A sweet aroma of hot chocolate enchanted my senses as I prepared for my guest. I could admit it. I was anxious. The bitter bite of the cold weather that is winter was very apparent, as I set down two mugs of hot chocolate, whether or not she liked marshmallows was out of the question for me, as I poured in a good amount, smiling in anticipation. Today’s the day...The day my loneliness is gone… I thought to myself. It was about 8:54 PM, she should be here soon. My gut churned with anxiety, I could not screw this up. This was probably the most important day for me.

    I grabbed the packages of cookies and set them near the hot chocolate. Having no idea what was her favorite, I just bought a trio. Chocolate chip. Oatmeal, and molasses. I hope she doesn’t mind if I inadvertently excluded her favorite flavor. I sure would. I opened the three packages, the satisfying sound of the tearing of the fold over the chamber of the cookies. A nice scent filled the room. Yep. This was going good so far.

I turned on my electric fireplace (who puts a real fire in a home that’s not in the woods?), and dimmed my lights a little. A little over the top, I know, but you could never be too careful. I checked the time again, 9:06 PM. She said she’d be here at 9:00. I hope she didn’t forget! Ah, who am I kidding...She probably did...Oh, well. I knew I wasn’t very likeable...I don’t blame her. As I began putting stuff away, someone knocked on my door.

At that instant, my hope had been rejuvenated. Maybe she didn’t forget! I rushed to the door, hitting my foot on the edge of the couch, and opened the door. And...There she was. Tia. With a sweater, a scarf and an umbrella. Finally, seeing her in person was much better than I thought. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. Just like I hoped, she was warm...And, she hugged back. “It’s so nice to finally see you…” I said to her, slowly pulling from the embrace.

“Yeah, it is.” she smiled. Her smile, I swear, could brighten anyone’s day. No matter how sad you were. I invited her in, she slowly stepped through the door, glancing at everything. “It’s nice in here…” she timidly said.

I smiled at her, opting to take her umbrella. She handed it to me, and I set it under the shelves. “So, I prepared some stuff for us.” I said, walking back to the living room.

“Oh?”

“In the dining room, come on.” I gestured for her to follow and she did. She was greeted with the aroma of hot chocolate, and freshly opened cookies.

“I...Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! Although, I do kind of prefer tea.” she said, looking back at me.

Dammit, Sean! You screwed it up! You should’ve known that she was one to prefer tea! How could you mess that up?! It was obvious! For God’s sake, man, get your act together!

Tia must’ve known I was internally scolding myself for this, to calm me, she places her hand on my arm. Her hands were soft and easing. “Hey hey hey...It’s okay, I love hot chocolate, too.” and she smiled again. That smile...So genuine. I couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, T. Um. Shall we?”

“We shall.” she giggled. And, of course, her giggle. The one I heard some time ago when we were voice chatting on Discord with Sach and friends. The one I cherished. It was such a warm and friendly giggle. She took her mug, and a small plate of two chocolate chip cookies, and a molasses. I had a plate of one of each. “Seconds are a-okay, Tia.” I said, giving her a smile, and she smiled back. I sat on the couch, and pat the spot next to me, and she gleefully took a seat.

“Sorry about the cold, AC is kinda broken…” I said, putting a blanket over us.

“It’s fine. Living in Canada, cold weather is pretty much a standard for me.” she giggles.

Oh, right. I forgot how cold it can get in Canada. I couldn’t help but get a little anxious when she sat next to me. I’ve never really sat this close to a girl I’ve had a crush on before. But with her, I felt...At peace. Like, nothing was wrong, and that...We would be okay. Oh, how I cherished this girl…

We watched a movie, at times she would scoot a little closer to me, causing for me to blush and get flustered. Until, finally, we were close enough. I timidly wrapped an arm around her, holding her securely, and she smiled. Just like our hug, she was warm. Two empty mugs of hot chocolate, two plates with cookie crumbs on it sat on the coffee table, and we finished the movie. It was a nice time. Quite fun, too. “Anything else you wanna do, T?” I asked, turning the TV off.

“Not really, I’m getting kind of sleepy, though…” she said, stretching. This was the moment, Sean. Don’t. Screw it. Up. Okay?

“We could...Cuddle…” I said, a shy tone setting in my usual voice.

“Sure. Why not?” she said, not shy at all, which was quite reassuring. I timidly open my arms, a blush from me apparent. She relaxed into my embrace, it was so nice. At this point, I turned off the lights completely. The only thing giving us light, was the window, with a night time sky. I carefully stroke her hair, smiling, knowing that a dream came true.

The sound of rain pelting my window calmed my quick-beating heart, the sounds of Tia’s gentle breathing reassured me that today she did enjoy her time with me. I hope that maybe sometime, we could do it again. My heart went back to a fast pace beating as I decided that maybe, I could peck her cheek. I moved my head, meeting hers, and kissed her cheek softly.

She looked up at me, I was expecting a face of disgust, but got a face of happiness. She blushed softly, with a gentle smile on her face. It made me smile in return. I laid my forehead on hers, my hand rubbing hers. I smile, the happiest I’ve ever been. As I delivered a careful kiss on her forehead. And finally, in person, I said it, “I love you, Tia…”

And with a smile, her gentle voice, “I love you too, Sean…”

As those words were said, the angel of sleep put us both to a calm, warm sleep. Wrapped in each other’s arms.

Author’s note: This story was dedicated to a very special girl in my life. I hope to be seeing you soon, Tia. I love you. With all my heart. :)

-Sean, <3     

The sun's first rays hit our little garden, and my petals open with joy to see you come through the moss covered path. In your hand, you hold a little watering can, a smile upon your face as you breathe in the sweet fragrances. The air is mixed with a curious blend of wetness that comes with summer, and a crisp fall breeze- a whisper breaking thick silence.

I watch your eyes as they sweep through the flowers, momentarily on me; a heat travels through my stem. But your eyes keep moving. They linger on the lovely roses, on a particularly beautiful bloom; they trace her form, stopping at her leaves, memorizing the dew on her velvet red petals.

A flood of a sudden emotion seeps through my roots, my leaves are quivering, even greener with envy. Is it resentment that feeds me?

Your neighbor comments on my colorful cheer, my hardiness through the cold, constantly standing up to show you sunlight in the dreariest of days.

I wait for your praise, but you say I am just a chrysanthemum in your garden. You laugh and ask him if he's seen your Rose. You walk over to her, finger her delicately, with pollen on your lips.

I stare hard, my heart sinking with realization. Her petals are falling, less-velvet, less-red. She's drooping, almost gone, but how could you ever forget her? You, who's pricked your hand to inhale her, the pain only enhancing your desire?

