Gris Lee Stories

'A gentleman is one who never hurts anyone's feelings unintentionally' ~Oscar Wilde~ ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “The lack of plant life in Gehenna disturbs me” Erin groans for the thirteenth mission in a row. She leaps off of the motorcycle and throws down her helmet onto the seat in a huff. “You say that every single time we come here. We’re not even in the city yet!” she whines in high tone. I could swear I can hear a dog barking somewhere in the distance. This is just another one of her mini tantrums though, nothing to be worried about. I flash her the trademark grin. “Oh Erin, Cariña, if you understood the majesty of nature like I do then you’d, how you say, sympathise with me” I respond as I remove my own helmet, hanging it gentle from the bike handle.  My companion looks up at me, visibly still irritated. She points a finger at me accusingly. ...

“So what happened to you?” The young man didn’t want to acknowledge the dragon floating in front of him. There were too many people who had already deemed him insane by this point; he didn’t need evidence that would convince him they were right. “Hey, please talk to me. It’s lonely here…” the strange thing pouted. He grunted, shaking his head   to throw off the bad thoughts. He glanced at a peek at his surroundings, his eyes focusing anywhere but the thing he called a hallucination. To his despair however, everything was white and a little cloudy. In other words, absolutely nothing of interest. The young man sighed and gave in to curious boredom. “Because people just don’t appreciate the great taste of rat poison” he replied, his tone dripping with brutal sarcasm.  The dragon’s expression morphed into something reflecting sadness. “That’s…um…unfortunate” The creature continued to float there for a few more minutes of awkward silence. Against his best ...

In which I meet the author Darren Shan in a dream (a short challenge piece) -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He sat down beside me just as the featured act took their place upon the stage. I had a vague recollection of the performers that came prior; the snake boy, the bearded lady, the man so very, very tall. I wonder briefly if the things I thought I saw might have been a lingering remnant of my subconscious. Yet, despite the haziness, the image of the older man beside me scarfing down a jelly spider felt more vivid than I was used to. His eyes seemed intent at that moment on looking over the ginger haired figure upon the stage, sporting his own flesh and blood spider. He radiated an aura of ease within the confines of the circus tent. No gazing in awe at the colourful surroundings. No gawping at the supposed freaks inhabiting the place. Just the nonchalant munchi...

I sneeze for the umpteenth time from the unsettled dust sprites using my home as a shedding spot. The glass tube I’m holding slithers between my fingers, though I’m able to recover just in time to tighten my grip. The murky green liquid swirling inside sloshes and settles. My cumbersome hat flops over my eyes. I breathe a sigh of relief. The last thing I need is another accident in the workshop. There’s a reason that the nobles all refuse to keep replacing my assistants. Bah! Humans have proven useless to me. I don’t once regret holing myself at the helm of this old tower. Sure, it may be cold, dim and   up with dust sprites but the isolation is invigorating. Also, since I’ve situated myself upon the edge of the town, I am privy to the finest view of the forest. I removed the rotting wooden shutters to the window above my desk upon moving into the place, just so I could overlook this glory of nature every day, all day as I work. I find it inspiring. It’s also very dis...

A short challenge piece from my creative writing course. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The door of the shack clanged shut with an echo that caused Maxwell to fly into a passing moment of panic. He coddled the bundle of ingredients in his arms with the care of a new mother. Five minutes passed in silence. The old man’s aching bones stood firm as he listened carefully for the wail of sirens. Tired, ancient lungs struggled to hold in their breath. A soft whistle from the draft in the door rustled his greying auburn locks. Nought but a spider skittered across the dirt floor. Once those five minutes were up, Maxwell felt comfortable enough to utter a sigh of relief. Treading lightly, a sliver of paranoia from the panic still haunting him, Maxwell shuffled across the floor in worn through boots to the kitchen counter. At least, that’s what he considered it. The shack itself was only one roo...