The thing about being a Nightwalker is:
You have to face the terror.
Visceral, pounding blood. Bones that crack beneath the weight of too much adrenaline. An impending knowledge that you, among these toothy tombs, are as strong as a twig against a mighty wind.
You are a Nightwalker. One who walks through the dreams of the despairing. Who can clamber up, and down—move among the dwelling horrors of the twilight hour.
A Nightwalker sees a nightmare.
And he can’t look away.
A Nightwalker, in order to survive, must keep moving. Must keep burning. Must keep fighting.
You must face the terror.
Perish. Continue reading “Nightwalker”
My grandfather was a trucker. Often, he’d be on the road for days at a time, sleeping in his truck for the sake of saving a penny. He traveled from coast to coast, in places that are well-known, and places that are completely unknown. From New York to the River Canto, sitting outside of Third City’s walls. My grandpa was a great trucker, and a well-versed traveler.
He took some notes about driving at night—doing long hauls. He wanted to make sure his family knew the dangers of driving at night, as well as the importance of a few—at the time—little-known tips and tricks.
Here are his notes:
Continue reading “Night Drives: Tips and Tricks”
Let me ask you something:
If something is broke—so broke you can’t fix it—what do you do with it?
That’s what I’m saying.
Granted, the same thing shouldn’t apply to people. It shouldn’t work the same. Especially when people claim to be for the greater good. Claim that they stand for something more. Stand for better times, or hope, or peace, or whatever. You’d think that they—of all people—would be a little more patient. A little more forgiving.
Let me tell you something:
Continue reading “Broken Revision”
I had a nightmare last night.
It was of you.
There was this hole.
And there was a feeling. A dream feeling, with no real start. No roots. Only meaning, and certainty, despite it ghosting in. Despite it having no right to exist.
A feeling like I would never get to you. Continue reading “Dark Comes the Nightmare”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
Someone is shouting at me.
But they’re always shouting at me.
Being the chief of a tribe, you get shouted at often. Surprisingly enough.
But, as I said, I am the chief.
So I keep going.
Keep doing what I’m doing.
Keep on task.
Keep protecting my people.
I dare the darkness to return.
I dare it. Continue reading “Chief of Fire”
The first complaint my dog made was not about food. Which was shocking. Considering how big he was on begging at the table, I thought that was for sure what he’d want to complain about.
Right off the bat, my dog was excited to be able to talk. Excited to not be a dog anymore. And then, once the excitement had died down, he’d made his first complaint.
We don’t all sleep in the same room. Continue reading “Safety First”
I don’t make music, and my dreams are generally just for me, but…
That doesn’t mean I don’t have an imagination.
In fact, I don’t just have an imagination.
I am imagination.
Don’t believe me?
Then take a snooze. Dream a dream.
See if I can’t make it reality. Continue reading “Dream Keeper”
“What is that?!”
“Obviously it’s a giant spider!”
“What do we do?”
“RUN YOU IDIOT,” I shouted.
And with that, I took my own advice.
I ran. Continue reading “Hell Awaits”
Let me ask you this:
When a child’s dream fails, what remains?
Obvious, isn’t it?
When a child’s dream fails, all that remains is the shell of it. The failure that looms at the back of their mind. It sits on the tips of their fingers. It’s the first thing they touch whenever they make a move. That plague of knowing you’ve failed sits and waits, wanting nothing more than to devour them.
When a child’s dream fails, what’s left?
A nightmare. Continue reading “Nightmare Beyond Sleep”
Every night, it’s the same thing. The same exact dream. It was the dream I woke up from this morning, and the dream that I’ll have the second I close my eyes tonight.
For years, I’ve had it. And I still have no idea what it’s about. What I’m supposed to do with it.
You’d think that if you were having a prophetic dream, it’d come true relatively soon afterward, right? That’s why Dr. Turner doesn’t think that it’s a prophetic dream. Well, that and, he doesn’t really believe in God. So that’s probably a reason. But he does have a different reason, a different explanation.
Dr. Turner thinks it’s psychological. That my inner self isn’t at peace with something. That I’m stealing away my own security. That there is no wolf. That there is no hunter. There’s just me, in my head, worrying myself in circles.
But I don’t think so, because I’ve seen him before. Just a quick glimpse as I was in the grocery store one day. It sounds crazy, but I really did see him.
The wolf. Continue reading “A Dream to Leave Behind”