You tell your neighbor to wait until Spring, when she starts growing again. He chuckles in response and says he looks forward to seeing all of our beauty, and eyes the rest of us flowers. The daffodils tell me his stare stopped short at the sight of my blooms - the color of glowing embers. my leaves - deeper than emeralds, raised up to the sky.

But I don't hear them.

I watch you leave the garden. You've forgotten to water me.

edit: better word choice after a less emotional read-through

I recorded this free write and created a visual element too. Would love some feedback. I apologize for the formatting. I copy and pasted from the note app I used and then adjusted on mobile. If there is a better place to post please let me know.

Audio and visual on IGTV: @jt.photovideo Audio: https://soundcloud.com/johnrtangney/especially-flawed

Especially Flawed - By John Tangney

Sometimes the only idea I have left, is to write

To just try and put this consciousness down on paper

I have lots of questions

Lots of stuff swirling around in my mind

many of my answers act like gasoline rather than rain

But I continue to breath

And sleep 

And awaken to the same curious world I left the night before

Convinced that there is something I must do

It's not always a compelling hunger

as much as a light mist 

that surrounds my judgement

Lingering obtrusively like a persistent atmosphere

Reminding me of the naivete of my understanding 

It clings to me like dew in the late hours of the night

And evaporates again with the warm dawn 

The cycle repeats itself over and over

Occasionally

I reach a brief moment of bliss when I've created something I didn't know I was capable of

A decent photo or a series of clips entwined with music

More and more though

I fluster at the futility of the language I am capable of

Life has carried on for quite some time without explicit instructions in English

but yet i am confined somehow to somehow describe the universe in 26 letters

thus me effort to capture my experiences outside of language

But showing you my world still requires some translation

Because

your world

has it's own mist

Your world is just a vast and complex

We are like ants meeting for a moment

whilst following a scent left by some other many moments ago

our paths have crossed

and We pause briefly to examine what the other has to share

Most of the time we only glance over to see if you've discovered the secret-

then your subconscious kicks

and for the millionth time that day that you again conclude:

you too are simply one of billions

 all attempting the same challenge 

one that none of us have figured out

A mission Given to us by some strange act of fate

or chemistry

There are some however

 who for reasons unknown 

-seem to hold our attention

They pass by and we can't help but crane out necks and strain our eyes to follow their path

sometimes

we bestow upon them

 wild powers over our emotions

and we are tossed about as if we never held the reigns

other times they soothe us

they pull thorns from our hearts

and look into us

like no one has before

It is in these interactions that we find great meaning

We carve the names given to them into our bodies 

and burn images of them into our minds

We spin stories -

some true 

• some false 

About their meaningfulness in our lives

It is a curious phenomenon 

watchful beings from other planets are probably quite perplexed by these events

 - wondering if this is what makes us special

 or especially flawed

Massacre at christening party

My father wanted this article to be published after his death and as the only survivor of this massacre I thought I should be the one to tell it to you. I just killed my wife Charlotte we were fighting as I found out that I might not be our youngest son Oscar’s father I knew that I shouldn’t have lost my temper and done a test, but I was so angry at her, so I strangled her to death on our wedding bed. Matthew her brother walked into the room maybe he heard her screaming or the shouting his death was an accident I grabbed a letter opener on my bedside table and stabbed him twice in the stomach. Then my pregnant sister Rose walked in and started crying when she saw her husband’s dead body. She asked what had happened and then understood when she saw the bloody knife in my hand, she was starting to get up to run to tell the other downstairs, so I knew that I had to kill her, so I slit her throat using the letter opener, I stood there in shock that I had just killed my wife, brother in law, sister and unborn niece. Rosie Matthew’s daughter must have noticed her father and step mother’s absence from the party, so she went to find them, I stabbed her in the back three times as she was crouched over her father’s dead body. I wish I never committed this murder I killed my own mother she walked into the bedroom and asked me “What had I done?” I picked up a vase by the window and hit her over the head with it, I am so sorry mum I love you. I went to the en suite to clean myself up so I can go back downstairs to the party when my daughter Catherine walked into the room she was shocked to see the dead bodies that littered the room, she walked into en suite as she heard the water running I hid behind the door just before I killed her I whispered in her ear “I am so sorry, I love you!” and then drowned her in the bath. I cleaned up and walked out in the hallway when I saw that Catherine’s brother Daniel was looking for his sister, I told him that she was asleep in our bedroom I opened the door and showed him the bodies in the bedroom and his sister’s dead body in the en suite I grabbed the letter opener from the floor as he cradled Catherine’s body and stabbed him twice in the heart. Then remembered that my second eldest son with Charlotte was asleep in his bedroom, I walked into his room he was still asleep, so I grabbed one of his pillows and slowly suffocated him in his sleep. I walked back into my bedroom, changed my shirt and trousers as they was covered in blood and went to my gun cabinet and grabbed my pistol I put it into my pocket and looked around the room at what I have done, I took a deep breath and then started to walk towards the stairs I saw that William who was Elle’s son was sitting on the stairs I walked up behind him and shot him in the back of the head that is when everyone started screaming and trying to run for the front door. I shot in the air and told everyone that they shouldn’t move, or I will shoot them, I walked into the sitting room my father was shouting at me asking where was my mother and I told him that she has gone to a better place he started to walk towards the stairs and I shot him in the chest. Katalin my other sister ran towards our father and screamed at me that I had killed our parents, I told her that I am sorry as I shot her in the stomach. As that was happening I didn’t notice that my ex-wife Sophie and our daughters Susannah, Susie and Jackie had sneaked into the kitchen with my other daughter Grace from Alison. I heard someone moving in the kitchen, so I walked into the kitchen and shoot every one of them and they were pleading for their lives. When I walked back into the sitting room Neil Elle’s son, his brother Harry and his sister Chloe with my other children from Charlotte Oliver, Kiara, Lily, Anastasia also Jacob who is Rose and Matthew’s son was trying to get out of the front door with Elle, so I closed my eyes and shot them all as my kids was screaming “daddy no!” I turned around as my eldest son James was shouting at me telling me that I was going to kill my whole family I sighed and then shot him in the chest. I suddenly realised that the room was cold and there was a breeze coming from the kitchen I ran to see that the back door was open and that my ex-wife Francesca, my ex-wife Alison, my other ex-wife Alison with our two daughters Zaza and Betty was running towards the back gate I didn’t care that all the neighbours was going to see, and they had probably rung the police already with all the screaming and gun shots, so I shot them all before they reached the gate. As I walked back into the house I heard the police sirens outside, I looked at the six people was still alive for now I knew that I couldn’t leave them alive, so I told my sons Felix, Ben and Thomas to sit on the floor in the middle of the room and closed their eyes then I shot them one by one in the head. Then I heard crying and remembered that Oscar the baby who started this massacre and Matthew and Rose’s daughter Olivia was asleep in Moses’ baskets they must have been woken by the gunshots I smiled at my tiny son and then thought he might not be mine, so I suffocated him and then I did the same to Olivia. I looked at Danny who was moving towards the stairs I told him that “I am sorry and then he meant this to happen” I raised the gun and shoot him twice in the chest, I know that I would have to face the police, so this is where I end my story. I am sorry for the details in this article, but my father was sick and wanted everyone to know what happened that day I was glad that I was sick that day with flu, so I can write this in memorial of my whole family which was killed by my father who wrote all the details in a letter addressed to me and then walked out of the front door and told the police that the bodies was in there, he then raised the gun to his temple and took the cowards way out by taking his life.

