Archives: Short Stories

The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 10

It’s my week off this week!

Lots of work to get done, so I’ll be posting bits of Sweetangel to save myself some time.

Enjoy- excuse me while I jam my head into work mode.


Poulter gave a cough at that time,

Then with a shudder he rose from the bed,

His face pale and as tight as a drum.

“Did you save my life?” asked Poulter,

“My chest is a cauldron of pain,” he said,

“And I was sure that my time had come.”


“You’ll live for a while,” said Mama,

“I fixed your heart, but you need to fill it,”

“Or you won’t last more than a tenday.”

“Thank you Mama Grave,” said Poulter,

“I consider your debt to me fulfilled,”

“Ten days is more than I can repay.”


Mama Grave bid them all farewell,

And gave young Turtle a good-luck bone charm,

Which reminded Longthorn of her words.

“Poulter,” he said, “Listen to me,”

“Sweetangel is just a ghost we conjure,”

“To shift blame and to cope with our hurts.”


“The fact is, your wife met her end,”

“It’s a tragedy I wish I could salve,”

“But the villains we seek are real.”

“It may be too late for your wife,”

“But we can still rescue Frog for Turtle,”

“And maybe then your heart can heal.”


“Mr. Poulter,” whispered Turtle,

“I believe that you’ll live if you help me,”

“And I believe that Frog can be saved.”

Poulter replied: “You two can stop,”

“I took this case already, didn’t I?”

“I will not let the child be enslaved.”




The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 9

Hello there!


I don’t have ‘proper internet’ for the next few days, so I’m afraid there’ll be no Daily Beard.

Sorry! Should be back on Tuesday!


Until then, another, larger chunk of Sweetangel!


Mama Grave began chanting hymns,

Treaties to gods foreign to Saltpetre,

While her home filled with sweet smelling smoke.

“I will tell you how he survives,”

“For I know this man better than you do,”

“Mr. Poulter’s heart already broke.”


“He been living without his heart,”

“For so long that he don’t even miss it,”

“Though his body will realise soon.”

“What happened to him?” asked Turtle,

“My girl, Sweetangel done cruelty to him,”

“Took his wife by the light of bad moon.”


“I know that he lost someone dear,”

Longthorn admitted, “But he never said,”

“That he’d ever before been married.”

“Long time before now,” said Mama,

“Adam Poulter had beautiful woman,”

“But heavyful sadness she carried.”


Mama Grave told Poulter’s sad tale, 8

While she laid herbs and small stones in his chest,

And began stitching the bullet wound.

“His wife had an ill of the mind,”

“One day she just up and walked out the house,”

“And she got lost in Saltpetre’s womb.”


“No sign of her was ever found,”

“Maybe misled, maybe fled, maybe dead,”

“Sweetangel takes good people away.”

“But that’s just a myth,” said Longthorn,

“I know now that it’s just a lie we tell,”

“Easy to hear in the light of day.”


Longthorn felt himself grow angry,

“It’s not right that we blame a phantasm!”

“It’s the hearts of men that are rotten.”

“Poulter’s wife, poor Frog, and the rest,”

“They vanished by the nature of cities,”

“No spectre, just people forgotten!”


“Sweetangel is quite real,” she said,

“Though your words cut a trueness from the fog,”

“It is not a thing of flesh and bone.”

“People get lost, get hurt, get dead,”

“And the rest want to say it’s not their fault,”

“That there was naught that they could have done.”


“So they invented a demon,”

“To tell themselves that people just vanish,”

“And that lie is the worst sin of all.”

Mama Grave finished her stitching,

“Sweetangel is as real as you or me,”

“And the lies that help us to stand tall.”



The Saga of Sweetangel – Part 8

A bit more!


Longthorn knew that she’d warn her friends,

And was incensed at Poulter’s suffering,

So he ended her wickedness there.

He sent Turtle out of the shop,

And took out an old friend from his waistcoat,

A sharp razor that cut more than hair.


They carried Poulter together,

Trying their best to preserve his weak flame,

For his wound was enough to kill most.

“To Mama Grave,” whispered Poulter,

“The Ubu shaman owes me a favour,”

“Hurry or you’ll be meeting my ghost.”


With the help of a carriage ride,

They got to the Ubu Quarter quickly,

And they rushed to old Mama Grave’s door.

“Good mother, my partner is hurt,”

“Please do for him what you can,” said Longthorn,

As he laid Poulter out on the floor.


She set to work without question,

With a needle and thread and strange poultice,

Inspecting the gaping bullet hole.

“Bad thing done fell upon this man,”

“Terrorful wrong has visit inside him,”

“Not only gun-lead, also his soul,”


Mama Grave wore bones in her hair,

And the skins of beasts from Ubu Ubu,

And her skin was as dark as the night.

“This man should be dead from his wound,”

“The bullet smite badways upon on his heart,”

“Yet he breathe, yet he live, yet he fight.”