There was a king who reached the stars.
That’s how the fairytale goes.
There isn’t much more detail than that, I’m afraid. Just that there was a king who went out into the woods one day, struck up a deal with a god, and then reached the stars.
And I’ve always thought it was strange.
Why not mention which god? Or what the deal was about? Why keep so much of the story hidden? Why keep it secret?
Because then others would try to repeat it.
Wouldn’t they? Continue reading “Bridge the Stars”
Waves are something to consider, when venturing into the ocean. They seem so peaceful from the shore. Just continuously doing their thing. Bringing things away, then back again. Over and over. Monotonous.
I can assure you:
They’re anything but.
Continue reading “Overflowing Anger”
An assassin is sure.
That was the first lesson my mentor taught me.
Wavering—uncertainty—leads to missed moments. And, in the throes of life and death, every moment matters.
Every moment counts.
Hesitation can turn the tides. Flip the switch for someone else. For your target.
Or for you.
A steady hand is a requirement, but a stayed hand is a detriment.
There are many small lessons my mentor taught me. Phrases that I have lived my life by. That I will certainly die by. And he taught me many techniques. Many skills. How to deal with outrageous situations.
He prepared me for a lot of things.
He never prepared me for this. Continue reading “Missed Moments”
They say that, at the very center of any storm, is a calm spot.
A place for rest.
A place where the storm originates.
The eye of the storm.
Should you ever find yourself stuck in a storm, that would be the safest place.
Getting to the eye?
That’s a different story entirely. Continue reading “Storm Chaser”
I don’t know what it wants. And I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t know what it is or where it goes.
All I know is:
I get the feeling.
Sparks that gently kiss the back of my neck. That make my hairs stand on end. That make me look over my shoulder.
I get the feeling and then I know.
It’s following. Continue reading “Simply Doomed”
The thing about fire starters?
Most of them are cowards.
They start a fire and run. Terrified of being victim to their own flame. To the fire that they started. They don’t care who gets burned in the process, as long as they’re not included.
That’s what they are.
But someone who starts a fire to walk through the flames?
A true visionary.
That’s what they’d be called.
In my life, I’ve seen a lot of cowards. A lot of fire starters. A lot of runners.
And she sure as hell wasn’t one of them. Continue reading “Lessons from a Pyro”
Hey everybody! It’s been a few weeks, so I thought y’all might like an update (spoiler alert: I am actually a tad bit southern, sorry).
For those who don’t know, I wrote a book. It’s about werewolves! (go figure) And you can check it out FOR FREE here.
So, here are the stats as they stand: Continue reading “Another Book Update!”
We are all afraid of something. It doesn’t matter how young you are, or how old, everyone is afraid of something.
And, sometimes, the fears we have are common. Or, at the very least, have common roots.
A lot of people fear those. They fear them because they fear what’s out there. What they don’t know:
That’s the root.
It’s a common fear.
One that comes to light all the time. One that gets shoved into our faces all the time, whether we realize it or not. Because there are a lot of things that are unknowns.
That’s why they were afraid of him.
Why I was afraid of him.
I didn’t know how to respond. How to react. He was an unknown. A giant question mark sitting in my classroom.
It didn’t occur to me until later, but:
We were question marks to him, too. Continue reading “Lone Wolf”
I was not aware that they could bleed. That shadows had that capacity. That the creatures that haunt our waking days and our restless nights had the ability—no, had life enough in them for something so mundane. Something so normal.
But they do.
And he did.
Teeth bared, blacked near the gums. His pearly whites glistened with saliva, clearly fatigued by something. His shadow hair was mussed, messy, as if he’d been tossed into a large headwind. His form was hunched, curling over himself. The outlines that were clearly his arms went to hide his midsection. To do something to them. To cover his stomach, it seemed.
And from his stomach?
The dark mass that marked the middle of him?
Oozing, just as it would from a person.
And I couldn’t find it in me to turn him away. Continue reading “Shadow Man”
Power is a target.
Well, no, not exactly.
Having power makes you a target.
Anyone with real power, and knowledge, and common sense enough to keep their heads, knows that. And they take precautions against it. Precautions against those who would try to uproot their power.
Anyone with power knows: they’re a target.
Best to put the bullseye somewhere else then, right? Continue reading “Bullseye”