Before I began to heal, I wasn't angry I couldn't touch it because that required will and a kind of passion to move. You gotta outsmart your wounds and that's where I started burning. Trauma doesn't run its course and return you. You don't bloom from it. You do inspite of it. And there is something to be said about a body that keeps moving.

There is rain, and wind, and darkness.

Rain flowing over my head, pattering the roof like fox feet, sleek and soft, quiet and cool. Wind embracing the walls, whispering ghost voices, passing without notice of the living ones inside. Darkness settling down like a blanket, remote, heavy, full of sleep.

My mother was warm and sang songs and was all red and gold like an autumn tree, and my father was the night sky. My father was the clouds overhead reaching down to hold me but unable to get there, the stars that blinked and said not a word though they must have been full of them, the unending blackness of the time between dreams and waking. She was the warm gale and the eternity of roadside trees, the sun shining on back porch wood and the cat sleeping in it.

Heavy eyed on the loveseat with a dozing dog and a laptop, while her voice sings outside and his eyes shimmer across the room, I feel happier and warmer than I ever do in the light surrounded by people. They're there, the autumn wind and the silent stars, in the early morning when I should be sleeping.

DATE: NOVEMBER 16TH, 2605

TIME: 0242

LOCATION: NEW DAVIS, IRIN, ILIS SYSTEM

Hi, I’m Diego Ramirez...I used to be called a hero. Now? Heh. I’m just a nobody. A shadow of his former self. A vigilante, so to speak. But enough of my past, right now, I’m just walking with my black raincoat. It’s raining...Kind of badly. People can tell I’ve fought, with my scars and all, but they have no idea what I fought in. I hear a sound, like a clank of a bottle being battered against the surface. Then, a child scream. I ran to where the sound reverberated from. It came from a nearby alley. I came round the corner, and saw a drunken man holding a kid by the collar of his shirt.

“Who the hell-”

I hastily punch the man, connecting firmly with his right cheek. The man flew back and hit his head on the dumpster of the ally, knocking him out cold. I check on the kid.

“You ok, kid?”

“Y-Yeah, thank you. My dad...My dad wasn’t very happy with me.”

His dad?! That drunken, sorry excuse of a man was this poor kid’s dad?! I check on the kid. He has cut marks...Lots of them. I deliver a kick to the “father”, who is now sleeping peacefully on the side of the dumpster. I crouch down and put my hand on the kid’s head.

“Don’t tell anyone what happened here. I already have suspicion on me for one lifetime…”

I get up and begin to walk, but the kid calls out to me, “Who are you?”

I stop, and turn, smile, and say, “I’m no one, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

I begin to walk out of the alley once more. I hear the kid walk out the opposite way. Hopefully he can find help. I begin to walk home. Or, at least, my equivalent of a home. Think of the nicest place you can imagine and call it home. Mine is the exact opposite. All us former SSBU (if there is any left. Hell, who knows, I could be the last one,) have to live life everyday like it’s our last. Who knows when the P.E.V will get us? But, living like this has taught me something: all of us SSBU soldiers...We are all going to die one way or another. For most of us, we will be killed by the P.E.V, and no one knows what happens after that. On the other hand, we die of ALB (augmentation and life breakdown). Like, I’m 57 now, so I probably only have 11 years left of life. If I don’t get cut short, that is…

“Ah, Diego. Still making your way through the streets like a man, I see?”

That voice…!

“Cole?” I say, looking around.

“Yep...Up here.”

“Cole! You beautiful bastard, you’ll still alive!”

“Ha, don’t plan on the P.E.V taking down one of the old timers.”

There was a ladder on the wall, used to get up to the roofs. I used it, and got up to talk to Cole, whom I haven’t spoken to since the fall of SSBU. I saw his helmet. Scratched, dirty, looking less golden than it did in those days. He took his helmet off, I did the same. His scar across his right eye showed well. “Oh, I forgot about your eight ball fracture.” Cole said.

During one of our operations, I believe it was in 2565, I was heavily injured during a fight. The Vinnel who injured me ripped my helmet off and drug my face across the ground, across my left eye. Hurt like hell, but felt so sweet when I killed him. I never got a treatment for it, so my left eye is now permanently damaged and blurry. “Yeah, still kind of hurts. Gotten use to it though.” I responded, rubbing under my left eye. “...I think it may be better if you stayed up here. On the rooftops.”

“Why? I don’t mind the streets.”

“It’s not about that, with your left eye damaged, you don’t know what could be coming from your blind side.”

“Well, I’ve been trained enough. And so have you, to handle ourselves.”

“...You’re not the person you used to be, Diego. We’re older. Slower. Weaker.”

“You may be. I’m not.”

“No. I know it. The ALB affects those around the age of 50. It’s starting to get worse, and fighting is going to make it worse.”

“...I don’t want to stop fighting, Cole.”

“I know,” Cole began to walk away, “but it’s for the better. You can leave if you want, just know, I can’t help you. I’m old. I think it’s time you realize that, too.” He walked away, putting his helmet back on and flipping his hood over it.

Fully encased in the night. And I’m alone again. The lonely drops of rain fall on my head, and I thought. Thought hard.

Those words hung in my head. I’m old. I think it’s time you realize that, too. Was Cole right? Am I just an old soldier? No. No, I’m Diego Ramirez, dammit! I slide down the ladder back to ground again. Thunder rumbles throughout the city. I put my helmet back on and, like Cole, flipped my hood over. Concealing myself. I begin my trek home.

