MEMORIAL excerpt

What better way to kick off summer than with a horror tale about a torturous and heartbreaking love?

Of course, I’m talking about MEMORIAL, my short story released specifically for Kindle platforms.

Intrigued?  Well please allow me to entice you a bit more with an excerpt from MEMORIAL:

“I believe it’s pointless to ask, Anthony. Those days have long past. Plainly you can see this.” With mournful eyes, the man sipped his bourbon, while into his chest, as if some wounded animal, burrowed a mercilessly bandaged hand.

Anthony’s hand lingered across the tacky remnants of liquor upon the table; within balled fist, a cold wad of bills. He glared upon the sullen man seated before him. “See? Yes, I can.” Fist inched forward, awkward in its urgency. “And as you can plainly see, a job well done will be rewarded.”

“What I do…what I did…never constituted a job. A job does nothing to stir the soul. Only passion achieves such a state of grace.” The man inhaled deeply—of the bourbon or the proposal, left to dangle in air—Anthony was not sure. But he did not appreciate the smooth impassiveness across the man’s alabaster face. Did not appreciate it in the least.

“Passion?”

“Yes. A job is measured by hours. But passion’s hours are timeless.”

“It seems your passion has nearly left you a cripple, while my job has left me a wealthy, wealthy man,” Anthony sneered.

“You are my brother, Anthony. And had you not been, I’d find your gaffe of words truly insulting.”

“At last, bravado found at the bottom of your glass. Is that the residue of passion, Nicholas, or merely passion’s inspiration?”

A thread’s breadth parted Nicholas’ lips as bourbon drizzled tongue. Eyes danced but to the song of another day, transfixed by noiseless, ghostly chords. “Some people wish to choose their vice. But for others, the vice chooses them.”

“Killing yourself slowly with alcohol now, then.”

“It’s not alcohol of which I speak.” The words hung between them.

Hesitation. Eventually Anthony loomed over the table. “She’s gone, Nicholas,” and instantly the music ceased; a blackened veil draped his features. Hand plummeted to the table, the snifter nearly shattering atop the sticky grain. Bourbon splashed Anthony’s knuckles, but fast his posture remained. He studied his brother with dulled satisfaction. Slowly, by inches, he lowered his considerable frame, pouring his bulk into the opposite seat. Watching intently. Silence, broken only by Nicholas’ strangled mewls.

Nicholas dabbed at the corner of his trembling lips. “When?” his voice a hoarse murmur.

“Six months ago. You’ve changed your haunts. It’s made finding you difficult, but not impossible. I thought you had fallen from the face of the earth, too. Like Catarina.”

Stinging, the words. Nicholas winced, eyes searching. Searching.

“The illness…came on suddenly. The doctors could do nothing. Her body already rampant with disease, but Catarina, she said little. You should know well of my wife’s strength.” Anthony’s back stiffened in anticipation, but his brother, snared within the throes of paralysis, offered nothing. “You should know well of many things concerning my wife.”

Memorial_Front_Cover_JosephAPinto

MEMORIAL

Nicholas is a sculptor, renowned throughout the land.

But now he suffers from a ruined hand; worse yet, a fractured soul.

When his brother hires his talents for a final time, however, Nicholas suddenly finds himself at a crossroads: sculpt the only love he has ever known – his own brother’s wife.

Or carve a memorial for her heart…

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MEMORIAL

Memorial_Front_Cover_JosephAPinto

I‘m pleased to announce the Kindle ebook release of my horror short story, MEMORIAL, a tale inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea.

Pygmalion was a Greek sculptor from Cyprus whose creations were famous for their life-like appearance; unfortunately for many of the local maidens, Pygmalion lost all interest in women and vowed never to marry.

Until one day, he fell in love with his own creation, a sculpture of a woman he named Galatea.

Galatea, which means ‘she who is milk-white,’ stole Pygmalion’s heart, and he desired his statue as his wife.  The goddess Aphrodite, taking pity upon Pygmalion, granted life to Galatea.  Pygmalion and Galatea eventually wed and gave birth to a son, Paphos, for which the city in Cyprus is named.

I’ve always loved this particular chapter in Greek mythology, so I took special care when crafting my own story.

If you think you have an idea how I sculpted the plot for MEMORIAL, however, you might want to guess again.  After all, I do write horror, and I’m always good for some surprises ;)

MEMORIAL

Nicholas is a sculptor, renowned throughout the land.

But now he suffers from a ruined hand; worse yet, a fractured soul.

When his brother hires his talents for a final time, however, Nicholas suddenly finds himself at a crossroads: sculpt the only love he has ever known – his own brother’s wife.

