Cailean
Profile
Wicked avatar created by Shanina Conway
What can I say? I live, I look, I listen, I write. And from that writing, I live again. It’s a cycle – I write for myself, but I appreciate when other people “walk in my skin” for a few moments and although note the differences, delight in the similarities.
I’m contactable via cailean.darkwater@gmail.com and feel free to poke me for other contact details if you want. I love to talk about writing and philosophy in general, human nature, politics, religion, all the subjects you’re NOT meant to mention in polite society, as it were. Curious always to receive feedback – it doesn’t have to be a ringing declaration of “awesomeness” as it were.
Groups
Cailean is a member of All About the RPG, All Things Poetic, Artistic, Philosophical, Graphic Scratch, Green!, Monsters Ink, Myths, Legends and Fairytales, Practising the Dark Arts, Short stories - Spherical Scriptings and Woman Appreciation.
Journal Entries
Cailean Darkwater is dead
Posted 6 months ago, 2 comments so far.
Love & Hate
Posted about 1 year ago, 16 comments so far.
Noodles for One
Posted about 1 year ago.
Dead Man's Jacket
Posted about 1 year ago, 13 comments so far.
Writing
Darkest Yearning
When his father had warned him of the monsters on the streets of New York, he hadn’t thought the monsters were real …
Tulip
Yes, now the city feared ‘Tulip’ as a clear and present danger. Some even thought that Tulip was not mortal but a monster from the Black Forest or even a demon from the depths of Hell.
Beautiful and Well Made
But to Marilyn, all she could see were the hands that had lovingly created the shelf, sanded and stained it. If the shelf did have eyes, they would be his eyes looking back.
Shaped
Eyes sprouted on the uneven surface of the Shaper to look at Shamu, forcing the overwhelmed Worker to start visibly.
The Messenger
Croaks through lacerated throat and mangled lips, a single word: “Malachi.” Its eyes slowly close, peace suffuses its woeful features, lapsing into silent tranquility.
Knife's Edge
Locked in deadly embrace – the gang border dispute or turf war – the only music was the frenzied beating of one’s heart, reminding you, beat by beat, that for this moment you still e…