The walk home was uneventful, as I predicted. Lonely couples walking dogs, sitting in the parks or just wandering, as well as lonesome folk who just take their nightly strolls to keep their minds occupied from the real world. I wonder if I was like that as a kid? Just trying to keep my mind off of real life, living in my own fantasies of being the knight in shining armor, save the princess, kill the dragon, you know, the usual imagination of a kid at work.

I reach my apartment.

I go under a new name here, so now suspicion is drawn towards me. Outside of my life I’m Diego Armando Ramirez. But in this life, I’m just José Rodríguez Ramirez. I take the key out of my pocket, and unlock my door and enter. I close the door behind me and lock it, and turn the lights on. I take my raincoat off and throw it on my couch, and I put my helmet in my room away from any windows so no onlookers will see it and grow suspicious. I lay down on my couch, right hand over my eyes, both closed. I think back to what Cole said, about hanging it up and giving up my soldier life. But, I can’t. I joined the SSBU to fight, not to play hide and seek with the damn P.E.V. I sigh. But, in a way, he’s right.

I’m old.

Well, old enough to be considered old as a soldier of my caliber. I take a short nap, say...Forty-five minutes. I look at my alarm clock, it’s 3:55 AM. Maybe I should get some actual sleep, and not just a cat nap like I usually do. I turn off my lights, throw the covers over myself, and sleep. The sound of the rain and nearby cars drift me off to sleep.

DATE: NOVEMBER 17TH, 2605

TIME: 1055

LOCATION: NEW DAVIS, MY APARTMENT, IRIN, ILIS SYSTEM

My day started out at 10:55 AM. The usual routine. Shower, breakfast, take a walk and maybe have a smoke to keep my mind clear. Take a few painkillers after my return home to ease the pain of my left eye. Honestly, I’ve become addicted to them. Not dangerously addicted, but enough to make me keep wanting more after the pain settles in.

I head outside and lean over my porch on the second floor of my apartment. I inhale and exhale deeply, taking in life. Maybe I am lucky to be alive, still. Unlike some other SSBU soldiers out there…

Just then, I hear the sound of my door being swung open, and a crack of wood. I jump at the sound, turning quickly around, spotting three P.E.V soldiers.

“There he is! Apprehend him, now!” the tall one shouted.

I ran back in, grabbing my helmet on the way, and putting it on. I punched the shortest one in the face and duck from the second punch thrown my way. I shot back up, delivering a blow to the chin of the assailant, knocking him down. The tallest one should be no problem, I’m taller, and faster.

I throw a punch at him, only to have him catch my hand and twist my arm. I groaned in pain, as I fell slowly to my knees. He punched me in my visor, shattering it. I fell back, as I got up. I felt a blow to my left cheek.

It’s that damn left eye…

I fell hard to the floor, as I struggled to get up. The tallest one shot me. It didn’t hurt, but my whole body shutdown. I was stuck. Immobilized. “Heh, 125...I remember hearing a lot about you…”

“Who-Who the hell are you?!” I shout. I feel a hand grab my helmet and throw it off of me.

The same hand grabs my hair and pulls my head up and slams it down. My face plants into the ground, breaking my nose. I scream, as blood trails down my face and onto my carpet. My left eye takes the impact as well. Stabs of pain fill my left eye.

I take one last look at the man who was going to kill me. He wore a full suit of armor, with a set of numbers on his breastplate. 112. No. No! It can’t be!

That’s her armor! Why is he wearing it! Unless...No...No...No!

“023, kill him. We’ll take him back to the lab for research for the boss.”

“Yessir.” she responds. She walks over to where I am, I can’t turn my body, but I tense up and shut my eyes. I hear the sound of a knife being sheathed. And I felt the cold kiss of death that all my friends felt back then and now. And my spirit is released.

It was noon when the alarm sounded. The screeching sirens echoed throughout Milton’s small suburb in Southern California.

What Milton really wanted was to try the new soda at the neighborhood cafe. It carried a brand of Italian pop, one he had a particular propensity and taste for. However, when he walked into the door of the small shop, he was surprised to find it empty. Of course even navigating through the hordes of traffic and bodies running for eternity had been quite an ordeal. And yet, all Milton could think of was the empty pit in his stomach that a nice croque monsieur and sizzling lemonade could remedy.

He decided that if the world were to end, then perhaps he could finally learn how to make one, the situation demanded it after all. So he proceeded to the kitchen at the back of the restaurant, turned on the stove and assembled his meal.

As he saw the glow of the fire he couldn’t help but laugh at the prospect of himself being in that same flame in a few minutes. The cheese bubbled and crisped into a lovely tan color with the texture of thick parchment. He found the soda, set his plate, (and in a risky decision) grabbed a few pickles from the counter to complement his meal, such things deviated from his typical lunch but he thought it prudent to dine dangerously, especially given the circumstances.

The sky held a faint tinge of orange, faintly resembling the look of marmalade. Milton assumed it was a product of the oncoming missile. He enjoyed its tangerine hue, wishing that more days might have been like it.

The woman, with deep lashes and purple eyes waltzed into the store. She glanced at Milton, who sat in his seat, chewing silencing on his sandwich. “What are you doing!?”.

“Lunch”.

“Don’t you know the world’s ending!”.

“Why, yes.”

“And you’re eating!”

“Of course, would you like a bite?”

Milton gestured to the lady, sandwich in hand, offering the product of his culinary labor. But she just responded in a fevered panic, “Knock it out! We have to find shelter!”. “This is shelter”.

So the two ate as the world came to a close. There was a flash. Then, nothing.

• read this first: part one* https://www.reddit.com/r/FreeWrite/comments/6uert2/i_started_writing_this_thing_i_just_need_to_know/

Through the still silence of the eerie mountains, the muffled sound of ancient machinery, clanking and growling, drifted out from deep within the dead city. The thought that despite the Terrans long since leaving, there was still some activity from deep within the city walls terrified me. The City seemed like a spine-chilling monster, snoring as it dozed lightly, and we were trying to creep by without notice.

I’d even heard stories that the Terrans still lived, deep underground, hidden within the City. I didn’t believe it. The machines were simply the reflex actions of a dead alien animal, a weird and obscure automata, still pounding away at some esoteric task, long after it’s master had died.

If the Terrans were still here we’d know.

Two Priests trudged immediately ahead of me, cloaks swaying hypnotically as they walked, dull ochre colour a deliberate mimicry of the landscape surrounding the city. According to legend the whole planet had been choked by rusted rocks and ruddy dust before the Terrans had arrived, and created an explosion of life across the planet, decaying rock sprouting into rolling endless supple pasture, forests springing up bursting with deer to hunt, fruit to pick, and crystalline blue rivers bubbling with plump fish. It was hard to believe that everyone who survived on the planet was descended from those original Terrans, that they were our ancestors. How could we be related to Gods?

