Drift

For eons, we’ve been like this.

Striving for ways to go faster. To do things better. What used to take us centuries now only take a few minutes. With the help of our machines, we can speed things up. Skip through time. We can cheat the system. Grow crops in days. Cook food in seconds.

Reach the stars.

That’s what we were always clambering for. To be able to walk other planets. Rove through asteroid belts. Brush against the stars. Going fast—moving at the speed of light—that was the only way to achieve that.

And we did.

Centuries ago, we did.

And it wasn’t enough.

It’ll never be enough.

Faster, faster.

Faster.

We always have to go faster.

Sometimes, I think it’d just be nice to…

Turn the power off.

Slow down a little.

Drift. Continue reading “Drift”

Armored Dragon

“You could be brave.”

“I could be.”

“You could be strong.”

“I could be.”

“And you could be the champion.”

“I could be the champion.”

“So then… why not?”

I can’t help but laugh a little at how incredulous he sounds. How perplexed. It would make no sense to him, being a former champion and all, but:

It makes sense to me.

Turning from the ring of fighters, I walk away as I tell him.

“Not all things that could, should.”

Besides.

I have better things to do than win titles.

I have a king to slay. Continue reading “Armored Dragon”

Hazy Dreams, Sleeping Memory

A hundred years I slept.

Do you know how many dreams you can have in a hundred years?

A lot.

An awful lot.

Especially if you’re sleeping through those hundred years.

Things start to make less and less sense as you sleep. Was that a memory that just floated by? Or another dream? Is this dissipating fog real?

Or not?

When you wake, everything rests in that cloud of dreams. Of memories. Stuck in the valley of things that come and go. Of things that can be barely seen, and never grasped

What’s real?

What’s not?

After a hundred years of sleep…

It’s hard to tell.

Continue reading “Hazy Dreams, Sleeping Memory”

Calling

At the time, I was nowhere near him.

Nowhere near.

When I heard the voice roll off the mountain, I thought I was hearing things. Whisperings of the wind. Coyotes cackling at me, trying to play tricks on my mind. Or, perhaps it was a bear roaring. His voice blasting so far and wide that it distorted. That it sounded like a person shouting.

But, no.

No.

It was no wind, no bear, no coyote. It was not a trick, and it was not in my mind.

Because he spoke again.

Yelled once more.

And I knew:

He was calling to me.

To me.

The wilderness itself.

It calls to me.

What choice did I have but to run?

Continue reading “Calling”

Wandering Star

I wandered.

Through the evergreens, across the frozen lakes, beyond the towering glaciers. I moved, endlessly onward. Pursuing only that wisp. That dream. An inkling that tickled at the back of my mind. Rode the tail of the Northern Lights. Disappeared in the dawn, leaving a faint memory.

This way.

I pursued.

I wandered.

Wandered, not aimlessly. Not at all.

But with a goal:

I will find it.

I will find you. Continue reading “Wandering Star”

Sailing Pursuits

Sailing was hardly a choice anymore.

Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without sailing. Without a boat. Rivers or oceans, it didn’t matter. As long as I had a boat, I could follow it. As long as I had a boat, I didn’t have to stick around. Didn’t have to watch and wait.

I could chase.

The wind whistles in my ears, and I drop my sail. Canvas catching, directed. Guided. Over hungry waves and demanding tides, the wind howls through my ears.

I sail forward.

I chase. Continue reading “Sailing Pursuits”

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”

Thankful Memories

I remember the chill in the air. The way the leaves folded to it. Fell before the shaking, turning as they dropped. I remember seeing the dander in the air. Small pods of pollen flittering to rest on anything and everything. I remember watching the hawks drift. Carried by it’s weight.

I’ve never seen him. Never. Not once.

Not yet.

And still.

I remember him.

I remember the wind. Continue reading “Thankful Memories”

Phouka Finds Direction

There was always time to look at the sky.

Under the light of the moon, under the burning sun, beneath the angry clouds that Thor makes.

There’s always time to look at the sky.

I’ve always found it calming. Soothing. To think that there’s such a big sky, and yet, it still covers the whole earth. Everything is tucked away under the sky. Not a single person out of its atmosphere.

Which means that, yes:

Everything is within reach. Continue reading “Phouka Finds Direction”

Freedom For Space

If there was one thing Lone Island Correctional Facility taught me, it was this:

Helplessness.

I won’t go into the details of how I ended up there, I’ll just tell you that they were bogus. My hands were completely clean, but I was mistaken for my brother, who’s hands are bloodier than a butcher’s on half off hamhock Friday’s.

But I digress.

I was imprisoned for a lot of things. In fact, the list was so long that I never got to read all of it. Which meant:

Sentencing was hell.

Literally.

Lone Island Correctional Facility was the seventh circle. A desolate island on a desolate planet. Made to make inmates feel stranded. Like there was no escape. Like there was nothing they could do. Guards were gods, and the head of the facility was Zeus himself. Disobedience meant punishment.

And punishment.

And more punishment.

Stepping out of line meant not being seen for weeks. And not because you were in solitary. We all wished that was all it was. Solitary would be a great place. A reprieve.

But no.

…no.

In a place where even uttering the wrong response, or sneezing at the wrong time, could earn you a lobotomy, it was all you could feel.

Helplessness.

The looming knowledge that you were alone. That no one and nothing could save you from the staff. From the facility. From the planet.

Hell was life, and that solid knowledge bred the feeling of helplessness.

But that’s the thing about Lone Island Correctional Facility. It’s all about suppression, all about powerlessness. About feeling like you can’t do anything.

So, what happens when you break free? When you find a way out?

Doesn’t that make you a god, too?

No.

It just makes you human.

Because helplessness is just a state of mind.

Continue reading “Freedom For Space”