This place is so cruel.

Light shining only through darkness. Day only reaching out after the light. Beauty only existing because ugly things take root here.

This world is so cruel.

And I’ve known that. For so long—all my life in fact—I’ve known it. Lived it. Experienced it.

So why?

Why did I think I’d get away from it?

That I could outrun this, my greatest fear, and still reach the light?

Kind of stupid, really.

What a dunce. Continue reading “Dive”

The Mystics of Maps

Maps have always been used to find the way. To pluck out the wrong roads and toss them aside. To find the correct avenues. The roads that will take you somewhere you wish to go.

To take you places.


They’re strands. Tiny lines that intersect. Tiny lines with mysteries, marvels. That contain whole worlds without our notice. That lead to “x”s and treasures and gold.

Maps are so much more than they appear.

Why wouldn’t it be the same with our DNA? Continue reading “The Mystics of Maps”

Grim Awaits

“I’ll be here.”

The words repeat themselves over and over in my mind. My legs move to stand, and they stop. The words are there.

I’ll be here.

Sit. Stand. Sit. Fidget. Keep sitting.

Don’t move a muscle.

The promise can’t be broken. I can’t be found a liar.

I’ll be here.

I sit.

And I wait.

I’m here. Continue reading “Grim Awaits”

A Fox’s Secret

There was a fox in the forest.

There was a fox in the forest whose words were like honey. Who could speak paths into existence, lead owls astray. His way with words was thorough, a tongue of silver dripping with gold.

There was a fox in the forest.

There was a fox in the forest who had a reputation. A finder of rare things. A keeper of artifacts and treasure. His den was full of jade and his bed was made with silk.

There was a fox in the forest.

There was a fox in the forest who kept secrets. Who heard what it was the winds whispered. Whose ears were sharp, attuned to every exhale and every word passed from one to another, even as they passed in shadow.

There was a fox in the forest.

They say he was worth millions, that fox. That a debt from the fox was a life sentence, and the fox owing a debt was like having a genie. That fox who lived in that forest, the one there, across the street.

There was a fox in that forest.

And I know that for certain.

Because the fox was me. Continue reading “A Fox’s Secret”

Red Rivers and Flowing Strings

“What if I forget?”

It’s not a question said calmly. It’s not whispered, not gentle. There is no soft edge.

The question is a knife.

It slices through the air, desperation bleeding from the open wound. It stings around the edges as the wound registers, as the pain becomes real. As the wound becomes solid, tangible.

It’s a solid wound. A steady one. One that, unfortunately, had to be placed.

It hurts.

But not for the reasons you’d imagine. Continue reading “Red Rivers and Flowing Strings”

Swamp Resolve

“You want some snake gizzard? Y’all’ll hafta come back later in the day.”

“I’m not here for that,” I replied immediately.

Partly because I really didn’t want snake gizzard, and mostly because I really didn’t want snake gizzard.

In all honesty, I’m not even sure what that is.

But the guy in the white tank top, and completely undone button-down, just wiped his hands with a rag, squinting his yellowing eyes at me.

“Then what’re ya here for then? Tourists only come ta these parts for the cookin’.”

“I’m here for the Bunyip.”

The man blanched a moment, like shaking an Etch-A-Sketch, and then he doubled over in a loud, raucous laugh. Continue reading “Swamp Resolve”

Consumed and Fading

Do you know what hatred is?

Real, true, hatred?

The pure kind. The kind that is undiluted by human compassion, or by strong belief, or unavoidable morals.

That’s the kind of hatred I’m talking about.

It isn’t some fire in your veins at the mention of their name. That’s anger. You can be disgusted by a person and not hate them. Hatred, the kind that I’m talking about, is something different. It isn’t a fire. It isn’t an emotion. It isn’t a state of mind.

It’s a state of being.

When your hatred is pure, it consumes you. Crams itself into your mind, during your waking hours as well as your sleeping ones. It brings this sense of dread, of hunger. And it’s as unavoidable as thirst.

You long for something.

You just don’t know exactly what it is.

But it’s very directed.

Hatred isn’t the emotion of disliking something or someone.

It’s the need to eradicate.

Have you ever experienced that? Have you ever been consumed by the destruction of something, or someone, else? Have you ever looked at the idea of something and, every time you do, you find yourself wishing that it never existed in the first place?

That’s hatred.

Because even if something exists in a state of suffering, at least it still exists.

But, after I’m done…

She won’t.

Not anymore. Continue reading “Consumed and Fading”

Weaks and Weeks Without Sleep

Sleep is an enemy. An enemy of the weak.

I’m weak.

I’ll admit that.

But, only to myself.

Other people don’t see it. They don’t know how weak I am. How I reject sleep. They think I’m hardworking, that I’m invincible. Unstoppable. Camera crews kill each other for shots of me, and interviewers plague my phone begging for just a second of my time.

They think I’m strong.

The strongest.

But I can’t sleep.

Not because I don’t want to–because I do. Like hell, I do. I’d give my soul for sound nap, and I’d give three lifetimes over for the chance of a full night of rest. But, deals with the devil weren’t my specialty.

So I don’t sleep.

I don’t sleep because I always dream.

I always dream. Continue reading “Weaks and Weeks Without Sleep”

Let Me Be Surprised

Everyone has something that they absolutely, positively love. Like the sky or the sun or cold nights or Dr. Pepper.

For me?


adore surprises.

Imagine it: you’re going about your day, and then a wind of change sweeps you up. You’re minding your own business and then wham! you’re given this opportunity. To change the day, or to add to your day, or to bring yourself or someone else happiness.

It’s wonderful.

The idea is absolutely appealing to me. Every surprise is a gift. Bad ones, good ones, doesn’t matter. They’re all gifts, a tool you weren’t holding the moment before. Sometimes the tool you’re given is wonderful, and sometimes you think it’s useless. But then, you put it in your belt and, surprise, you use it later.

Every surprise can turn into a good surprise.

That what really makes them surprises.

Though, I have to admit…

Sometimes, a surprise is a little bit more than that. It doesn’t change your day.

It changes your world. Continue reading “Let Me Be Surprised”

A Memory Echoes

Memory is such a fickle thing.

Such a loose term.

I could remember something one way, and you could remember it an entirely other way. And both ways could be right, just because we perceived that event differently. You saw it from one angle, and I saw it from another, and those views could seemingly contradict. Yet, both views can be right.

You know, I heard somewhere that every time you recall a memory, it becomes less true. Loses some of its virtue. It becomes less and less what actually happened, and becomes more and more of what you think happened.

But who knows if that’s true. Like I said, I just heard it somewhere. Could be total hogwash.

Because you’re right. I do know you. You were there. You were so important to me.

I just didn’t remember. Continue reading “A Memory Echoes”