A.R. Krues III's Page

Quarter moon cast in shadow.



There’s no way that he can bury them all, not by himself. Instead they lay stacked together on an impromptu funeral pyre made from tires and car hoods, dry brush and chunks of foam. He looks at them with pale brown eyes, bodies stacked four high and ten across at the base, the ultimate human pyramid carefully Tetrised together just right by a single lunatic.

He chuckles. The sound is harsh and eerie accompanied by the scratching that pervades the… Continue

The desert will always be home.



The smell of dirt and grit, mountains, brush and cacti pervade his senses, even though they still lay under the even more recent scent of blood and decay. Over head the sun burns across the open desert lands with little remorse, only bring the smell of degraded flesh to new levels of discomfort for any person so willing to cross the open expanses of the American Southwest.

As the pungent odor wafts through the air, he’s forced to once more tighten… Continue