Micah Park Biffle

2022-03-09T12:30:00.001-08:00

Step Out!

Out,

Out from the gloom,

The obscure breath of doubt

Take stone, break thy yoke,

Let trouble fall, let shoulders be lifted,

Flow, to the heavens

Be but strain no more,

Open wide, thy mouth,

Let prayer fill thy tongue

Be parched no more.

Stillness in heart

Though seas roar like lions,

And beast snarl among mist,

Step,

Out!

To mercy of life,

Ease, be reborn.

Let no shackle of past

Be meaning for tear

Take hammer,

Fracture the cumbersome

Be feet of swift

Fill your days with strides,

Though dunes widen

And heat scorches thy soles.

Out,

Step out from thy fear,

There is another to call

To breach,

To reach your heart

Though thee be of man,

Let not thy eyes of flesh

Be the dealings of truth,

Wander,

In aspect to be whole

Be not the coward hidden in cave,

A creature curled

Like frightened doe,

For he walks beside thee,

Like king among his men,

A sword of greatness

Sways from his belt,

Ready,

To swing against thy enemies,

A presence more bold

Than all the stars of a pitch sky.

Be not a reliance of worries

Upon thy mind,

Be not a follower of man,

For he deals in bone,

Not spirit,

Do not walk in the dim

And bear courage by self

For single blade can be an end,

But soul can sway,

Heavens can persuade,

Come out,

From the parade of man,

Sing no more of sorrows

Led by lips of blame,

Let the heavenly be thy balm,

Tremble not,

Though thou walk far from the flame,

He shall be among you in darkness.

Be still, listen, there is a voice

A voice of grace to be had.

Out,

Step out!

From thy misery.

2022-03-03T11:41:00.003-08:00

I have been writting poetry on medium, does anyone still wish me to write short stories on here?

The Blameful Two

2019-05-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

The Blameful Two

The world broke as their hearts bled the shadows of their misery. Seeping upon the world, flooding with the scars of agony. Their eyes trembling beneath the moonlight as their blood stained hands shimmer.

Their lips sewn as each is caught in a lie. Both bare, exposed to their duality. Their curtains drawn thus unmasks the bodies they have slain. The skeletons of truth dragged through the spoils of deceit.

Each, unwilling to speak. Their cheeks flush in rose petals. Their skin taut to the anxiety of their arrest. They are now the victims of themselves and each the other.

Two hell's preached in the underbelly of their weakness. The fraudulent thought in avoidance of pain. And now they stand as nude as the beginning of life, Adam and Eve.

Shaking, they are without words. Silent, bearing only tears that fall to the blood soaked floors. The dark whirlpools of hypocrisy. Neither is without sin and neither is without murder.

Their souls weep dearly as they riot to escape. Stretching from the ribs, the silhouettes of their hearts scream. Faceless wounds banter in surrender. But neither is willing.

Their tongues twist to infatuation of ego.

Their words now flow from their mouths with rage. Their wrongs seek to eviscerate, to accuse the other. Their eyes now boil, their tears now yell along side them.

Their hearts remain silent as they are trampled by the fowl greed of self. Indulged these two, in their weakness. Their chains heavy and neither wishes to present the key for the other.

And so the shadows spring from the broth of their misery. And thus darkness consumes their pleading wings. The stage is set, bones quivering beneath their feet.

Ego 1 "It was you, you brought this upon us!"

Ego 2 " No, it was you, you who led us to this!"

Ego 1 pulls from their back a knife, "This, this is yours, the night you said you'd be home, but were out with them!"

Ego 2, pulls a knife from their back, "See this, this blade of selfish misery, you plunged it into my spine the moment you crawled beneath me. Only to have the scent of another!"

Ego 1, " It was your fault, you drew me to them. Your incessant need for my presence drove me mad. You were a leech upon my heart!."

Ego 2 weeps in heavy sorrow. Their back arches as they draw their eyes to the floor. "But…but I…I only wanted you to know I loved you….why did't you say anything? Why….why coax me to hang upon your lips like sugar? Only to savor me when you wish.

Ego 1 with eyes of crimson and lips of black, "I tried, I tried to be there for you. But I sought you out in ache of my own broken heart. I sought you for the void of my own emptiness and you…you are no innocence, you as well placed me upon your lips. Swelling your affectionate greed with every lick you had. I was nothing but the scratch to the itch that you could not scratch yourself."

