Chris Tyroak

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2020

Stories (4)

4 Stories

83 karma pts

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“That Old Timber Farmhouse” by Chris Tyroak

Submitted to Contest #99

There it is, that old timber farmhouse, still abandoned, still standing in the middle of nowhere. You look a little older, a little more weathered than when we first met all those years ago. How I love this quiet that surrounds you as if humanity were dissolved and removed from this hidden world that hides you, a grand relic, and a token of my most loved memoir. You are the keeper of my history, and whilst the wild scrub and snaking plants have swaddled you in their grasp of life, you keep celestial echoes livel...

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“The Withering Profession of Edgar Allan Oaks” by Chris Tyroak

Submitted to Contest #98

Much has been written of legacy and inherited heirlooms that thread together, the generations of an honourable line. For Edgar Allan Oaks, this prevailed in the old custodian helmet of his late father, Leopold Oaks, who still held the distinguished record for the most civil arrests in a calendar year. This antique trophy stood as a reminder for each generation of Oaks that 'policing was a notably esteemed and viable profession.' This conferment persisted, not least, because old Leopold Oaks had instilled the principle...

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“The Madness of Mikel Brinecraft” by Chris Tyroak

Submitted to Contest #67

The Madness of Mikel Brinecraft By C.R. Tyroak It is often told, that the sane may become afflicted with a sickness of mind when too much time is given to the infatuation of a thing. Never, had it been documented or said, that such a thing as madness could be passed from one soul to another as easily as the pox or the common cold might. Yet, I am witness and accountant of this very phenomena, having sailed with the Callisto and her Captain, Mikel Brinecraft, in those curious and illustrious southern seas. I ha...

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“The Addiction to Modern Vintage” by Chris Tyroak

Submitted to Contest #65

I had come from the hoary mountains of an ancient land, carried on a bristling wind. The world had moved on, and with it, the very nature of society and its problematic humanity had changed to such a degree, that I too, needed to change. There was resistance amongst my order, to move with the times, for ours was a history of antique lore and simple unliving. I had a fond recall of those olden days when it was commonplace for one such as I, to abide in the secretive texture of gothic shadows. Yet, as previously stated, this world had ...

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