It was dispassionate.
People lived their lives, moving like ants. Robotic, focused. Standing in line, following orders, doing what they were instructed. Moving wholly and completely within the confines of what was created for them.
As I said:
Moving through an ant farm.
This world created falsely. A controlled environment.
The world isn’t like that.
Not at all.
The world wasn’t meant to be so dispassionate. So hungry.
Man was not mean to be so greedy.
And when the skies fell?
When the earth shook?
The mountains flowed with bubbling, roiling rage?
They realized that.
We were not meant to be so dispassionate.
We were meant to be more.
We weren’t meant to watch for saviors, or wait for hope to be delivered on a platter. Weren’t meant to be idle, or vacant.
We were meant to be heroes. Continue reading “Inferno”
They say he died in the middle of that small, small pond. Defending a human child from some wild beasts. They say he died valiantly against a manticore—or maybe it was a drakken. They say that, when he died here, the pond grew. Ten feet longer, eons deeper. A small island sprouted in the midst of the pond, right in the center. Right where he took his last breath. A small island formed, and then, atop that small island, an oak tree grew. Tall and grizzled looking. Branches reaching outward, arms open, as if ready to embrace any who tread upon that small island.
That’s not true, is it?
That small island was not meant for just anyone.
It was meant for only a special someone.
Only meant for one.
One who seeks. Continue reading “Oak Speaks”
I am not here of my own accord.
Fate was set. Pulled into motion. Gears of time and space and virtue, all meshing together to tick down. To continue counting the seconds until the bell would toll. Until the hammer would strike.
I am not here of my own accord, I can promise you that.
I am here.
And I am no fool.
I must do what it is that I was destined to do. Regardless of how I feel, of what I want, I know what I must do, and I will do it.
Pave the way.
Continue reading “Thorny Fate”
Magic is, inherently, selfish.
Taking the world and twisting it to make something of your own—twisting reality to make a thing you find more appealing—that is the nature of magic. The nature of fiends.
The nature of faeries.
And what an overwhelming, overpowering, magic it is.
That was what he’d told me. How he’d explained himself. And I told him something else. Something different.
Faeries are not the only ones with magic.
Continue reading “Kindly Magic: Part II”
The river runs, and it runs, and it runs.
Right through the building. Washing over every floor. Coating all the walls, and filling every hall.
The river runs.
Black tar, river runs.
It builds on the walls. Closes off the doorways. Makes open and shut impossible for them. For us.
Time is running.
Running river, black tar.
Run from the river. The river is running for you.
It runs for you.
Run, run, run from the river.
Run. Continue reading “Spill”
There is a root to selfishness.
It’s a knowledge. A knowing. When you reach out and push away, or grab at, or break. Looking at something and thinking to yourself “I want that” or “I want that away from me” or “I want to destroy that” and for no other reason than simply because you want to. Selfishness is being fully in the know about what you’re doing. Yes, you might deny it to yourself, but you know.
That’s selfishness. True and unfiltered selfishness, cut down to its root.
Knowing what you’re doing is wrong, and doing it anyway.
Knowing that getting what you want will hurt someone, put them at a disadvantage.
And doing anyway.
That’s why I can’t forgive them. Ignorant as some may be, they’re not all that way.
Some of them know. Continue reading “Magic Is Not “Mine””
Being a hero was no easy job.
That’s why I never really wanted it in the first place.
Fighting crime? I was okay with that. Getting shot at? Again, not something that really concerned me. Running into dangerous situations? Fiery buildings? Crumbling structures? Yeah, I can do that. I can do all that, no sweat. Easy as pie.
This part of the job?
This was why I was so reluctant. Why I, in part, kind of hated being a hero.
Because heroes do all the dirty work. Continue reading “A Hero’s Mercy”
It wasn’t raining. Wasn’t night. The sun was shining through the window, beaming through the curtains to bring him the slightest ounce of light.
He didn’t want it.
He had no right.
A monster, a beast. The blood stained his house, beckoned at every door. He’d hunted, and he’d trapped, and he’d ripped them to shreds. Threw out their peace to bring favor for their dead.
The light was not his. Certainly, he had no right.
He picked up his pen, squinting at the sun. The thoughts haunting him, the terror of night.
And with his thoughts swirling, the dead rising in their call.
He began to write:
Journal entry 74, book 1189.
More than likely, this is my last entry. I hope to survive this ordeal, but I don’t believe I will.
If God is true, and just, and mighty, then I will not.
If God is truly mighty, then surely:
I must die. Continue reading “Bone Reckoning”
A static fills the air, charges it with heat.
And then explodes.
Light and heat burst forth, cracking the air. Yellow or purple or blue explodes before the eyes. Asserting itself with a roar, with fire, with destruction.
What’s more devastating than a lightning strike?
Such a sudden thing. Such a fickle thing.
Here and then gone. A flash and nothing more.
I don’t want to be a lightning strike. Not just a lightning strike. Not when I can be so much more.
We can be so much more. Continue reading “More Than A God”
I’ve always wondered if it was selfish or smart.
To leave someone behind.
If you’re not loving them enough if you leave. Or, perhaps, you’re not loving yourself enough if you stay. Is it right to stay? Is it right to leave? One has to be better than the other, doesn’t it? One must be right, and the other must be wrong.
Is it wrong of a cheetah to run ahead of a turtle?
Is it wrong for an eagle to realize a rhino can’t keep pace?
Or is it wrong for them to not be patient? For them to not keep waiting?
I don’t know.
And I sorely wish that I did. Continue reading “Waiting Pains”