeniably attractive about fit girls cartwheeling in belly shirts and short skirts that just couldn’t be denied.

It didn’t hurt that Priya was with them.

Not that she was a cheerleader herself. While she had the exuberance and possibly the athleticism to pull it off, she seemed just as adverse to clichés as Walker himself was.