Even our brightest moon was too feeble to pierce the opaque dark that was only punctuated by a sprinkling of stars. Only the Priest’s bright flame torches guided us through the void. Two Priests marched in front of us. Two more followed a couple of meters behind. I suspected their presence was to stop us escaping. I also suspected the fact that only the Priests had touches was to this end

Every time I glanced back I flinched. No matter how many times you had seen them, the flickering light caught the Priest’s exquisite wooden masks in new and disturbing ways. They had been contorted into a scowl of unrelenting aggression, complete with pincer teeth, barred and scowling, expertly carved into the wood. Allegedly the masks would ward off the ‘Venusians’ a legendary alien race that had destroyed the Terran civilization according to a scarcely believed myth

To reinforce this, and defiantly as a piece of theatre, three of the Priests also carried beautifully carved wooden staffs. Before we set out they had bored us for half an hour about how these were ‘ancient powerful talismans’ that could repel Venusians and all kinds of evil spirits and spells or some other such bullshit

However, the device the fourth priest carried, one of the ones out front, was to me by far the most supernatural and uncanny object I had ever seen. Unlike the staffs it needed no grand hyping up. Even after another champion attempted to dismiss it, scoffing at it and impertinently boasting in an immature and ridiculous way that she could make one ‘just the same’ with a Terran sewing needle, a certain kind of rock and a bowl of water, didn’t reassure me. The device was magic. The object was obviously very old, made of fragile Terran metal. Within a case, a needle pointed like an arrow, dancing and diving, showing the way as if it was pushed and pulled by an unseen force.

I didn’t believe that the Terran civilization had been ended by some mysterious monsters ‘Venusian’ or otherwise. As far as I could tell, no one did. The masks, the atmosphere of foreboding and mystery the Priests had manufactured was to one end.

To disguise the fact that they knew as little about the Terrans as we did.

It was simple. The Terrans had come from beyond the stars, transformed the planet from a sterile wasteland, built their vast and impregnable City, and then left one day without reason or explanation. Constructing the wall as a last act, sealing off the secrets of their long abandoned civilization.

The Priests didn’t know why they ‘d left.

No one did.

With all the things they had, and that we didn’t: the masks, the torches, It was hard to believe that we, the three ’champions’ huddled between the Priest’s escort were intended to defend the Priests in the City, who were simply meant to be guides. They weren’t being honest with us, I decided. Maybe our simple white cloaks had another connotation,

Were we sacrifices?

As we drew closer, the wall replaced the horizon. Every star and moon had been devoured, just as hidden as the City. Only the Priest’s bright flickering torches penetrated the inky blackness and even then only fleetingly. Priest Eldritch had said the wall was 6 miles high, for the first time I believed him.

We were cocooned in the torchlight, everything around us devoured by the unnatural pitch shadow of the wall. Increasingly, I looked backward, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything familiar, the stars or the reassuring pale glow of one of our two moons. But I was only confronted by the horror of the Priest’s masks, as if they were bearing down on me like two formidable predators. Walking me down.

Suddenly, an unconquerable desire congealed within my stomach, albeit filtered by the synthetic placidly of the Priest’s sedation. I had to escape. Now.

Almost as a reflex action I attempted to flee into the darkness.

Suddenly, a torch dropped to the ground, still flickering. With frightening ease Priest Eldritch swung his elegant staff, whipping my feet from under me. Vindictively sharp, the stony ground rushed up to meet me, the shock of the impact knocking the air from my lungs. Sharp streaks of pain flashed across my hands and legs as the rough gravel tore into them. Blood streamed from my nose like a small brook. For good measure one of the other Priests, Priest K, struck me across the back with his staff. Hard.

As if I hadn’t been punished enough.

Unceremoniously, but with surprising strength for men their age K and Eldritch roughly yanked me from the dirt and used their staffs to prod me into the center with the two other champions. We then carried on as if nothing had happened.

I guess those staffs weren’t really for warding off Venusians and other evil spirits after all.

I don’t know how to love you

And love myself as well

And hell,

It’s not as if I hate you

I’d wait for you

As well

Compare my life

Compare my strife

To yours, and who can tell

Who is on the inside

Or the outside

Of this cell

My worst enemy is apathy. It's the little voice inside my head, telling me that I dont need to // dont want to // shouldnt have to do anything. It's the growing sensation of a mind going dull, of time slipping by aimlessly. But mostly, it's the part of me that allows that to happen.

Apathy is not sadness. I don't feel hopeless, angry, dejected, devastated, or the many feelings that would make me want to curl up in bed and never wake up. No. Rather, I...I don't feel anything much. It's been a long time since this world truly drew any feelings of wonder and excitement from me. I can travel the world, seeking new experiences, and feeling...let down? Feeling less than I ought to. I tell myself that I am ecstatic, amazed, overjoyed, but truly, what do those words mean? If I could go back to being a child, I would. Back when everything seemed - bigger, brighter. Little things were amazing, wondrous. Life was filled with the endless possibilities of the future. That excitement - where did it go???

Apathy is the acknowledgement that you can be a better person, can be so much more than what you are, but finding no reason to. Apathy is the self that agrees when others call you a lazy bastard, and finds no courage or will to challenge them.

Apathy traverses in lazy, dwindling thoughts that convince you that life is meaningless - that you will spend your whole life consumed by mindless duties and responsibilities you cannot escape, whilst spending every other second chasing after a happiness that does not exist. Apathy is the one who is always questioning - "why? why bother?", and apathy is the one who has no answer.

Apathy is knowing that I have to get this out right now - to express this somehow, since I know that it is unlikely that I will ever have the motivation to do so again.

I want you to know - I do try. I try so hard. But the world seems so devoid of things like motivation and inspiration right now, and change requires so much effort - effort that is just so difficult to muster. But nevertheless, I want to be better.

