Wash Out

I can feel you blinding me.

Brilliant, bright light. White against my eyes. Draining the color from the world, eating away the perspective. It seeps, that fluorescence, dragging my vision out from behind my eyelids. Merciless, as you try to disarm me. As you try to cripple me. As you try to force me to yield.

As you force me to face the light.




You suck the color out of everything.

You know that, right?

It’s harrowing, what you do. Pointless.


I’d much rather have washed out colors than this. Rather have nothing—have total darkness, because at least darkness can have variation. At least you can adjust to darkness.

This complete white-out though…

It’s tasteless.

A dull, pale void.

Don’t you think?

I know why you do it.

To desensitize me.

At least, you try.

I think that, in the end, it does the exact opposite of what you intend it to do. Rather than let it wash over me—bleed me out, make me blinding as the sun, blinding as you are—I cling tighter to my shadows. Grip tightening around the dark.

When you combat me with that vivid, piercing light, I don’t give in. Not an inch.

I fight back. Continue reading “Wash Out”

When We Fall Apart

“It’s falling apart.”

“It’s always been falling apart.” As I walk away from the glass dome, I poke him in the head, doing my best to smile as I call him, “silly goose.”

And then, I feel it.

The ship gets rocked with the blast. With fire cracking tectonic plates to bits. Crumbling lives, calling for rescue. A million things left behind.


I feel the shockwave. Tremors of love and loss. Of desperation and pain. Of joy.

Of hope.

Beneath the glass dome of the ship, he stands and watches as it happens, and I can’t blame him for not looking away.

The world beneath us burns. Continue reading “When We Fall Apart”


“Do we have to bring another one so soon? These bodies get heavier and heavier every time.”

“Shut up and keep hauling.”

“Ugh. Fine. But you’re taking me to get an ice cream after we dump it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

“‘Dump it’. Don’t say ‘dump it’.”

“Why not?”

“It’s so… irreverent. Like we’re common crooks or mafia thugs or something. Like we’re lowly peons.”

“Aren’t we lowly peons? I mean, we’re dragging a body, and it’s not for our own sakes. Right?”

“We’re not peons.”

“Then what are we?”

The night grew thick in that moment. As if a spirit-filled fog settled between the two quarrelers. The more convicted one looked to the complainer a moment. Looked to him and decided that, yes. Maybe the fellow next to him was, in fact, a peon.

But he, himself, was more.

So much more.

He looks away from the fellow. A dark pooling sensation settling in his stomach. Gurgling and oozing. Hiding what was beneath the surface.

Looking away from his companion, he says what he’s thinking out loud.

“I’m not sure what you are, but I know:

“I’ll be the one that wields the beast.”

Continue reading “Hunger”


Power is a target.

Well, no, not exactly.

Having power makesĀ 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”

Twisting Woods

This land used to be full of magic.

Well… good magic.

But man has a way of twisting things. Of corrupting the natural good of the world.

We used to have good magical creatures.

Not these monsters.

These beasts.

This is not the natural way of things. Not how they were supposed to be.

This is not how they were supposed to be. Continue reading “Twisting Woods”

The Finest Present

A present is a present is a present. The fact that someone is thinking of you enough to give you something should, in and of itself, give you something wonderful. That, in itself, should be enough.

But sometimes…

…it’s not.

Sometimes what you’re presented with isn’t enough. Continue reading “The Finest Present”