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.
I remember hearing it.
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. Continue reading “Time’s Loss”
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”
I can feel the wind.
I have seen the clouds form and break. Seen the sky crack and crush thousands. Watched the earth shatter and split, spilling hundreds of lives right into the abyss. I have heard the war cries, heard the drums, the clanking of shields and the splintering of spears. Watched the dark beasts rise, and seen the dragons of blood and bone call us to Hades’s grip.
I have seen all these things. Watched death vomit its curse up, over whole fields, whole towns, whole cities.
I have seen many, many battles.
Fought in many long wars.
I can feel the wind rise, and die. It’s breath becomes just a whisper on my skin.
Just like the rest of us.
Just like me.
I have won this battle, but…
I don’t think I’ll win another.
I’m done for. Continue reading “Battle Born”
They thought they could change me. That immersing me in this… darkness… would help. That it would make things different. Fix me. Shatter the thing that claws. That bites. They thought they could break the beast within me by plunging me into memories. By trying to change what I know. Change my experience. Eliminate the past.
I told them this wouldn’t work.
I’m all for destroying the beast inside—believe me, I am—but…
I want to do it right. Correct. Vanquish the beast completely.
I know the beast within. I know it well.
After all—this beast within?
It’s just me.
And I knew:
This wouldn’t work. I told them very directly, very plainly.
This won’t work.
I wasn’t wrong. Continue reading “Beast Trigger”
I could hear the moaning outside. The tell-tale sign that something was happening. Growing in the dark of the night. A moaning that was not made by any person. I could hear it, the wolves howling into the night. Piercing through our houses, our homes. Warning us:
It comes tonight.
Run, if you dare. Hide, if you can. Do what you must to survive.
They come tonight. Continue reading “Air Raid”
I’m not sure how to handle this. What I ought to do. Where I can go from here. How to recover.
What do you do when everything you built was a lie? When the house turns out to be made of glass and then—surprise, surprise—it shatters? What foundation can survive on sand? Who builds a house that washes away with the shore?
What do you do when you live like that?
What can you do to save yourself? To save what you’ve stored away? What you’ve built?
Could there ever be reckoning from a betrayal that runs foundation-deep?
I don’t know.
I don’t think so.
How could you ever trust that broken ground again? What could you ever build there? What kind of dangerous contraption could stand on something like that?
What can I recover?
Continue reading “Spirit Unrested”
When it started, it seemed like there was no end. No stopping it. No cure.
When it started, people were devastated. Lost. When the dead shuffled up to their door, into their houses, what could they do?
They started firing.
And I can’t blame them.
When they swarm, it’s hard not to shoot. Impossible to get away unscathed. Because, even though we know now that there’s a cure—a way out—it doesn’t change the fact that the unaffected are in danger. That we might become prey.
That we might just…
…lose our heads. Continue reading “Zombies Everywhere!”
Nothing is ever as it seems.
That’s a given.
Gather all the evidence you can, all the data, before treating a problem. Before you start to try to get rid of the problem, make sure you’re pulling at the root, and not just masking the problem. Because if the weed isn’t pulled up by the root, then it comes back.
Usually, with a vengeance.
And I’m not just talking about gardening or lawn maintenance.
I’m talking about pest control.
Continue reading “Changeling”
There was no rain.
The cliffside was dreary as always. Dark. Menacing. Threatening rain, like it always did. Like I wanted it to.
There was no rain.
No rain to wash the dirt away. To take the stains.
Today of all days…
Continue reading “Pray For Rain”
Flashes of light. Words that burst into the dark, that puncture its stranglehold. That fight against the waves.
What lies in the dark?
There’s you, and there’s me, and there’s something else here, too, isn’t there? Not something that can be seen, or touched, or felt in any physical way. But it’s here, isn’t it?
You can’t see me.
Inhale once, exhale again. A whisper comes out, distorted through the dark. Not loud, and not powerful in the exhale. But that isn’t what matters.
It’s the inhale that brings the strength.
You breathe in my name. Let it go, just a little. Soft words in the dark. Tiny fragments of light. A star in the ever-distant sky. Not a lot.
But it’s enough.
Enough to guide you north. Continue reading “Wandering the Dark”