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A Prayer for Mother Earth
A work of fiction by “Plug,” available to read at this website.
Good vs. Evil. The Light vs. the Dark. And More.
A Prayer for Mother Earth, authored under the pseudonym “Plug” and published on this website, is a series of spiritual journeys that cross boundaries of fantasy and magical realism. Demons are unmasked. Guised Angels seek to uplift mortals to accept the divine in their natures – and send many on life-risking quests.
It tells of a wizard who has lost faith and is metamorphosing into a tree.
It is about the hope offered by Suzanne, the mysterious Queen of the True Heart.
It introduces GoldenPuppy, the dog with the soul of a girl – and a warrior’s ferocity.
In Book One, Creator’s Hope, the fourth Tale takes you to the realm of the highly civilized Great Northern Dwarven. Future Tales will visit the fierce Forest Elven of Fawnhide and Creator’s Magnificent Forest People (Eastern Clan), giants who would rather hide than fight.
It is about evil carried out in dark places by foul-smelling Black Sewer Prawns, spying SquirrelRats, Blacktar Trolls, Lenticulating Coyotes, Bloodymouth demons, giant flying Botflydactyls, flesh-eating BugBoy Petes, and worst, human Minions of The Singularity.
It describes sights and events you’d shrug off as hallucinations. Or Magic.
And through parables in a fantasy world, it offers a critique of real events in yours.
Excerpts from The Second Tale of Book One, Creator’s Hope
Click any image to expand; click away to collapse the image.
A boy who hated his fear.
I was a frequent bed-wetter almost until age 11. Various cures were tried, including, of course, spankings, face-slappings, forcing me to sleep on sheets stinking of my own urine, and sending me to school without a bath, my skin reeking so much of my own pee that I could barely sit still in an unventilated room, and desks around me on all sides were kept vacant by teachers with mercy in their hearts for the olfactory sensibilities of others.
Then, one evening when I was 10 …
The war had destroyed the artist's soul in him.
As in many men who accumulated the traumas of war like unexploded ordnance in their psyches, his was finally detonated, leaving him a walking heap of emotional rubble. In his case, it was by a single sequence of events. He told only one tale from his time at war, a false narrative of these events, but it contained a hint, in much the same way every lie contains the truth it subverts. Here is his single war story:
In Empire City, just hours before his departure on the Queen Mary for the war …
The Orphan's Toothpick.
The slugger Sultan “the Orphan” Prince was so big that a radio announcer high up in the stands, in that ether from which baseball lore is Spoken, had remarked after the grand slam that the bat looked like a mere toothpick in his hands.
In the eighth inning of that final 1919 World Series game, now drunk, he swung wildly. The bat sailed from his hands, landed in the Flatbush Saints’ dugout, bounced a hundred feet up the tunnel to the home clubhouse, and stopped at the feet of Harry’s grandfather …
FleshCrave, a Demon.
Its face was exactly that of the demon in the fragment of pottery my father had brought home from Hitler’s mountain retreat! I wondered: Is this how the spiritual world works?
Its excitement rose as the scent of childflesh filled its flaring nostrils. Its skin began to lump and writhe all over its body, as if a thousand tiny things were struggling to burst out. And in the dark, I could see them: tiny eyes, noses, and mouths, their faces contorted in a shared agony beyond mortal experience.
Warning: Adult Content
This work is for adults only. It contains scenes of violence and depictions of sexual activity.
Its themes and content are intended for adults, not children.