Or carve a memorial for her heart…

Memorial_Front_Cover_JosephAPinto

sale links:

Kindle ebook US

Kindle ebook UK

Kindle ebook AU

Kindle ebook FR

Kindle ebook IT

Kindle ebook JP

Kindle ebook DE

Kindle ebook ES

Kindle ebook NL

Kindle ebook BR

Kindle ebook CA

Kindle ebook MX

Kindle ebook IN

CINDER AND ASH

CINDER AND ASH

I fucked it all up, didn’t I?
and what I did can’t be undone,
can it?
I thought I held us firm
but
wound up squeezing too hard
now I’m left staring at the dust
and
it’s much more painful than looking at your face
(which remains angelic, by the way).
I’m a prisoner to my own Hades
and
the fires that burn, well,
they’ve burnt cinder back to cinder
and
ash back down to ash
in a recycled mad chaos of sorts.
I wish I could tell you how much
I ache for you
but
doing so would only cause me to
splinter further.
Doing so would cause you to
suffer further.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

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WHAT I SHOULD NOT KNOW

WHAT I SHOULD NOT KNOW

first date
don’t be so coy
you know you’ve been blowing him out in the parking lot
leaving your half eaten panini beside me
leaving me sick in the mouth
remembering
how he stroked that fleshy thigh of yours
it’s none of my business, of course
but you’ve intruded all the same
with that yuppie glass of Pinot Grigio of yours
beside my sterile snifter of Scotch
tell me
don’t be so shy
did you let him cum in your mouth the first time out?
the residue of days old coleslaw beside me
leaving me sick on the tongue
stupid girl
he’ll only admire another next week
much like the half eaten panini beside me
you’ll grow cold and forgotten.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2013 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

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VISIT WITH A BROKEN BODY

VISIT WITH A BROKEN BODY

i went to visit my chiropractor today, i sat in the
waiting area, waiting patiently for my broken back
and broken neck to receive attention
a pull a tug a twist to all my broken parts and then I could say
‘aah, this is better, until tomorrow’

but i sat patiently and an old woman came out from the patient
rooms, she walked from the patient rooms as i sat patiently
she walked spryly for someone her age
complained about her home life to anyone who would listen
that would be four of us, including

myself, including another woman in a wheelchair
her legs broken and useless like my back is broken
and i am useless, but the old woman made it a point to
complain about her home life her husband her son
her mangy dog that ate too much food and again her
husband who took too much of her life

away, she complained about her body.
she looked at the other woman in the wheelchair and complained
about her body complained how one day she’d be in a
wheelchair and when the wheelchaired woman replied
‘i’ve been in this wheelchair for over 20 years’

the old woman (the complaining woman) replied
how she’d really need that wheelchair one day too.
the old woman (the complaining woman) looked at me but
i shifted my eyes to my lap as i sat waiting patiently
in my chiropractor’s waiting area

had i looked at her i would’ve told her
‘shut the fuck up’

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2015 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

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THE VAMPIRE I SEE

Established in April of 2012, Pen of the Damned has become home for some of the finest writers of horror and angst.

A strange entity, known only as the Tale Weaver, introduced its voice then as well.

Not much is known about this mysterious being – it has made its presence known but a handful of times.  It is believed, however, that the Tale Weaver speaks truths most men dare not utter.

I present to you the Tale Weaver‘s first appearance on Pen of the Damned.  I am not responsible for the erosion of your sanity…

THE VAMPIRE I SEE

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Enter.

Sit before the Tale Weaver.

Heed me now. ‘Tis not a chronicle I do recount, nor a fable spun beyond your wildest imagination. Aye, I impart onto you a warning, and if wise, measure my every word you will. Beware the beast that drinks not of blood but feasts upon the essence of your very being.

‘Tis the psychic vampire I speak.

Once entry is gained into your mind, there is no stopping these fiends. For that is where they dwell…and breed. Spawning their miasmal infection deep, deep into the root of your brain. Imbedded, only the hourglass marks the moment your soul succumbs to their detestable will.

Scoff you do? Hold your tongue, lest I cast you into the feculent depths from which these creatures emanate. More powerful than their undead brethren, they stride unhindered beneath sun and moon. Obscurity they prefer; yet unabashed they roam. Aberrations of ourselves, yet so closely tethered by common threads. You know who they are, yet their guise renders them unknown.

You fidget within your chair. Look not queerly upon me then, for the chill snaking along your spine betrays you. It is them. Even now, they reach with inconspicuous, needy fingers. Groping for you. How the virulent taunt.

Appetites unsatiated, they hunger your vibrance. Listen now and understand their ploy…they wish you not dead, but rather live not alive.

Do you not recognize the abhorrent ghouls now? Then introduce you I shall to these miscreations! Look and forever shall you know – friends and family and strangers their masquerade! And the cruelest of truths have I saved for last. There. There. Your eyes do not deceive you. My mirror doth not lie. Aye, the most wicked of abominations stares you back.

The torturer within.

Until next I summon you, be gone.

So the Tale Weaver speaks.

~ Joseph A. Pinto as the Tale Weaver

© Copyright 2012 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.

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REPRIEVE

REPRIEVE

is it okay if I lay beside you?
because I can’t keep my eyes open much longer
i’ve been pretty tired as of late
and things have seemed
to slow down around me.

is it okay if I cry on your pillowcase?
i’d wash it but it’ll dry soon enough
that’s the way an old ache goes
flowing with the deep thaw
soon parched from summer’s haze.

is it okay if I call out old names in the dark?
the more I speak them the more I’ll remember
not to forget
i’d like to write them in a jazz song someday
sing a melody whether the band’s ready or not.

is it okay if I lay beside you?
won’t be much longer till I see the light
and that old ache flows on
whisper to me while my breaths grow shallow
whisper to me goodnight.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

© Copyright 2013 Joseph A. Pinto. All Rights Reserved.