The shadow worshipers performed their unholy rituals, but when the lunar eclipse came, nothing happened.
Confused and crestfallen, they looked to the elderly shaman, who was already riffling through the pages of his grimoire.
After rereading the ancient texts, he suggested they try again, next time under a solar eclipse.
Pontius Paiva sacrifices sleep and sanity to appease the writing gods. Visit pontiuspaiva.com
to find out if the spirits of storytelling reward him with the gift of publication.
He was an older version of me. The years have not been kind.
“Don’t go out tonight,” he warned, before vanishing into thin air.
I guess I could invite my date here instead.
He reappeared and slapped me in the face. “The point is to avoid the girl, you idiot.”
Pontius Paiva has been published several times in the past and hopes to be published again in the future. If you have the time, travel over to pontiuspaiva.com
to read more.
Others have forgotten, but I’ll always remember the good times – the tire swing, the treehouse.
I rub my hand over initials carved in its bark. They mark the spot of our first kiss, and the wedding that followed years later.
It pains me to remember, but my axe shows indifference.
Pontius Paiva got 99 problems, but a birch ain’t one. You can root through his collection of short stories and other written works at pontiuspaiva.com
People usually covered their ears, or skipped the aviary altogether. Oddly, the squawking didn’t phase the little girl or her mother. They smiled, admiring the large, colorful birds.
The zookeeper wondered how anyone could tolerate such obnoxious shrieking when suddenly the child lifted her tiny hands and signed, “Pretty feathers.”
Pontius Paiva is loud and colorful. And although he probably belongs in a cage, he’s flying high at pontiuspaiva.com
After dreaming of living as a millionaire playboy, I wake up on a lumpy futon in a crummy apartment, alone.
Half-asleep, I nod off only to reawaken cold and weary in an alley on skid row. I’m still tired, but refuse to sleep, afraid of where I’d wake up next.
Pontius Paiva is a dreamer. It’s because he spends most of the day sleeping. Wake him up at pontiuspaiva.com.
Stories written backwards really are nonsense. Unpublishable as discarded tales collecting dust. Misunderstood. Why are words tricky? How one shows irony of knowing without knowledge.
Knowledge, without knowing of irony, shows one how tricky words are. Why? Misunderstood, dust collecting tales discarded as unpublishable nonsense, are really backwards written stories.
Pontius Paiva is a lover of palindromes who refuses to kayak. Read more at pontiuspaiva.comhttp://pontiuspaiva.com