Ego 1, "How dare you say that, you pushed me away and so I fell into another. They had ribs I could confide in. Eyes I could dream with and words I could consume."

The stage shrinks as the shadows dawn closer. The stench of bones and blood begins to thicken. Their voices begin to shrink as their sins find no repentance. They streak their bodies with blame and walk with eyes against their feet.

Ego 1, with their spine crooked and head tilted in twisted fashion with their eyes dulling in color, "I….I…I never meant to hurt you but you suffocated me. You drenched me in your obsession like a child to its doll. Dragging me by the arm where ever you go. Who would not go mad in that, who would not wish to turn away and run?" Ego 1's tongue flops from his mouth like loose rope.

Ego 2, "I only wanted you to feel loved. But I guess I was wrong. Maybe I needed you less and me more. But you never let me speak. You only broke me down. You left me feeling as if I was nothing more than a fleeting moment and you were waiting for me to fade. It was you who drove me to this. " Ego 2 reaches to their back and plucks from it another knife.

Each drowning in their suffering of their souls. Life weighs heavy as their lies come to words yet spoken as truths. Ego 2, with an arched back, eyes to the bones and knife in hand.

Lunges with blind rage toward ego 1.

Ego 1, crooked in spine and soaked in deceit struggles to move. But pulls from its back a knife. And it too lunges in blind rage. The sound of souls scream, the crackling of bones crushed beneath their feet echoes. As the sound of splashing blood swirls about the stage.

Their steps as rapid as that of a rolling stone. And without any thought, they plunge each other with a knife, but this time in the gut. Their breaths instantly shallow. Their eyes entwine as their tears now fall in the gasps of death.

Blood curdles from their mouths as their lungs collapse. Their eyes now fall as pitch as their shadows. And their souls, their souls fall to the crimson floors, lost to the skeletons they never shared.

- -

How much pain can we cause another?

We are what we think, Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, Instagram

One's character is open to change,

I Had Forgotten

2019-05-13T10:48:00.001-07:00

I Had Forgotten

Red smoke plumes in the air. A brilliant, yet daunting sky of clouded crimson thickens the sky in sheets of billowed cotton. It rises with no sense to stop. The atmosphere frightens, yet heightens the senses with a strange tingle of pleasure.

We are losing our homes to the natural order. Yet I am not taken by tears, but by an odd joy of entertainment. For too long have I adhered myself to these pieces of physical wealth. Yes, through struggle, persistence and consistent efforts I have dawned myself with such rewards.

But for too long now, I have forgotten the path I had been taken. I had forgotten the many beads of sweat I spewed from the exhaustion to gain such things. I had forgotten the lonely misery I had fought. I forgotten the friends that lifted me, the moments that tore me down only to bring me higher.

I had forgotten the delicacy of a flower. The aromas of nature the beauty within myself and the beauty so naturally displayed around me. So much has slipped through my fingers as I had blinded myself in a tiresome grip to gather more.

To achieve such brilliance of wealth I would want no more.

And want no more I did. But like the fool who is given all without effort. I had gave all without listening. I had reached a pinnacle point of my sky. I could see the earth as the moon sees it. I could touch and see what I please.

I could walk where I wish, fly where I wish, and speak how I wish without the fear of others. Yet I drowned myself in the efforts, I drowned myself in the daily work ups of my design. Letting the oceans fade to the mountains. Letting the mountains fade to the clouds and letting my foot steps be washed by the sea.

As these fires blaze and take rewards of efforts, of tears, suffering and the aches of my cross. I fear not, for I have fought to gain myself the ability to survive such flames. Though I lost myself in the ego of work. I never let myself be the fool of my dollar, nor the fool of my ego.

But I did become the fool of my stress, thinking there is always more. Thinking there is not enough to pleasure the works of my hands, my mind. I became void of subtle comforts, of sweet things. I became a statue to recognize but a figure to forget.

I had forgotten impact, character, rising when others fall and lifting them up. I had forgot the touch of the sun in a cool morning. I forgotten the stars that lay gently upon darkness. I had forgotten the rain the replenishes, the music the serenades, and the love that I hold.

So has these flames burn, the sky turns of blood and the clouds boil from heat. I am reminded that there is destruction no matter your strength. There is disaster no matter your living and beauty, no matter the peace.

I am reminded of this. I am reminded to stop for the quiet pleasure, the leisure moments of laughter. The passerby that smiles, the child that giggles at the simplest of things. I am reminded there is more to me, more to us, more to these homes than from which they came from. There is more to everything than what we see.