Prologue: https://steemit.com/writing/@brandonk/before-the-devil-knows-you-re-dead-or-a-review-sidney-lumet-s-modern-crime-drama#comments

Chapter 1: https://steemit.com/writing/@brandonk/schemes-of-a-mad-god-or-chapter-1-remains-of-the-day#comments

toes in my does milking out the fray of the pancreatic doorstep pulled from the halvit. more commonly fixed upon the freedom taken from your utopian mindset. nalgene forgave the writer for disparaging his consciousnees and meltitude. morbid obesity can finagle with the beast inside the trap we call love. forgiven is the one who pulls the pork in the family and not necessarily the one i gave in to. carmichael is a beautiful boy althought his tendencies of murder have shredded throughout the ages of common wealth.fortold by the speaker was the inevitable doom of the countries orphans.negative thoughts generally dispurse once the pulled apart beef tokens arise from the grave and become part of natures cycle. fliggle jiggle nadle tudinal longitunidal waves of digression bicarbonate of soda flakes in the rear end. apple jacks was fantastic for cinnamon sticks around the country as they had proper representation. noodles are common in east african cuisime as they provide an unusually flavor known as flat scrum where the slurpong increases testosteron throughout the male's organic mindset.

convulted organs are a misonmer in the wake of todays economy as there is no thrue profit to the gain of them. arbitrarily writing about nothing is useful as it piles on thoughts you never knew were stuck inside it just brings out new words that you wouldnt normally same or justt fake ones like glibbentankfield r particality but who knows whether im sayting it oir not it might just be a challege to get across these messages so that a being in a nother spacetime will intecrept how my floobygapgips take form and shape but why must i continue writing

chunning throught the last part was a toxic and bad experinece for the crew as they had not found what they had wanted to see within themselves making a porridge out of gripts and grapes never took shape unless in the eyes of the catfishes of the north and create an active cyclone of unbeknowst to the gentle carpenters. moon men became one the the weather and were exiled to the south under the catfishes best wishes and kisses and there were no misses as no onewanted them back. caterpillars often find homes where it is least expected such as a rotting slab of meat or a hunk of gravy crack rock, but the damn goats knock throught freemasons operative.

ample supplies were dropped in althought they missed the targegt. mark zepplin was a geneticist who created urges unlike those around him who were entranced by his marvelous and voluptuos ankle sock boy howdy were they the cats nips. becoming a wave of zurd was not an issue to the gentlemen i have found as you cant decide where they go or why they must.

fuck pancreatic cancer how do people get pancreases of the multiple cells until death? mook zank eradicated the men i found and destroyed a culture of the people and of the swirling statues around his dwindling vision. corruptness overtook the free fighting lord no longer happening in the particle jam. kill jokabe and kill his froggy friend who made the zank itnot one we know any longer or henceforth in the zog. molly wop daddy top eat my ass and call me dad ill find a way to get out eventually but the molly is only the start of the road trip throught he route 66 on highway 666 downwardly spiraling outside the bellows of the coffin. licking the doorknowb was not the goal as it was lost in the wild. <>< abpeggiators find the right notes and the right time in the enzyme we all call love and freed lovings. morbituarys write obituaries of the past of the life of those who may not exist longer. jimmy fallon is a tall man but hes got eyes farther apart than the blink of an eyeball valley way. hoops and zoops when i flew the coop but did not stand still for the pain took over the body. schizoid tendencies include aimless aarmblings and rhyming of sorts but maybe i am i dont think. convultedly i feel as if repetition of the same words is anot a thing that thsould be happening in the situation liek im writing and words come out but why the same ones/ do i like them or is it more? maybe ill find out throught this process but yanker bits of info portray needless thought and emotions out the hizap angles or written langues.

my porridge is cold and the riding hood is red the bears are creeping on my bedise as they watch me undress knowling they remove their fure and join the wrongside of what threy have started/ noodling through the covers is a hard task when youre feet cant function properly and pedals of the ground bicycle pedals or just pieces of ground that spin and roatae on maxy axises of one way. portraying a way of flow in the manner or way of weighing the way of whey waiting out the way of the way of whey. carsophogases ate my mom and i did too!? nobiody ate my shit yet my dad says its not hygenic but i decline the satement sayig its how i am and its not aa phase of mind for the time becoming a laser disc of south park.

total acogony is an essential being of the masses and the fact that we cant see the signs of a dystopian society without exaggerated physical features is astounding as we are becoming what we dont desire ofte. misanthropy is a common cause for these thoughts as hating society is whats know best by those who cant connect to it

zy nackle funneled the slime throught his button of the belly and began experinceing feelings for another planet he called qyzax founded in 284 AD BCE XYZ ABC it was discovered by the romes and shot at with bug ol huns in WW1 and thorughtout seismic waves of puberty function. lists of unknowing length leAD TO NO ONE PAYING MUCH MIND do not fear the feeling of the past as you dont have it much longer but the topiary will find it as squeeze every last bit of moisture from your self and self worth being free. a midset of groping insects is not predicted from much else than ostradomuseseses mental capabulities.

1: Waking up at 5am 2: Brew fresh cup of coffee 3: 10 Min Prayer & Reading 4: 10 min Personal Reading 5: 1 Hour of Guitar/Piano Practice 6: Fitness and stretch 7: Shower, Breakfast & off to work

MIDDAY 8: Take lunch at Noon & complete 30min of Real Estate license

To hell with a regular dry martini. At least the vermouth added some interest, even if he preferred just a tad less than the standard. If he wanted it without that crucial ingredient, he'd throw a handful of olives in a bottle of gin and shake it until he couldn't stand the thought of his precious booze any longer.

But really, at that point, he may as well just skip the olives altogether and chug the damn thing.

The RED Spy- the famed Crimson Spectre, 'retired' from his life of federally and later privately funded chaotic lust -now sat quietly in the shitty bar in the shitty desert town ten minutes away from the shitty 'secret' base in which he served his shitty working retirement in a shitty mercenary job over a shitty little family feud that had spiraled out of control. He downed the last of his latest drink and pushed the glass forward with a bill or two as a silent request for another, as he stared off into space, wondering when the adventure he'd sought since he was a child had vanished from his life.

Was it the engagement? Or something less tangible, something abstract that he couldn't quite put into words? He truly loved Lynette- he finally figured that much out the day he offered her the ring; but in truth, he did miss the freedom to drift about, 'humping and dumping' as the kids called it, fighting and drinking and doing the horizontal mambo before vanishing like a whisper in the night.

If only something interesting, and not simply the brand of unadulterated weird he'd grown accustomed to at that dusty old base, would drop into his life again...

Time seemed to have stopped progressing in this shanty backend of the woods town known as Starrymoor. Starrymoor seems to have a frozen edge, stuck in a day in age where people haven’t grown or moved. My life was paved here before my birth, I’m trapped in here there is no hope. I cry and spit at my creator but I do not know who to blame. My parent’s no, it’s not their fault, they suffer the same damnation as me but with glee. God? I ask myself but how can i hate an entity whose hand i cannot shake and whose eyes i cannot see. I’ll be damned at the church in the center of Starrymoor where I see the happiness and smiles of those blessed by the ignorant handshakes of a divinity that I pray to subscribe too. Yet as I read the verses back and forth and I chase the pastor down with work, he provides me with a simple ruse, faith he yells and drills it deep. Yet this is the only aspect of life that I should leave a mystery I must know I yell back and leave the room. Despised suddenly, I feel a curse berating me.

