Category Archives: Turq

Down in the Depths — pt1

The stench was overwhelming.  The small bubble of light cast by the torch could not illuminate the far reaches of the cell’s corners — perhaps thankfully so.  Dadju wretched onto the floor near the entrance to once of the countless voids, each a rent in the world through which any form of torment could be be birthed.  This far into the prison, the rough-hewn floors had not been exposed to the polishing tread of countless feet.  This place was rarely visited.  Most journeys here were single-ended.  This was the Oubliette.

Dadju’s back ached from the journey spent hunched forward.  A dull ache between his shoulder blades had begun to creep into the muscles of his neck.  The ceiling of the corridors at this depth of the dungeon were noticeably lower than in the airy upper levels.  It was as though the men who had carved them were so bent with their toil that they could not straighten to manage a height greater than four feet.

How long had he stared at the bent back of this silent jailer?  With no view of the sun, and scarcely enough light to keep his footing, Dadju had no manner of tracking the hours.  The darkness was nothing new, and he had practiced techniques for concentration the allowed his mind to wander meditatively as his body toiled in the dark.  His footsteps became mechanical, his feet plodding thoughtlessly behind the hunched form of the jail keeper.

A change brought Dadju out of his reverie.  The air had become different, cleaner almost.  Although still stale, there was now a strong scent of powdered limestone blending with the ranker vapors permeating the dark.  It was quieter here as well.  No longer were the sounds of the human occupants of the dungeon audible.

The Dream – A Prelude to Turq’s Drink

A professional,

an injury.

My duty,

through darkness,


Feel my fear in the crumbled

underground city.

Steel grating,


yet it only adds to my fear.

The eyes in the dark


not only me,

they hate everything.



arrival at our destination.

A healer,

brandishing a weapon,

I feel we are unwelcomed here.

But the professional,,

the healer,

together a warm embrace

and I know we are safe.

Healed now,

after days,

we return,

the professional and I,


The crowd cheers him,

mobs him.

For me there is nothing.

Jan 17, 1998

Baking Blowup

Our Baking Will Blow Your Mind

The Dinner

A Space for Fellowship

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.


Turning Tears and Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures


literary fictions, flashes, fiascos


The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.


A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design