But I had forgotten the change I had brought. The wonders I had built and the darkness I had escaped. So with these vicious flames I let go of the loss, planting my feet upon old steps, looking back. Looking to the reflection of my soul and step away. Taking to the journey that shall be opened for me by the hands of these flames.

Let the charred remains be the death of an ego and the rising of an angel. The death of agony and the birth of joy. The sealing of the old and the awakening of the new. For I had forgotten myself through the treasures of my efforts.
--
Do not forget to see what you already have. Do not forget where you came from or where you are headed. Be patient, be consistent, and be you.

Take each step as if it shall be your last but do not act as if you are not allowed to rest.
A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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A Wanderers Inn

2019-05-13T10:48:00.000-07:00

A Wanderers Inn

I have been traveling for thirty days. My horses are weak and I thirst dearly for water. My belly aches as hunger constricts my gut. I am fearful of death in such an unsuitable way. I have always seen myself dying in daring act of life.

Be it in war or the saving of a child. Or maybe, even in the defeat of a dragon as I get one last blow with my blade before it strikes me down and it falls to its death beside me. Feeling its last breath of heat roll over my body as our eyes see only our fading souls.

I have always thought my death would be glorious. Yet here I am, traveling alone with no more rations, nor water. My horses no longer walk with fervor but lackadaisical steps. And so I pray to find shelter before the cold takes us. Before the empty plains of barren trees and darkness finds us.

I wish not to be detritus before my days. Decaying slowly to the maggots as my body lays helpless upon the earth. Becoming a gruesome vision of what lies inside. But here I am, hanging by a thread like a silk worm before becoming prey to the cruel fangs of a snake.

Shrieking out in horrible pain as the body viciously contorts in panic to escape. Only to fail as the poison seeps into the body with ease. Laying dormant the mind and mumbles of hope crumble from the mouth.

Oh dear, how I wish not to be such a victim to an end. How so eagerly I wish to be victorious in my death. To live a life so wild that no day goes without gratitude. Without the triumph of a smile and caring touch of love.

But here I am, walking blind through a land desolate to anything I have seen. And my mind is so quick to play tricks. To twist the narrative to the naive wills of surrender. To hoist the white flag and let it be known I cease motion.

But such a death is not mine. And such weak and frail acceptance has no place in me. Not even if my tongue falls from me and my voice is no more. So here I be, a traveler seeking more than the doorstep of his own home.

But lost I be now, falling short of my confidence to guide my wandering heart. But there is no need to fret, for I see something, I see a house. A home, standing erect in the pasture of dead trees. Ah yes, a roof, maybe even a bed to rest upon!

I steer my horses to pick up speed. I can see the detail of the home as we near it. unfortunately the details are poor, dull. Abandoned like an unfinished painting. But I do not shy away for even a home with no bed is better than a cold night beneath a winter storm.

And lucky be the horses, for there stands a trough just in front of the home. And already it is filled to the brim from rain. There is some silt that lingers in it. But nothing the horses cannot bear, I see no infestation of insects either.

I let them drink as I approach the home. Its door, rotted, hanging by a single hinge. The knob is rusted, an earth red crusts upon it. I grip it and as I do, gritty flakes fall from it like dead flesh. At first the door does not move and so I thrust my body into it.

It falls open and the hinge gives way and I lose my balance. Plummeting to the ground I give out a grunt and hit the ground. And the clumsy fool I am, I cut my hand on a nail that sprouts from the door frame. The cut is deep enough to cause concern and so I seek immediate attention to it.

I stand up and begin to search the home for aid. But the house is empty, all that remains is furniture and a few ragged pairs of male clothing. So, I take one of the old pieces of clothes and tear a chunk from a shirt.

I wrap it tightly around the wound. It eases the pain enough to focus back on the home. I look to decide where I shall rest. And there is a room with a small bed and mattress. Not the most eloquent of mattresses. But none the less, it shall be better than the hard surface of my carriage.

I quickly remove myself from the home and place my limited supplies inside and the few blankets I have I place them on the bed. After covering the bed, I check on my horses, they are well covered in their wool's and are well hydrated.

A few minutes later after adjusting my surroundings, I lay myself upon the bed. I fall asleep with ease. A few hours go by and I am awakened by a thunderous storm. I shoot up from my bed and dash outside to see my horses.