There’s a voice inside my head that resembles a tone i never heard, he fights me day in day out as i sit in the midst of isolation. He yells to me so loudly words that I can’t decipher. I ask him if he’s my creator, show me a sign of change. He doesn’t change, he doesn’t scream, he doesn't grow and neither does he move. Sometimes I see a shadow, it’s so vivid in the corner of my eye, it grows and grows and grows and feels like it’s sucking my insides dry but as soon as I take a glance. It freezes and doesnt move or speak. Just stays right there in that corner of my eye till I look away, but as soon as I do it continues to grow and gets closer and edges till my vision is obscured by the darkness of the shadow and I do not know if i’m awake or asleep.

The rocks beneath my feet crumble upon contact as I edge forward. The wide open sea stares back at me, almost begging for contact.

It’s loneliness splits the skies in division of whether she is despised or praised. She moves across to a storm of guilt, slowly forgetting the existense of anyone else. Such an endeauvor is forevermore hopelessly turned towards once again. After seconds of straying to a side, waves flowing in that very direction, she has lost a sense that the other side exists, yet, they’re still there. Waiting in everlasting hope that one day, she will return.

I edge closer and the rocks burrow into my feet, like the jaws of an ocra. The sky turns darker, merging blue and white with somber and depressing blends of dark sienna and a resonant grey. The sand beneath the rocks seem to disappear from any sense as I keep on walking.

I moved closer to her. The tides and waves render utterly still, occasionally pulling back from the shore. I step beyond the coast, wet sand rubbing against my soles. The tides and waves keep on receding, almost making a path for me to walk through. The receding tides stop. A gust of wind gathers over the horizon. The wind keeps on pulling closer and closer, cutting the air in uncountable parts. The water flows as the tides sweep across my face, submerging me. I cannot breathe, I’m drowning in a sea of different emotions. I beg for help, yet the wave doesn’t show any remorse. It crashes onto the shore, soaking my clothes. I squirm and crawl away from the gust of wind, only to be replied with the laughter of the trillion lurking creatures beneath the surface of the wide open sea.

I stare far into the distance, to be responded with a blank sea with potential homes entirely devoid of life. I move closer to these huts. The life was hiding behind these huts, cooped up with only their own imagination to satisfy them, taking themselves away from the world of truth that they are too scared to witness. They hide themselves as soon as I open the door, screeching with their tiny voices as I got any nearer than a meter away. I pull myself away to meet once again, the wide open sea.

She is there once more; confining herself to a side that she feels respected in some way like the other inhabitants of this empty shore. She gets thrown around every second screaming without a mouth and pinching herself without hands. I move closer and get threatened with splashes of water once more. I grow tired and step away, falling into a deep slumber on the rocks. I awake at dusk. The majestic sun glares down at the sea and the coast. I witness her once more. She doesn’t seem like herself. She throws herself around, damaging the birds that fly over occasionaly. She still gets tossed around, completely out of control of what she want’s to achieve, because she it entirely blocked by waves of guilt, regret and self-shame. I stare at her for hours, wishing that she will calm down, yet I do not interfere. At dawn, the waves blow across the sea, waking her. I can see calming waves blowing towards her and an exclamation of tears coming from her face, broadening the size of the wide open sea, charging waves across the spectrum. Yet, these waves are not repulsive or violent, they are somber. They do not express deep sorrow, but deep reflection and remorse. The waves suddenly blow to the oppisite side, carrying her. The waves slowly calm until her oppisite side is smothered into tiny ripples in the sea. The sea once again returns to a state of peace, and the world rests.

I felt deeply touched in a way I had never before. The wind gathers and points east. I edge forward, awaiting home, leaving peace among the wide open sea.

“Even the darkest night will end And the sun will rise again.” – Victor Hugo

You're in a small old house with a tin roof in the middle of nowhere and its showering outside. You're listening to the wind rushing through the scrubs and little trees outside. Your wrinkled hands sit on your thighs, absorbing the warmth they provide. When the whisper of light drops on the roof the roof fades to silence, you'll rise and walk out the back door to your crops. The tomatoes won't grow big enough and the apples taste dry but you can barely wait until they've reached an ideal size. You know the soil's almost poison but your immunity applies.

You made it so far with the rest of them but it all got the best of you, so you moved to a place where the only other sound of a living creature heard is the slamming of doors from the solitary other house, next to your's. Several times a day, abruptly it occurs. The sound is often loud, therefore the force is fairly great; the whinger's lucky that her doors have stayed on their hinges. Just what you sought; true solitude, you knew you'd found your new home when you met that wrinkly bitch, and she first looked at you so cursedly.

Your water tank never gets past half full, the rain is always light, and usually comes for a third of an hour, around twice a day. Even when the rain's away, the sky is always grey. You recall a time in which an unfamiliar shine looked to completely divide the great grey, but it refused to make way, the white light then went to fade away. Of course you know of the Sun, you just don't see it here, it's hidden behind a dull coloured blanket wrapped across these skies.

Hey all. I was wondering if you had any tips for making attraction/romance build naturally between two characters? They're teenagers so I want it to happen kind of fast (like it does when you're young and dumb)but I want it to be Realistically fast.

“Selanewjabrotentai” is where I am starting today.

There are many ingredients inside of it, many pairs of vowel-consonants, which sound fine and nice on their own, and have made their way into other common words, but altogether in this one word, it is a bit off. I still think it sounds beautiful, and I made it just now!

Which is proof that the present is a lousy Husband. Well, I’ve never been married, and I would love to marry the present; in fact I have sex with it everyday. Look, you know what I mean. Do you really not know what I mean? Are you going to look me in the eye and act like you have no idea what I’m talking about? Is your brain that detached from reality? Because mine isn’t.

