There’s a certain stench that accompanies stagnant water. Waters that have risen and fallen with the same stretch of green floating across the top. With the same moss hanging off the trees. With the same plants rooted in the muck. There’s a certain stench to swamp water—waters that don’t churn very often.
And the stench is horrendous.
I claws up, into your nose, whether you like it or not, and it tends to linger long after you’ve left the swamp. In the smell, you can sense the old age of the water, the different types of mold that creeps along tree roots, the green muck that adorns the backs of the gators you pass by—their beady eyes lit up in the light of my lamp, glowing like dying coals.
Swamps, to put it nicely, are disgusting. Places to go and stay stagnant. Places to be when one wants to smell what dying is like. Places that have nothing new to offer.
Places that hold old, old waters.
And the old beasts that come with them.
Continue reading “Swamp Thing”
I can feel you blinding me.
Brilliant, bright light. White against my eyes. Draining the color from the world, eating away the perspective. It seeps, that fluorescence, dragging my vision out from behind my eyelids. Merciless, as you try to disarm me. As you try to cripple me. As you try to force me to yield.
As you force me to face the light.
You suck the color out of everything.
You know that, right?
It’s harrowing, what you do. Pointless.
I’d much rather have washed out colors than this. Rather have nothing—have total darkness, because at least darkness can have variation. At least you can adjust to darkness.
This complete white-out though…
A dull, pale void.
Don’t you think?
I know why you do it.
To desensitize me.
At least, you try.
I think that, in the end, it does the exact opposite of what you intend it to do. Rather than let it wash over me—bleed me out, make me blinding as the sun, blinding as you are—I cling tighter to my shadows. Grip tightening around the dark.
When you combat me with that vivid, piercing light, I don’t give in. Not an inch.
I fight back. Continue reading “Wash Out”
“And? What did you end up telling him?”
“Hmm? The merchant?”
“Yes! What did you end up telling him?”
I was desperate to know.
Lorent smiled at me, taking a sip from his goblet—gold glinting wickedly off his irises as he took his time.
He sipped, and he grinned. Wicked, like a sidhe cat, before he spoke. Continue reading “No Fool”
For a long time, I tried not to remember. Because remembering was dangerous. Could lead me back to it. To that lurking feeling. What waits in the shadows. That knowledge.
It was him.
It is him.
He’s here too.
For a long time, I tried to forget that.
Sometimes he just…
He takes over. Continue reading “A Call From the Dark”
You could hear it.
Thumping along the tracks. Churning out noise, cracking along. Rattling wood, bones.
“Sing louder,” I muttered.
It’s almost here.
I can feel it rocking the building. A great beast that comes calling. That roars, again and again, every week. Knocking into our shack, demanding to be heard—that it not be ignored.
Sing louder. Continue reading “We Wicked Few”
They say there are quite a few types of love. A handful of ways in which our bonds to people are forged, what they mean, how we respond to them. People are strange, and all of us are very different, you see. And so, although you may connect to one person a certain way, it’s almost a sure thing that you won’t connect to another person the same. Because, with one person, you’ve been through one thing. A very unique, very different experience. As you live your life, you never replicate your experiences—it’s impossible. And, even more impossible, is replicating those situations, and the people your with, and their reactions. Especially if you place a new person in an unfamiliar situation.
What I mean is:
We’re all different. And, in our differences lies our experiences. And in those experiences lies different people as well. Different reactions to those experiences.
And so, the cycle churns onward. Forging bonds from these differences—personality, and character, and experience, and self—all of them meshing together to create these different relationships. Tethers that vary from person to person, in type and strength and importance.
And every moment—every difference that’s added or subtracted—is more than what we are.
Moment to moment, person to person, it all makes a difference.
Every moment we share counts.
It all matters.
Every moment counts. Continue reading “More Among The Stars”
There is no ash. No burning buildings. No roaring fires or people choking on waste.
It’s the end of the world and yet…
The world seems fine.
Aside from me, it turns on. Keeps plugging forward. The newest, most horrifying machine.
The end of the world has come and gone and yet…
Does it even miss us?
What was the point of it all?
…what’s the point?
Continue reading “Strange Machines”
Falling through the dark.
Face-first. Arms out. Stretching forward. Wanting to go deeper. Willing to dive further.
I didn’t fall as it wanted me to. As it’s tried so hard to get me to do. I didn’t stumble into the dark. Didn’t trip my way into this void. No, I didn’t fall.
I jumped into the darkness.
When it threatened to swallow me whole, I didn’t dare back down. Not this time. Not ever again. This has been going on for too long now. Weighed on me too heavily.
But no more.
I will not be afraid.
Continue reading “Be Still, Dark”
A blue sea, set above the earth. Embedded behind the clouds. Reaching to heights—worlds—that we can’t see. That we can’t describe. A blue hue that deepens the mystery when the sun goes down. That darkens our vision, brings tiny lights to the forefront of our minds.
Stars are up there, swimming in that ocean sky. Even during the day, they’re up there. Twinkling. Burning. Brilliant hues of red, orange, blue. All of the colors, probably. They shine so bright. So, so bright.
And, when I go out at night—I head to that field. And when I look at the sky?
I can feel it.
All the stars burning. Simmering. Reaching from millions of billions of miles away. Reaching out to graze the planet with their light. To simply touch down, if only for a moment.
I can feel their effort.
I can feel their light.
And I can feel you, too. Continue reading “Star Chaser”
Knowledge is power.
That’s what my old man would tell me, right before he went off to fight. To claim back “what was taken”. To push back against evil. It was the last thing he told me, right before he never returned.
Knowledge is power?
What a load of crap.
Knowledge isn’t power.
Just because you know those lights at the end of the tunnel are a train doesn’t mean you’ll be saved. Knowledge isn’t power.
There are things in this world coming for you. Things that are nearly impossible to stop. Knowledge just lets you know. Makes you understand exactly how much fear you should have. Continue reading “Rise, Helsing”