But tragedy has struck and three of my four horses have been killed. They were struck by lightening, a very unfortunate scenario. I take my heart to sorrow and weep as I care for the remaining horse. I begin to feel stranded, a hopeless wanderer left to the destruction of nature.

But I do not give in, I remain here at the house for another week. I hunt and gather what food I can and in my survival I find a small watering hole or, rather a pond down the way. A few moments to boil and the water is clear for drinking.

Thirst and hunger are no longer my fear and I can gracefully say I have another day to create the profound life that shall lead me to my glorious death or to my dream. Remaining her becomes quite the unexpected change.

Turns out, I am not the only lost traveler that seeks out shelter down this way. For after one week of stay, two other travelers came by seeking shelter. And with the graces of my kindness I gave them shelter. Hospitality towards others was taught to me.

I do not have much to offer, but many times we travelers only seek the warmth of a roof and a moment of company. And as the days expanded so did my fortune. A month went by and many travelers have come and gone. Many whom have graced me with gifts, from money to supplies for the home.

And as time passes this place is not only my home, but a place for those seeking shelter. Those seeking for a place to rest before setting out to conquer. To contribute not only to their souls but others.

There is much I have learned from those that have passed through these doors. Some things good and some things bad. All something to learn. And so here resides I, a traveler once lost, out to find his purpose.

And like the clumsy fool I am, I stumbled upon it finding it before I ever found it. And in my last years of my life I find no regrets. For I have brought many smiles to those that found the White Rose inn.
---
Do you expect things from your life that you feel need to happen?
Is it the searching for it or, the mere act of doing that finds you your passion
Your love of life?

A Man's Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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The Moles Never Learn

2019-05-08T18:30:00.000-07:00

The Moles Never Learn

I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt.

As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it.

I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing.

My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation.

I am comfortably wrapped for a day trip, but the sun is falling. And the temperature will be frightfully unforgiving and I can't say my clothes will do me much justice against its bitter breath.

I scan the horizon looking for anything familiar, but I see nothing. Nothing but snow for miles, not even a mountain breaches from the earth. My heart begins to show signs of worry as I can feel it pacing faster.

I try to calm it with concentrated breaths. Last thing I want to do is tire myself out through pointless worry. So, as I breathe deliberately I think of sunny meadows and beaches. Places to keep my mind at ease as I watch the sun sink.

I have only a couple hours before I become gripped in the tundra. My breathe is already becoming thicker by the moment. I can see it almost freezing as I exhale. My face is already feeling numb but I do not worry about that.

I always keep a scarf tucked away in my jacket just in case of the wind decides to surprise me on one of my daily walks. I pull my black scarf from my pocket and wrap it snugly on my face. I am instantly taken by the warmth of my head.

"Ha, my friends can't make fun of me now for the scarf, this thing is probably going to be the reason I don't lose my nose. " I think to myself as I snug my hands beneath my arms. I continue on trudging through snow.

One step at a time trying to enjoy the joyful sound of snow crunching beneath my feet. But that only works for so long. Two hours into walking and it is colder than it was before. The winds start to pick up and I am doing my best to follow the stars above.

From the looks of it, if I keep heading this way I am bound to hit my town or a neighboring one. That is if I am even still back home. I have only lived here for six months so I am not one for the navigation of these lands. Practically still unfamiliar with at least three hundred square miles.

Being a geologist I should have known these lands by now. But six months was the longest I was to remain here. And my research was only to figure out why the earth was heating up beneath a town just twenty kilometers from where I'm staying.

There is no volcano, no tectonic plates. Nothing that would generate such heat beneath the earth. Maybe a sink whole that once was a volcano? Hell, at this point I don't care. Only job is to make it back alive.

The sun is now basking just at the edge of the horizon. Its hazel orange hue is the last piece of beauty I'll see. Soon, it'll just be me and the stars and but eventually I won't have the luxury of enjoying their gem like beauty.

Walking I start to feel a pain my side, not a pain one gets while running...definitely not a side ache. Something worse, I cease my walking and inspect the pain. I reach under my jacket on my right side. As I slide my hand up I come upon a very tender and nerve shocking area.

Touching whatever is causing this pain, sends a needling agony through my entire body. I almost collapse but I do my best to remain standing. I remove my hand quickly and pull my jacket and other layers further up, I peer my head over the layers of clothes and there I see a wound.

