I am not here of my own accord.
Fate was set. Pulled into motion. Gears of time and space and virtue, all meshing together to tick down. To continue counting the seconds until the bell would toll. Until the hammer would strike.
I am not here of my own accord, I can promise you that.
I am here.
And I am no fool.
I must do what it is that I was destined to do. Regardless of how I feel, of what I want, I know what I must do, and I will do it.
Pave the way.
Continue reading “Thorny Fate”
I’m not sure how to handle this. What I ought to do. Where I can go from here. How to recover.
What do you do when everything you built was a lie? When the house turns out to be made of glass and then—surprise, surprise—it shatters? What foundation can survive on sand? Who builds a house that washes away with the shore?
What do you do when you live like that?
What can you do to save yourself? To save what you’ve stored away? What you’ve built?
Could there ever be reckoning from a betrayal that runs foundation-deep?
I don’t know.
I don’t think so.
How could you ever trust that broken ground again? What could you ever build there? What kind of dangerous contraption could stand on something like that?
What can I recover?
Continue reading “Spirit Unrested”
Hiding was the easiest thing for it to do. The cleverest, most efficient way of keeping itself alive. Keeping well. Staying out of harm’s way.
But I knew better.
I wasn’t fooled.
When I found the tiny quail—colored like autumn had vomited the thing up—I wasn’t fooled. Not by it’s strange colors, not by it’s size, not by the way it scampered away, as if it were scared.
I wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
I knew what it was. Without a doubt.
I knew. Continue reading “Fooling Around In The Rain”
I was not interested in the humans at first. Not at all.
Thousands of years—or, perhaps, it was the blink of an eye, I can’t be sure—passed before I finally found out why my kind were so enamored by them. Why they found them amusing. Entertaining. Why they risked their lives, and our secrets, in order to interact with them.
After a good long while, I figured it out.
Such small, delicate creatures. So powerless. And yet:
The beauty of humanity was locked into that fact. Showcased in their faces as the sky lit with stars in the chasm of the night. How enamored they were with the world. How wondrous they found life, even in the darkest of nights.
Such helpless creatures. Unable to grasp their circumstances, unable to withhold the hand of death, and yet:
The strong ones were, anyway.
Continue reading “Hopeful Lights”
It falls. Blankets and exhales of it, raining from the sky. Dropping like a thousand little bites of blistering cold. Nipping at the inside of your skin as you walk, as you breathe, as you move. The Miser himself couldn’t do better.
It’s freezing, that’s the point I’m trying to make.
Freezing, and white, and windy as all hell.
And still, I can’t stop.
It’s right behind, you know. Right behind. Trailing through the snow. Sniffing me out. Big, bushy coat keeping it warm while I freeze. While I run, endlessly, through this winter underworld.
I tell you what:
It’s hell. Continue reading “Winter Beast”
I watched him.
For years, I watched him.
Wandering into the forest, the boy with rags. Holes in his soles. He’d wander in, following the old rocks. Leap the fallen logs. Meander through the fallen leaves until, at last, he’d find it.
And, that poor boy—do you know what he’d do?
Toss a copper.
Make a wish.
Throw offerings into the well.
Hope that his prayers said before the stones were heard. That his wish would rise off the water, echo into the heavens.
Tossing his living into the well. Continue reading “Wishing Well”
I heard the thundering off in the distance. The rolling percussion that signaled their arrival. That sounded the alarms. That started the wave of panic.
Today, they ride.
They ride. Continue reading “Rider”
There was a night when I was on the beach, and I was quite blessed. Happened to cross the sand at the most opportune time. Was there to witness something incredible. Something breathtaking.
Sea turtles hatching. Continue reading “Turtle’s Trail”
“Did you see it?! Did you see?!”
“I knew it! I was right, wasn’t I? It’s a ghost, right? Right?”
Looking back at the house—the empty mansion that sat in between the clearing and the woods—I saw the eyes again. In the upper floor’s window, I saw the yellow eyes. The lingering feeling of something lost. Of something in need of being found.
I could not say what it was.
“I don’t think it’s a ghost,” I said, crushing my friend’s hopes and dreams, quite coincidentally, really. “It doesn’t feel like a ghost.”
Ghosts don’t have that feeling of needing to be found, do they? When a ghost lingers, they linger for a reason. They aren’t lost, they don’t need to be found. They simply wish to be left to their own purposes. Left to fulfill their perceived duty.
They don’t look lost.
They don’t need to be found.
And they don’t look scared out of their whits.
Do they? Continue reading “Lost, But Not Found”
Magic is, inherently, selfish.
Taking the world and twisting it to make something of your own—twisting reality to make a thing you find more appealing—that is the nature of magic. The nature of fiends.
The nature of faeries.
And what an overwhelming, overpowering, magic it is.
That was what he’d told me. How he’d explained himself. And I told him something else. Something different.
Faeries are not the only ones with magic.
Continue reading “Kindly Magic: Part II”