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”
It was dispassionate.
People lived their lives, moving like ants. Robotic, focused. Standing in line, following orders, doing what they were instructed. Moving wholly and completely within the confines of what was created for them.
As I said:
Moving through an ant farm.
This world created falsely. A controlled environment.
The world isn’t like that.
Not at all.
The world wasn’t meant to be so dispassionate. So hungry.
Man was not mean to be so greedy.
And when the skies fell?
When the earth shook?
The mountains flowed with bubbling, roiling rage?
They realized that.
We were not meant to be so dispassionate.
We were meant to be more.
We weren’t meant to watch for saviors, or wait for hope to be delivered on a platter. Weren’t meant to be idle, or vacant.
We were meant to be heroes. Continue reading “Inferno”
I cleave the building.
Split it in two.
It crumbles, the giant skyscraper. Creaking like an ancient door, cracking like lightning. All of its stories falling, echoing thunder. The building roars as it falls, and people run from it. Completely terrified.
But I don’t stop.
I don’t stop.
I throw another bolt of lightning. Shake the earth with a kick. Yell, and the foundations all shake.
I am not done destroying, not yet.
I won’t be done for quite some time.
This must all come crashing down, you see. These terrors and raging beasts. The creatures that carve out destruction, that lay waste to each other and the beasts of this earth.
I won’t stop until they’re all gone.
Until all this ends.
Until there is nothing but a clean slate left.
This all must end. Continue reading “Beginning”
There is a root to selfishness.
It’s a knowledge. A knowing. When you reach out and push away, or grab at, or break. Looking at something and thinking to yourself “I want that” or “I want that away from me” or “I want to destroy that” and for no other reason than simply because you want to. Selfishness is being fully in the know about what you’re doing. Yes, you might deny it to yourself, but you know.
That’s selfishness. True and unfiltered selfishness, cut down to its root.
Knowing what you’re doing is wrong, and doing it anyway.
Knowing that getting what you want will hurt someone, put them at a disadvantage.
And doing anyway.
That’s why I can’t forgive them. Ignorant as some may be, they’re not all that way.
Some of them know. Continue reading “Magic Is Not “Mine””
We believed our kings to be gods. Creatures sent from heaven, born of man, made to guide us. Give us light, and hope, and prosperity. Made for us, to aid us. To be an example of what gods are like.
And we were wrong.
So very wrong. Continue reading “Royal Lies”
Power is not about strength.
Nobody told him that.
Nobody told him when he was training. When he ran till his legs broke. Pulled till his muscles collapsed. Till he broke every fiber and bone down into nothing, just to build it all up again.
When he filled his skin with stacks upon stacks of muscles. When he transformed himself from man to weapon. When he gave up his last breath for a chance at something more.
Nobody told him.
I think that, even now, he might not know.
Power isn’t about strength.
What endures more?
Or a lion?
Continue reading “Empowered”
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.
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”