Dark Horse

They say he means death.

That seeing him ends your life. Or means that you’re going to die very, very soon. If you can hear his gallop, or can see his silhouette, it’s best if you get your affairs in order.

That’s what I’ve heard.

The tales they’ve always told about the black horse. The one that vanishes before dawn. He has no rider, and they say its because he’s only an omen. Only a warning.

He comes back later, they say.

Rider on his back.

And, guess who they say his rider is.

Guess who they say he belongs to.

Continue reading “Dark Horse”

Mountains to Climb

“You’ve grown.”

Looking out over the hills, the towering trees, the things that were falling prey to the heavy breeze, I knew he was right.

I’d grown.

How many years had I vowed to never climb this mountain? Claiming that I would never dare try to scale these massive hills? Declaring that this life wasn’t for me?

So many.

Too many.

Half of my childhood, I’d rejected the idea. Dismissed it completely. And, when I grew and finally knew I’d have to eventually leave those flat plains for this mountain, I’d rejected it completely. Claiming that those plains were fine, that that was all I needed to know. All I needed to have. All I could learn was at my fingertips, I thought. All I needed was already sitting in front of me. I didn’t need to leave, I convinced myself.

For years, I thought that it was true. That there was nothing out here that my hometown didn’t already have. Nothing to be gained away from those plains, nothing new or out of the ordinary to behold beyond its grasp.

But that was before. That was the old me.

The foolish me.

The arrogant me.

The ignorant me.

The me that rejected mountains and heights and soaring.

That was before I knew what it was like.

What it was like to climb. Continue reading “Mountains to Climb”


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”

Oak Speaks

They say he died in the middle of that small, small pond. Defending a human child from some wild beasts. They say he died valiantly against a manticore—or maybe it was a drakken. They say that, when he died here, the pond grew. Ten feet longer, eons deeper. A small island sprouted in the midst of the pond, right in the center. Right where he took his last breath. A small island formed, and then, atop that small island, an oak tree grew. Tall and grizzled looking. Branches reaching outward, arms open, as if ready to embrace any who tread upon that small island.


That’s not true, is it?

That small island was not meant for just anyone.


It was meant for only a special someone.

Only meant for one.

One who seeks. Continue reading “Oak Speaks”

Turtle’s Trail

There was a night when I was on the beach, and I was quite blessed. Happened to cross the sand at the most opportune time. Was there to witness something incredible. Something breathtaking.

Sea turtles hatching. Continue reading “Turtle’s Trail”

Hyde Within

It tasted like sanitizer. Like rubbing alcohol. Like pouring acid down my throat. A plastic bottle full of poison.

But I drank anyway.

Let the burn run through me as the haze settled in. As I started to sway, to fog up.

To forget.

An impossible thing, forgetting.

But I’ll try anyway. Continue reading “Hyde Within”

Follow the Fire

We’ve all got them. All seen them.

The fireflies spark, poking through the night. Tiny blips of exposure that dash around. Split the darkness, even if it’s just a little. Even if it’s just a moment.

We’ve all got them.

Fireflies in a jar was always such an abstract concept to me. Such a strange thing to do.

While hold them all hostage? Strangle them? What can you do to keep them safe? Content?

Why bottle them up?

Let them be.

Leave them as free.

They come back every year, you know. There’s no need to hold on so desperately. To cling to them so tightly. To trap them, or kill them.

They come back.

Every year, without fail.

They come back. Continue reading “Follow the Fire”

What I Learned From The Wilderness

The rain is a pattern. A beat. It drums endlessly, shuffling from leaf to leaf, from branch to branch until, finally, it hits the ground. It moves, and it shifts and it desperately reaches for something solid to land on.

The ground soaks it in, this melancholy soundtrack.

Eats it up. Adores it.

And who could blame it?

How could you not love something that falls so far for you? That reaches down from the heavens, just to crash into the ground below? Just to have a small, tiny chance to shower you?

The rain is cold, and wet, and sometimes its unwanted.

But it’s beautiful.

In the wilderness, it’s a love song. One that I can’t help but appreciate. That I can’t help but sing along to.

Thirty years in the wilderness, and still.

I find it beautiful.

And still.

I find myself.

In this mist, and under these branches, and in this downpour, I find myself.

I find my way. Continue reading “What I Learned From The Wilderness”

Natural Reactions

There are thousands of responses firing in your brain at any given time. Thousands. Keeping track of them all is impossible, and controlling them is an even bigger task. Regardless of your methods and means.

Moment to moment, your brain is doing a million things at once. And, with every moment, there is a different response.

There are a few, however, that trigger a very particular set of responses.

Very different, depending on the situation.

There are moments where your brain has to fire so fast, so intensely, that your brain actually does one of two things.

The first?


Those firings in your brain result in a big blank. A giant question mark. All the fireworks fizzle out at once, leaving the sky dark and empty. In response to all that simultaneous firing, the pressure of your synapses is too much.

You end up doing nothing.

That’s the only way I can explain it. The only way I can understand it. Because my brain has never done that first thing.

It’s always been the second.

Or worse.

Since the curse, it’s been worse.

Much, much worse. Continue reading “Natural Reactions”

Papa Bear

Honestly, at first, I was terrified of the bear.

Completely and wholly terrified.

It was huge.


And I was so tiny in comparison.

I mean, that thing could sit on me and I’d die. If it accidentally tripped and fell on me, that was it. Call the funeral home, I was a goner. You know? Or, if it got too excited and swung at me, it could knock my arm off. Or my head. Something as powerful as that wasn’t just scary.

It was terrifying.

But… somewhere along the lines, I stopped.

Stopped being afraid. Stopped being intimidated. Stop seeing the bear as a monster, and started seeing him as a bear.

Just a bear. Continue reading “Papa Bear”