A wound that appears to be a stab wound. I've never been stabbed before and what the hell happened? I must've still been in shock or my body was too cold to feel the pain? Surprisingly the cold air is some what pleasing to the wound. But my body becomes too cold quickly.

Any longer and my skin will surely gain the unwelcome company of frost bite. The wind is now becoming wild. It's forcing itself now from the south side, behind me. It is making it difficult to not fall forward.

The evening is now taking hold the land. The moon light and stars is all I have. And now, I see no further than one or two miles. The winds are starting to throw snow around and I am beginning to lose my sense of direction.

The stars are becoming difficult to see. And I must keep my face buried in my clothes as best I can. Losing my eyes is not something I want. And now that I have some sort of wound in my side I am once again on the ship of confused worry.

I do my best to stay focused as the weather is only going to get worse. On the bright side, the wound is not bleeding. Guess that's the plus side to waking up in the cold walking in a lost tundra. It's like living ice in the air.

The wind howling, the sky dimming further to the brashness of the weather I huddle myself tighter and tighter from the cold. My body is beginning to shiver. I can even feel myself slowing down to the exhaustion of walking.

As I try my way home my mind is somehow becoming clear of what happened. I am getting glimpses of being in a plane with three other people. I can't quite make out who they are or why I am seeing such a memory.

But something about it does not feel right. The temperature has now dropped well below freezing. It is damn cold, past the point where keeping track of such temperature is pointless. I am starting to lose feeling in my hands and feet.

Even my legs are struggling to keep sense of walking. The snow is only becoming more icy. Causing it to extreme difficulty to navigate through. I am having to cover my entire face with my scarf time to time. To allow my eyes to keep warm.

I keep looking up at the stars and momentarily form time to time I get a short glimpse of them. I can still recognize them enough. I can see that I am headed in the general direction I want.

Further and further I walk and more and more memories start to pop up. I can see myself running to a plan. Possibly the one I was in? I feel a sense of urgency and fear from the memory. As if something or someone was after me.

I look to my watch and it has been four hours and still no sign of anything. I am losing hope but I will keep walking till I can't anymore. Hopefully this weather is too frigid for any animals. I would be quite the snack.

I can feel that my boots are now slugged in water. So much for water proof boots. My fingers are tingling and my teeth won't stop chattering. Starting to feel the signs of shock wanting to settle in. I speed up the best I can to generate warmth. It helps enough to keep me from falling into delirium.

Another thirty minutes goes by, there is no chance of seeing the stars any more. I can't even see the moon. Now, I am really beginning to lose hope. I am no survivalist, (memories of hiking play through my mind) I may have hiked a lot but this is nothing. Weather like this I would surely hunker down during a hike.

I realize I have not checked my pockets for anything. The cold and keeping awake is all I have thought about. I flounder my numbing hands through my pockets. Shivering rapidly it makes it hard to unbutton my pockets.

"Damn buttons, who the hell puts buttons on a snow jacket...."

I become successful on after a few tries per pocket. But I find nothing. No phone, no maps....nothing. My flicker of hope had rose from the seeming demise ahead only to be smothered in an instant. But I keep my mind forward and my steps going.

Forty-five minutes drag by and just as I feel myself drowning to the howls of the wind and snow. I hear something, I hear the sputtering of a diesel engine and what sounds like a voice calling out. I freeze my motion.

I carefully remove my hood fighting the biting wind to listen. I listen for about a minute before the cold becomes too bitter. But I could hear what I heard. But the wild winds makes it tough to discern where the sounds are coming from.

But I do my best and respond to the voice. I send out a few yells accompanied by some hoots to mimic an owl. I remember reading something about that, if ever lost hoot like an owl. The sound I guess carries the best.

I try a few more times and on the third set of responses I believe I have made contact. I keep sounding off as well as they do. I hear them drawing closer as I remain still. Feeling the snow pile up around me.

After several minutes I can almost clearly hear them. They sound no more further than twenty meters. I hear them yell out, and they are yelling out my name.

"Samuel!....Samuel...where are you?! Samuel, is that you?!"

The howling wind tries so hard to drown us out but I fight back. "Yes! Yes...it's me..It's Samuel."

I never felt so relieved in my life. I feel rejuvenated in mind and body. Everything in me heats up like a flame inside my body. I call out again and we find each other. They peer through the snowy wind like a misty ghost.

