It was a dark night.
But it wasn’t stormy. Regardless of the rolling thunder, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Not a flash of lightning to be seen. Yet, still.
There was thunder.
Rummaging against the ground. Pounding into the dirt as they moved. Marching forward, as only a band of travelers can.
The night was dark and clear.
And full of hammering thunder.
A night to be reckoned with. Continue reading “Coming of Storms”
“It’s not that bad this time, I swear.”
“Oh yeah? Well, I guess that could be true. I mean, compared to last time, anyhow. That was really bad.”
“It wasn’t—!—it wasn’t that bad,” I finished, my fire downed down as I mumbled the words.
Really, last time had been awful.
Just not as awful as it could have been, that’s all.
Which didn’t matter. Not now, not then, not in the future. Bad is still bad, right? And, either way, Howard didn’t know how bad it could get.
He just knew this was bad. Continue reading “Dark Secrets”
The anger drawls like lightning in the back of my veins. It buzzes and sinks, rises and falls like the tide. Whirls past like the clouds, and appears like the next dawn. Bolts appear before me. They twist around me, rubbing against my skin. I pet them like strays.
This is what it is to be a lightning beast. To control fury and thunder and every other incomprehensible thing you can imagine.
This is what it is to be a god.
To be something above man—above the earth—and yet, below heaven.
Tell them that I’m angry. Tell them that I’m on my way.
Tell them:
Hell is coming. Continue reading “Wrath of An Angry God”
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.
Do you know what hatred is?
Real, true, hatred?
The pure kind. The kind that is undiluted by human compassion, or by strong belief, or unavoidable morals.
That’s the kind of hatred I’m talking about.
It isn’t some fire in your veins at the mention of their name. That’s anger. You can be disgusted by a person and not hate them. Hatred, the kind that I’m talking about, is something different. It isn’t a fire. It isn’t an emotion. It isn’t a state of mind.
It’s a state of being.
When your hatred is pure, it consumes you. Crams itself into your mind, during your waking hours as well as your sleeping ones. It brings this sense of dread, of hunger. And it’s as unavoidable as thirst.
You long for something.
You just don’t know exactly what it is.
But it’s very directed.
Hatred isn’t the emotion of disliking something or someone.
It’s the need to eradicate.
Have you ever experienced that? Have you ever been consumed by the destruction of something, or someone, else? Have you ever looked at the idea of something and, every time you do, you find yourself wishing that it never existed in the first place?
That’s hatred.
Because even if something exists in a state of suffering, at least it still exists.
But, after I’m done…
She won’t.
Not anymore. Continue reading “Consumed and Fading”
Sleep is an enemy. An enemy of the weak.
I’m weak.
I’ll admit that.
But, only to myself.
Other people don’t see it. They don’t know how weak I am. How I reject sleep. They think I’m hardworking, that I’m invincible. Unstoppable. Camera crews kill each other for shots of me, and interviewers plague my phone begging for just a second of my time.
They think I’m strong.
The strongest.
But I can’t sleep.
Not because I don’t want to–because I do. Like hell, I do. I’d give my soul for sound nap, and I’d give three lifetimes over for the chance of a full night of rest. But, deals with the devil weren’t my specialty.
So I don’t sleep.
I don’t sleep because I always dream.
I always dream. Continue reading “Weaks and Weeks Without Sleep”
There are two categories of people: the people who get all the luck, and the people who speak to luck.
Unfortunately for the former, not all the luck in the world is good luck.
Which is where the latter come in.
Speak to luck? What does that mean, right?
I’m talking about humans beings controlling luck.
Sounds nutso, right? Like completely bonkers. But it’s true. Completely possible. I would know.
You know how you control luck?
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
Literally the bane of my existence.
It’s not that it’s a bad phrase. It’s not. In fact, I’ve found it to be quite true. Too true, actually. In my case, the phrase is a bit different. See, that’s my power.
What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.
Which is why every night, after all the lights are out. When everyone else in the neighborhood is tucked away in bed. When midnight hits.
My father tries to kill me. Continue reading “The Art of Being Ardent”
Fake it till you make it. I’ve heard that so many times I think it’s been carved into my eardrum.
Fake it till you make it.
What is that even supposed to apply to? Everything? Fake being a duck until you are a duck? What the hell kind of crap advice is that? Fake being happy until you are happy? How does that help anyone?
Here’s my motto:
If you’re happy? Be happy. If you’re sad? Be sad. And if you’re mad?
Be furious.
I wonder how often you stand up there, in front of everyone, looking happy but really you’re not. I wonder how often you fake those smiles for the kids. How often you despise helping people when you’re in the midst of putting out fires, fighting villains or saving kittens from trees.
How often do you fake your love Mom?
It’s that question, that’s the one that’s driven me mad. Continue reading “To Make It”
