Nathan McAllister
Bio
I create content in the written form and musically as well. I like topics ranging from philosophy, music, cooking and travel. I hope to incorporate some of my music compositions into my writing compositions in this venue.
Cheers,
Nathan
Stories (6)
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The Honed Ashlar, Part 2 of 5. AI-Generated.
Part 2: The Level and the Gavel The Chamber of Silence Silas awoke to silence, heavy, absolute. The air scrubbed of exhaust; smelling of cold stone, raw beeswax, and the metallic tang of a whetstone. He lay on a cot. Not a mission mat. Taut canvas stretched over a steel frame. Plumb. Level. The bolts tightened to a specific, unyielding torque. No sagging allowed.
By Nathan McAllister2 days ago in Gamers
The Honed Ashlar, Part 1 of 5. AI-Generated.
Part 1: The Scaffolding of Ruin The bus ride into the city had felt like being swallowed by a cold, metallic throat. Silas leaned his forehead against the vibrating window of the Greyhound, watching the California coastline transform from a dream of salt and gold into a nightmare of concrete ribs. To everyone else on the bus, the skyline of Tinseltown was a promise—a soaring monument to ambition. To Silas, it was a Structural Failure.
By Nathan McAllister2 days ago in Gamers
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 2/5. AI-Generated.
The Chemistry of Silence Grief has a half-life, but in the District of Rust, it also has a chemical signature. My basement apartment smelled of damp concrete, old blueprints, and the sharp, medicinal sting of juniper. I sat at my drafting table—a scarred slab of oak that had once held the designs for the city’s tallest spires—and stared at the bottle of bottom-shelf gin, my "Leveler."
By Nathan McAllister2 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 4/5
The Geometry of a Fugitive Rain in the District of Rust doesn't wash things clean; it just turns the soot into permanent, oily stain. The kind of rain that feels like it’s trying to dissolve pavement, a slow-motion acid bath for a city that has already lost its soul.
By Nathan McAllister3 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe Pt. 3/5
The Architecture of a Lie The city has a remarkable, almost biological capacity for forgetting. My efforts and warning were all for not; sure enough: the digital scrolls of the *Daily Ledger*, you’ll see the narrative being woven in real-time, smoothed over like fresh concrete. "Maya Vane, 19, Perishes in Canyon Crash; Mechanical Failure Blamed." They’ve already run the op-eds about the "Vane Curse," the "Fragility of Fame," and the "Poetic Symmetry" of a daughter following her mother into the dark. To the three million souls living under the smog of this metropolis, Maya is just another beautiful ghost, a tragic face on a commemorative magazine cover.
By Nathan McAllister3 days ago in Horror
Architecture of the Scythe. AI-Generated.
The Glass King I was a man of cold lines and hard angles. I was Silas Thorne, the "Architect of the New Century," a title bestowed upon me by critics who mistook my arrogance for vision. My face looked back at me from the gloss of Architectural Digest; my hands had drafted the shimmering glass spires that defined this city’s skyline. I didn't just build offices; I built altars to human ego. I believed in structural integrity, in the unshakeable laws of physics, and, most fervently, in my own untouchable prestige.
By Nathan McAllister3 days ago in Horror
