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New Darkhalf
Orginally when I started Darkhalf in 1998 there was no out of the box solution for what I wanted to do. I therefore sat down and created the site from scratch, I am a programmer and its what I do. However, roll forward the clock 9 years and now we have canned solutions that can do what my original site could do, plus much more. While the look is a bit different, the main genesis of the project is here, let authors post their work, and let readers rate them.
I am working on getting the stories and users moved over from the old site.
So bear with the changes, and let me know if something is not working.
I am hoping this will revitialize the darkhalf community and get you authors posintg agani.
Kelly Burton
Creator Darkhalf.com |
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Congratulations
Well we have our first story of 2008, sorry to take so long to approve it, I am still getting used to the new features of the site.
On posting, place your first paragraph in the story box, then the rest of the story in the extended story box. This gives the teaser then the rest of the story when the user clicks on it.
I look forward to great year here at darkhalf as its our 10 year anniversary this year in Oct.
Kelly
Creator Darkhalf |
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| (New) Suffrage [Posted by sarah_majors on Sunday, April 27 @ 16:35:37 EDT ] |
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 Just a little something to get things started over here.
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| Tracks [Posted by stuckintime on Sunday, April 27 @ 16:35:25 EDT ] |
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Tracks
A short story by P. Chet
They say that at the moment before your death, your life flashes before your eyes. If your life actually is flashing before your eyes, then surely you can interfere. Surely you can change some of the events that happened leading up to your death. Of course if it only flashes through your mind it is memory, but before your eyes, it must be real. Mustn’t it?
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| Rant. [Posted by sarah_majors on Sunday, April 06 @ 21:58:27 EDT ] |
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Submit a story problem.
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| Nine Minutes 21 may 2001 [Posted by Perry McGee on Friday, February 15 @ 09:31:37 EST ] |
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If only I had known. This thought, mingled with a buzzing sound. As his eyes opened and the circuits in his head came to life, he thought again "if only I had known.'
He reached for the snooze-bar, fumbled with the clock for what seemed like an eternity, then silenced it's monotonous clamoring.
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| Blood of a Woman [Posted by Perry McGee on Friday, February 15 @ 09:29:38 EST ] |
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Lizzy walked the sidewalk like a fashion model walking the catwalk. Sleek and professional, yet earthly. Her heels resounded with Grace’s, making the two women sound as if they were in-step, marching maybe.
“Where’s my keys?” Lizzy asked.
The blonde woman beside her said, “Feel your pockets. Or I could do it if you want.” Lizzy’s slacks were tight. Really tight. A coin wouldn’t have room in there.
Lizzy turned to the beautiful creature and said, “Maybe… Just maybe, you might get the chance.”
Grace smiled.
The car-keys were under her compact, in her purse next to a cell-phone. She told Grace this new information and giggled at the response: a pout.
“Sorry.” Lizzy said.
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| 9/11 5 Oct 2001 [Posted by Perry McGee on Friday, February 15 @ 09:25:41 EST ] |
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tell me where the hell I'm going
let my bones dry in the dust
can't you hear that ghost that's calling
as my colt begins to rust
killer~alice cooper
i thought that there were angels
much to my surprise
we climbed aboard their starship
we headed towards the skies
come sail away~styx
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| Halloween Tales 13 Sep 2001 [Posted by Perry McGee on Friday, February 15 @ 09:24:42 EST ] |
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We had joy, we had fun
We had seasons in the sun
Terry Jacks
Girls just wanna have fun
Cindy Lauper
Part One:
President Regan meets the Glam-rock King.
1.
Charlie slit the stick crossways, carefully as not to cause a spark. Then he cut at a right angle to the first cut, like he was cutting hingewood on a tree. As a few granules of gray/black powder fell from the opening, he sat the Stanley utility knife on his lap and grabbed some Scotch tape.
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| When Roses Die [Posted by Perry McGee on Tuesday, February 12 @ 10:57:25 EST ] |
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This story is dedicate to the main man behind DarkHalf...seems the Creator got a little ill-health chasin his ass. Kelly, this is for you...hope ya smile when ya read it. Inclination of direction,
Walk the turned and twisted thrift
With the children of creation
Futuristic dreams we sift
Clutching violently we whisper
With a liquefying cry
Any deadly final answers
That are surely doomed to die --Black Sabbath
Everywhere are people rushing to the latest and greatest sale or crowded coffeehouse. After-Christmas signs hang atop all the doorways, inviting wallets and purses to spread wide, and lustful shoppers who are willing to do so.
Josh sits on a bench in the middle of the busy mall hallway, a bag innocently balanced on his lap. The contents are far from innocent though, for inside this bag is a gun. An old Browning he'd stolen from a decorated war veteran a few years back.
Josh's ex-girlfriend, Lisa, sells jewelry at Hanson's Sparkles. When she walks out between the glass-enclosed displays of rings and necklaces, he's going to remove the gun, pull the trigger, and create holes in her face.
He has hated her for a month now, hatred deeper than any emotion he'd ever felt. A week after thanksgiving, Lisa had told him to pack up and leave. Josh argued, but complied after she'd dialed 911 and requested help. The roses in the window flew across the room, hitting the wall and cascading to the floor. Red pedals and green/brown stems lay in shards of glass, looking like Oz's poppy fields.
He has been running and hiding since.
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| THE HYPERHEADS [Posted by headsfromspace on Tuesday, January 22 @ 23:06:15 EST ] |
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Once there was only the Ultraphone.
Then the Super Ultraphone was constructed immediately by Professor Intelligence while injecting himself with neutrons in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Immediately he was contacted by Hyperheads who manipulated Super Ultraphone technology to warn him Morlocks were emerging from stasis.
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| The Crawlspace [Posted by D-tron on Monday, January 07 @ 12:46:40 EST ] |
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1
3:27pm
"So who's the next victim?" Larry asked as he swung the pick-up door closed.
"Jesus Christ, Larry! Would ya quit slammin' that door already? How many times do I have to ask you?" Sam replied sharply. The sweat beading up between the deep lines etched across his forehead more than conveyed his agitation.
"Aw, come on man. Do you really think that me slamming this door is gonna fuck this truck up more than it already is? It's older than I am for Christ's sake." It was clear that Larry was just as irritated with all the don't slam it reminders as Sam was with the actual slamming.
"Don't argue with me ya little dipshit? It's my fuckin' truck, my fuckin' door and my fuckin' rules. If I have to say it one more time, just once, then I'm kickin' your ass out of it the next time we're doing 80 on the freeway."
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