THE SMALL ONE

File Jul 10, 12 31 19 PM

THE SMALL ONE

It was a quick visit. I didn’t even realize I needed one but
obviously you knew better. That’s the thing about signs;
they appear when not requested, revealed when your eyes
are blind. Your phantom touch allowed me to feel my gravity
weighing me down. Then you were gone, swallowed by an
expanse of blue sky, leaving me the small one in your wake.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

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

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IN THE LAST DUSTY BAR

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IN THE LAST DUSTY BAR

thought i had lost you
because it had been so long
since i felt anywhere near right
but you found me in the
last dusty bar i had frequented;
sauntered beside me
shushed my questions
splashed Scotch across my lips
lit fire to my tongue
and said:
“write, motherfucker”

my muse always has a way with words.

~ Joseph A. Pinto

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

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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…

sale links:

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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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