Time’s Loss

I remember heaven.

I remember the glory that reigned there. The peace of it all. I remember being so fulfilled that I thought about nothing. Wanted nothing. Needed nothing. I remember sitting in the mouth of heaven, laughing for no reason at all, other than to let some of the light out of my soul.

But then…

I remember hearing it.

My name.

I remember heaven.

And I remember heaven cracking.

Remember hearing you calling me.

I remember the moment I remembered that I used to be alive. That I used to have a life. That there were people I loved and respected.

I remembered, then, that I used to have you.

That I left you.

And I remember a voice gently calling me. Asking me if I wanted to try something.

Just for a little while. Just for you.

I remember the day heaven let me go—just for a day, mind you—just so I could visit.

So I could comfort you.

Faint of Heart

“It’s… eerie.”

Fog coated the ground, oozing from some unseen place. Skirting along our feet as it snaked its way over the dead, dry ground. Souring the earth further with its muggy breath, leaving a chill to nip at my spine as leisurely as it pleased.

I hated it.

Honestly, I did.

This place…

You could hear something in the air. Whispering to you. Or maybe it was something yelling. Screaming. I couldn’t be sure. It was just a whimper of a sound, nothing more. Skating by my ear so quickly, so quietly, that I couldn’t be sure what it was.

Except:

It sounded pained.

Agonized.

The trees here were decrepit. Creepy. All gnarled, knobby branches. Naked and lifeless. Dragging their twigs across the air like tiny, desperate, old hands. Clawing their way out of the bark—

It was eerie.

Very eerie, indeed.

At my remark, The Master scoffed. His glowing purple eyes were hard to decipher usually, but, in that moment, I saw something clearly within them.

Doubt.

“If you find this eerie, you’re going to want to stop now. There isn’t a single thing about what I do that isn’t eerie, creepy, or grotesque. You might as well quit while you’re ahead.”

But…

I didn’t.

Instead, I straightened my shoulders. Ignored the voices. Got a firmer grip on the bag I carried.

And followed The Master into The Grave.

Mournful Bones

On Halloween, I met someone special.

I met a skeleton.

Undead Truth

People are foolish.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my thousand years, it’s that.

People will believe anything they want to believe. The truth can be staring them down, ready to eat them, and still.

They’ll believe what they want to believe.

A plague of their own. A curse that they consistently choose:

Ignore the ugly truth.

Not that I’m complaining.

Honestly, it makes my job a whole hell of a lot easier.

Grim Awaits

“I’ll be here.”

The words repeat themselves over and over in my mind. My legs move to stand, and they stop. The words are there.

I’ll be here.

Sit. Stand. Sit. Fidget. Keep sitting.

Don’t move a muscle.

The promise can’t be broken. I can’t be found a liar.

I’ll be here.

I sit.

And I wait.

I’m here.

Grave Secrets

The earth reaches up to me.

And I push it down.

I take my bare hands and I slam into the dirt. I claw, and I punch, and I pack it down. Soft gets matted down into tough turf. Loose soil loses it’s gentle touch as I pound it into something coarse, unforgiving.

There are legions under the dirt.

There are whole worlds buried beneath this earth.

Monsters and milestones and madness.

Things that time has forgotten. That humanity has forgotten. Things that are no longer important, because people have stopped knowing they existed.

This will be no different.

Dead Show

I’m not sure when humanity became like this. When they obtained this need. This gnawing hole that constantly demanded more. More.

More.

I wasn’t sure where else to turn to. What else to do. My mediocre macabre and my average tricks weren’t doing the trick anymore. The crowds…they’d stopped coming.

What else was I supposed to do?

Humanity had reached that point again. That point where enough was no longer enough. Where the abnormal was so normal now that it didn’t matter. There were other things to see. Better things. More gruesome. More violent. More explicit things.

The circus didn’t matter anymore.

But I still had a show I wanted to put on. A job I wanted to do.

All I had to do was figure out how to get them back. How to get the fish biting again.

And, boy, did I succeed.

Restless

Taking the bottle cap, I rest it between my middle finger and my thumb. A precarious balance, but it’s a motion I’m used to. Actually, it’s so familiar that it’s easy. This cap is from an off-brand soda that I love. Tiger Drink. It’s a bit heftier than a normal soda cap, as it’s made from metal, rather than plastic, but the weight is familiar. I know it’ll make this a lot easier than a normal soda cap. Though the metal requires more strength in my flick, the weight makes it fly truer.

Building up the pressure, I flick the bottle cap.

It soars.

Ricocheting off the wall, it continues its flight. Not with as much momentum, but that’s alright. I don’t want to hurt my target.

I just need his attention.

My efforts aren’t fruitless.

Which isn’t something new, but still.

After it bounces off the wall, the bottle cap hits Ty in the head, just as predicted.

There’s a moment.

It’s something like silence. Something like holding your breath. Something like hoping you haven’t been caught—or, maybe, hoping you have. The moment bleeds impatience, and it screams with anxiety.

Look around Ty, dammit, I think.

In the next moment, I reap the rewards of my aim.

Us Among the Tombstones

I love Halloween.

It’s not the candy that gets me excited. And it’s not the costumes. And it’s not the decorations. It’s not even the beautiful fall breeze that gently bites through your clothes. Though I love all those things, they’re not why I love Halloween.

Why do I love Halloween?

Because it’s a very special night.

Just for a little while, on this one night, I get exactly what I want. I get to be the one thing that I so desperately want to be, even if it’s just for a few hours.

I can be complete.

Dead Legacy

I’ve always thought that tombstones shouldn’t give out quick blurbs about who loved us, or why. I’ve always thought it would be better to talk about how we lived, or how we died.

That way, when I die from wrestling six bears while sky diving, my epitaph can kick ass.

Just keeping it real. Dying like I lived. Right? I want people to know the kind of crazy I was, that I intend to leave that sort of legacy behind me. That when the dust settles and I’m gone, just part of the cloud of dirt matter, they’ll know.

I wasn’t afraid to live.

And I sure as hell wasn’t afraid to die.

Because that’s the kind of attitude you have to have in order to save lives. In order to make a difference. In order to be remembered.

In order to have a legacy.

God, I hope I’ve made a legacy.