King of Crows

There is a tale I’ve heard told about an ancient king. Glendower, the Raven King. He sleeps in the forest somewhere, or so I’ve heard. Waiting for the waker—waiting to join us, the living, once again. Somewhere, Glendower sleeps, dreaming of the day he will be woken. Eager to walk through his lands once again.

Eager to grant the waker a wish.

That’s the tale I’ve heard told.

The tale of The Raven King.

A magical king. A wish-granter. A sleeper whose quiet breaths are full of life.

I’ve heard the tale of that king. Heard it several times, actually.


There’s more to the story than what there appears.

You see, I believe that something isn’t adding up.

There are… things… that can’t be explained by that tale.

Things that we, the listeners, have screwed up.

Things that we got wrong. Continue reading “King of Crows”

Breaking From The Pond

I was on a ship.

And it wasn’t mine.

I was on a ship, stuck in a pond, forced to watch the sun dip behind the ocean, all while stuck on this ship that wasn’t mine, in a pond that was unfamiliar to me, in a land that I only knew from a dream long ago.

I was stuck on this ship.

In this pond.

Watching the sun set over the horizon. Promising stars and guidance on the other side of the skyline. Out there, in the wild of the ocean, I could sail. Guided by thousands of burning lights.


I was stuck.

On this ship that wasn’t mine.

In this infinitesimally small pond.

Int his land that was completely foreign to me.

No, this ship, and this pond, and this land… it definitely wasn’t mine.

It was his. Continue reading “Breaking From The Pond”

Wolf Hound

Silently, I watched my father’s hound rush off. Bouncing through the grass to get the goose. Giddy. Proud to make his master happy.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and collect the geese Holt?” my brother asked, not an ounce of venom in his tone. “You’d be faster than Finn.”

My dad hit him lightly. Smacking him gently with the butt of his rifle as the words floated and sank, digging into the earth.

“Don’t say things like that to your brother. He’s a werewolf, not a dog. It’s a legitimate condition,” Dad snarled.

My brother didn’t mean anything by it. Not at all. It was a suggestion made by a young mind. Someone who doesn’t quite understand.



I think about it all the time. Continue reading “Wolf Hound”

Wax Forest, The Fox, and Me

The door was closed.

The fox had the key.

A thief of nature. An ancient burglar. Quick-witted, swift. A natural in the forest.

The fox had the key.

In a forest filled with candles. Brightly lit against the dusk, the falling sky. They glowed gently, shimmered. Lit the fox’s eyes so I knew exactly what he was thinking.

It wasn’t good.

Continue reading “Wax Forest, The Fox, and Me”

The Great Tiger

It happened by chance. A very unhappy, happy circumstance.

One night, when the tent was empty, and the clowns were drunk, and the crowds had all left, it happened.

I was in my cage. Not unusual. Not in the slightest bit.

At least, that was what I’d thought.

Until the wolf walked in. Continue reading “The Great Tiger”

All or Nothing

Defiance, by nature, is an act of aggression. A determination to go away from the flow. To destroy the flow. To be so other, that people can’t help but see that there’s more than one way. Defiance can be an arrowhead, or it can be a shotgun blast. So pointed, or a desperate barrage that reaches whatever it can. Regardless of form, it’s strong, and steady. Always strong and steady. Without those qualities, your defiance is nothing. A tantrum. An act. Defiance can’t be so weak. It’s a mountain in the midst of a storm. A stance that stays strong, no matter what the cost.

No matter the cost.

Continue reading “All or Nothing”

Freedom For Space

If there was one thing Lone Island Correctional Facility taught me, it was this:


I won’t go into the details of how I ended up there, I’ll just tell you that they were bogus. My hands were completely clean, but I was mistaken for my brother, who’s hands are bloodier than a butcher’s on half off hamhock Friday’s.

But I digress.

I was imprisoned for a lot of things. In fact, the list was so long that I never got to read all of it. Which meant:

Sentencing was hell.


Lone Island Correctional Facility was the seventh circle. A desolate island on a desolate planet. Made to make inmates feel stranded. Like there was no escape. Like there was nothing they could do. Guards were gods, and the head of the facility was Zeus himself. Disobedience meant punishment.

And punishment.

And more punishment.

Stepping out of line meant not being seen for weeks. And not because you were in solitary. We all wished that was all it was. Solitary would be a great place. A reprieve.

But no.


In a place where even uttering the wrong response, or sneezing at the wrong time, could earn you a lobotomy, it was all you could feel.


The looming knowledge that you were alone. That no one and nothing could save you from the staff. From the facility. From the planet.

Hell was life, and that solid knowledge bred the feeling of helplessness.

But that’s the thing about Lone Island Correctional Facility. It’s all about suppression, all about powerlessness. About feeling like you can’t do anything.

So, what happens when you break free? When you find a way out?

Doesn’t that make you a god, too?


It just makes you human.

Because helplessness is just a state of mind.

Continue reading “Freedom For Space”

Get Free

Chains are not all physical.

Never forget that.

Never let anyone tell you you don’t have it bad. That you’re easy to understand. That your life is easily lived. Not if you’ve seen things. Not if you’ve been to places so dark a flashlight couldn’t help. Don’t let people tell you you’re overdramatic, or that your life could be fixed in a heartbeat. Because, even if that’s true, it isn’t in the moment, is it?

Chains are not all physical.

You can be free and still be a prisoner. Chained to that thing that happened, or that thing that you want, or that person you’ve got. Things aren’t always so easy. Being liberated isn’t an exact science.

Because there’s always something that can tie you down. Continue reading “Get Free”

Re: Little Monster

The cigarette is burning close to my fingers.

I put it out.

Light another.

The house burns magnificently. I knew it would. After all that fire I built up in the attic, in the basement, in the living room. I knew it would burn well.

My new cigarette adds nicotine to the plumes rising from the house.

And I turn.

And I walk away.

The sirens wail in the distance. The fire big enough to draw attention, even though no one called for it.

I hope you’re happy.

And I hope you understand.

You were the best of them. Continue reading “Re: Little Monster”