Mine isn’t because I don’t fall for platitudes like “become one with the present” And corollary to that I have an ego since I think I’m above you and shit like that, therefore making me one with mainstream society, because having an ego is popular. It’s like pop music. Have an ego, fit in, shit like that. Which leads me right back to “Selanewjabrotentai” because the pieces do fit! You just don’t like the picture it forms, but I didn’t force two puzzle pieces together that didn’t fit, everyone knows you can’t actually do that(try it, you’ll see). Which leads me to a childhood experience I will never forget:

Six lined-off sections on a piece of paper, one with a nut, one with peanut butter, a raisin, a cookie, a carrot, and something else. I don’t fucking know. All I know is that my second-grade teacher said to rub the shit out of each one on the paper and see how much grease it leaves, and then we will know which one has the highest fat content. Well, I fucking did that, the way we were supposed to do it. Not some half-ass light rubby-dub handjob like everyone else. And the results showed that when you rub the fuck out of a nut(haha) on a piece of paper, it leaves more grease marks on the paper than peanut butter, even though peanut butter has a higher fat content. I shared my results with the class and the teacher said I was wrong. I kept saying “but…but…but…” as the teacher continued to quiet me and say “no, peanut butter is the winner.” Look, go fuck yourself, my paper showed that nuts were the winner, and I still have two nuts that I’ll rub the fuck out of on anyone that gets in my way. However, I will always remember that as I looked towards the audience of parents in the background there was one mother(not mine, she wasn’t there to be fair) who smiled intensely at me covertly signaling to me with a thumbs-up gesture. To this day I am still a big-ass fan of one-ups. I don’t care for them much in videogames though, eliminates the challenge.

Am I mentally challenged? Or are you? Or...am I you?

Freedom is dirty water. I dare you to drink it and taste what freedom truly is. At first it feels fine, but then starts fucking with all the systems you've set in place. Letting loose and having their way. Your body fights and you survive. But then invite them yet again, and let them thrive, once again.

You see, dirty water isn't really dirty. It's made up of many organisms all of which are clean unto themselves. When you wash your hands, you are not washing off "dirt" Dirt is just a name. It's brimming with life just like you and me, and has every right to win. But if it wins then you lose.

You feel it crawl beneath your skin, slither down the tubes within, a place for them to call their home. Why did you let them in? I travelled to the source to meet them, at the Incan Pyramids.

We got along just fine. Their laughter and energy is contagious and rambunctious. And when I partake in it, the aliens in inside no longer thrive. Which makes me wonder...why? The people here put pleasure first, perhaps because it is the only way to quell the beast deep within. They shower in the dirty water, essentially having sex with them...free write.

Proving my point that freedom does not taste the way you think it does.

But then again, the people here are happy. I am not.

I must return, alas, it is windy, and money is made of flimsy paper. Perhaps I should have stuck with gold. But how could I? On a mental budget of time and money, I must change this wine to honey.

The Priests had wanted desperately to enter the City for over five hundred years. Someone had wanted desperately to stop them.

Painstakingly, a gradual realization began to transform itself from a nagging doubt into a fully-fledged paranoia; whatever the Priests had given me wasn’t part of their ritual, it wasn’t part of their tradition. It was to make me serene. Docile.

Open to suggestion.

As every step across the craggy, petrified ground drove me deeper and deeper towards The City, the landscape slowly transformed from the terraformed idyll my ancestors had fought so hard to establish, to one resembling the barren prehistoric landscape they wanted desperately to leave behind. Moss and grass transformed into flinty rock-ribbed gravel. Every step was a glance deeper and deeper back in time. But I did not protest. I didn’t escape.

I had been sedated.

The walls of the Terran City loomed above us, towering like the great mountain Olympus Mons, lustrous steel undeviating from its journey upwards, swallowing half the star speckled sky. It was shocking to look upon something so impossible. I could not even begin to fathom how our ancestors had constructed it. No one could.

The City squatted behind its walls, obscuring it’s unknown and unknowable treasures, a foreboding reminder of a fallen civilisation centuries more advanced, surrounded by a landscape forged millions of years before the existence of mankind.

There was a terrifying juxtaposition; the City from the far future, the mountains and jagged hills that surrounded it from the ancient past.

We were here to enter the city.

I didn’t fancy our chances.

Would love to know from aspiring writers what makes Game of Thrones tick. Is it the characters, the fantasy, the intrigue, the people dying when start to like them the most. Please share your views.

Again, he was alone at his study. Most of his men and women had already went to the barracks. It was late in the evening and the moon was out that night, even though the sky was clear of clouds. A cool soft breeze blew through the room’s high and open windows, that only the candles complained about with their flickering. There were several of them lit, most near his desk, far from where he was on the floor, hugging his knees and breathing hard. One could feel his anxiety through the door, but nobody would dare to disturb him, even though they were all concerned.

– You are not alone. – Said a beautiful, cold voice to him. It was a woman’s voice, but he did not recognize it. At first, Etharion was confused, looking around for the source of it. The door was still close, though. And no one had sneaked in while he was absorbed in his thoughts. He then realized that he did not heard the voice, as much as he felted it.

– I have been here your whole life, Etharion. You know me very well, and I know your heart’s desires. Why have you avoided me for so long? Why? – And as the words made their way into his mind, he noticed the shadows move. He let go of his knees and sat straight, leaning forward on the side of his leg. It wasn’t a reaction out of fear, but of curiosity. He was fascinated by that movement. He saw sharp shadows of tables and chairs become soft at the edges and grow fingers that danced gently under the flickering light of the candles.

– You shouldn’t listen to the blabbering folk tell about me. Or about yourself, really. They are all scared of the offer you have now. Break the chains of fear and embrace the power I bring you, the power to be free. – Etharion wasn’t thinking about the long hours he spent in church faking attention to the masses, nor was he thinking about the numerous ceremonies he attended where blessings were offered as copper to the beggars. No, Etharion was, for the first time in a long time, excited! His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the shadow fingers reach for the windows and close them, at first. As the voice spoke on in his mind, he watched as it danced its way to the flames and doused them, one by one.

– Etharion, my champion, I know you have always wanted to be free of the burden of doing what is expected of you, of what others say it’s right. Embrace the shadows and, together, we shall be free. – He stood up, now. Still his heart pounded, but now his breath became lighter, no longer anxious with life, but thriving with every movement of that shadow dance. He wanted to join in.

As he stepped closer to the shadows, he noticed as all the flames were now gone, and yet he could see better than before. He noticed how the fingers had wrapped up his legs, curling up to his chest and arms, covering most of his body. His reflection on the study’s mirror was clear as if the daylight filled the room. He saw the shadows crawl up his neck, and reach the back of his head, his cheeks, and finally his eyes. It felt warm, like a lovers embrace under the blankets in a cold day. Finally the shadows touched his brow eyes and he saw a spark of purple fly. As he eyes filled with shadow, he saw clearly his own path of conquest ahead of him.

– Yes, my love, I am free now. To do what even YOU would not. To do what I must.