Sometimes Heaven Is Overrated!
Challenges of the Gods proves a powerful
start to a captivating new series......
Jon Jacob sits alone in the pub. A bottle of whiskey pressed to his lips, he grieves by drowning in the drink. The memory of his daughter, too painful to reflect, Jon slips into the drunken abyss of his depression.His solitude, the final act, he prepares for his ending when a cunning Salesman intervenes with a bizarre proposition and an offer too tempting to ignore: revenge. The benefits of the deal, a handshake away, Jon must choose between leniency for the convicted or indulge in the seething hatred of his rage and accept the terms of his vengeance. His decision sealed, Jon soon discovers the error of his haste and struggles to escape a world where souls are manipulated, and the condemned, bound in the shackled demand of a contract, inked in sin.
With a tangible sense of dread permeating its pages, Stories of a Condemned Soul proves an absolute delight to read. A novel blending invention and irony with a terrific twist at the end, Connors has marshalled his crack sense of supernatural menace to take us to the depths of devilish depravity and beyond whilst managing to turn brevity to his advantage. There’s no wanton wittering as Jon finds himself contemplating the true cost of his revenge with each chapter punching above its word count and each one beggaring reflection as Connors combines old-fashioned character work with the modern efficiency of intensity and dread. On this level, it feels distinctly unburdened and fun, happily frolicking in its own pulp madness with Connors single-mindedly devoted to pushing our buttons as he takes us to some very dark places! Underpinned by a twisted plot, sharp stucco prose and deft characterization he’s vague in the way he conveys what they actually are but that's not to the plot's detriment because he knows the mystery is much often scarier than finding out the truth.
Giving occult fiction fans exactly what they want Stories of a Condemned Soul is not to be missed and is recommended without reservation.
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We Must Never Forget
"His baby breath hung milky white.
Soft downy hair within my sight.
But as I bent to kiss his head.
Behind my eyes the horror spread.
The acrid smoke of bullets past.
The stench of blood, gut wrenching blast.
The begging eyes, and smell of fear.
Hands clutching hope on coming near.
His soapy skin, flushed pink and new.
Eyes clear and bright with mother’s hue.
Softest skin and gurgling smile.
Now overspread by all things vile.
With shaking hands and eyes shut tight.
Memories of each haunting sight.
My comrades brave with babes and wives.
Torn to shreds before my eyes.
As tears spill out to soak his head.
I gently lay him down to bed.
Watch softly as he sucks his thumb.
And pray for all the orphaned young."
From The Fallen - Poem by Pixie Woodstock