We converge together in an embrace. Its my colleague John Row. We hug for only a few seconds as he urges me that we must get out of here. He guides me back to his snow-cat and we board it. Inside is two other gentleman. I do not recognize them but drive myself with no concern.

I am happy just to be out of the horrible weather. I remove my hood and scarf and say, "Thank god you found me, I probably would have died if you didn't find me."

John leans back from the driver seat and says, "Glad to have you back buddy." He smiles and starts to drive.

I look over at the gentleman sitting next to me and then to the one in the passenger seat. "Hi, I'm Samuel Rinds, and you guys are?"

Both the men, emotionless look at me and the one in the passenger seat says in a Russian voice, "I am Boris and this is Verge." As he points to the gentleman next to me. Both I can tell are not researches of any kind.

They are built well with stern faces. Faces you would probably find on soldiers. I look to each of them one more time, trying my best to act okay. "Nice to meet you Boris and Verge, I appreciate your help."

They say nothing and go back to their silence. John then starts to ask me what happened and how I got out there. I tell him I can't remember, that the only thing that pops in my head is running to a plane and then being inside one.

John looks from the rear-view at me, "So you remember nothing, nothing at all?"

I look at Boris and Verge with suspicion. "Yea, I don't remember much apparently, by the way, how did you find me?"

John silent for a moment...."We took a guess on your flight pattern and where you possibly could have crashed. Got really lucky..."

Inspecting my situation Verge leans toward the window to look outside and when he does I see the muzzle of pistol peer from his jacket. I keep calm and start to ask questions. "So Boris and Verge, where you guys from?"

Verge peers back from the window and with his dark eyes and deep accent he says, "I am from Ukraine and Boris, Boris is a my brother, we grew up together..."

"Well that is interesting, what brought you....and your brother here?" I ask with intrigue to dig deeper as Verge's response was not quite solid. His accent did not sound Ukrainian to me, neither did Boris's. More Russian than anything.

"Boris responds while looking forward, "We are here for research."

I reply, "Research, what kind?"

John interrupts my clear interrogation, "Hey Samuel, there is some hot tea and cold water in the cooler there."

I look around and there in the middle of me and Verge is a cooler. I open it and pull out a bottle of water, open it and take a drink." Damn, I needed that...(I take another drink.) Thanks!"

We've only been driving for about twenty minutes till we hit what appears to be some sort of research post. "Whoa, I was this close to running into you guys?! What the hell, man, yea, you guys got super lucky with finding me."

John, "Yea we did, thanks to Boris and Verge."

I look to Boris and Verge," What did you guys do and oh, you guys have any idea what this might be from, I can feel the pain coming back."

I lift my jacket and show them my wound, John looking from the mirror and Boris and Verge examine it as well, "Whoa! What is that from? That looks bad!." Johns says as his eyes express otherwise.

Boris, "Looks like injury from crash maybe?"

I glance my eyes briskly across all three of them, "Yea, you're probably right. From a crash. But I really need it checked out its really starting to hurt."

John, "We'll get you all cleaned up here in a minute. Let me park this thing and take you to medical."

Johns eyes glance over at Boris for second.

"Okay cool, thanks man. And thank you guys again for finding me. What did you guys do exactly to help?" Looking at Boris and Verge.

Verge grabbing the door handle as we park, "We use heat map...see."

Verge leans over pulling an Ipad from his jacket. "We use software to find you heat, like this." He types in very precise coordinates and the four of us pop us. He points to the screen, "See, that is us."

Looking over the heat map, "But don't those only work when you are at least within a hundred yards of the coordinates you want?"

Everyone in the snow-cat becomes pensive with energy. John opens his door, "Lets just get you all patched up." John exits the vehicle.

Boris opening his door, "Yes, patched up my friend."

Verge puts away the Ipad and exits the vehicle but as he does I quickly brush up his jacket and snag his pistol from his holster and cock it. A round flies out the chamber and lands on the cooler. The sound of the pistol caulking grabs everyone's attention.

Holding the pistol and aiming it at Verge, "Now what kind of researcher carries a forty-five on him?"

Verge with a witty comeback and nerves of still, "Keep safe from bears?"

I laugh a bit, "This ain't going to do anything but piss off the bear. Now tell me what is going on. And John, get back in the vehicle right now. "

John, "Come on Sam..."

I interrupt him sternly, "Get back in now!"

John steps back in the vehicle reluctantly. "Now what?"

"Close the door start the engine and when I say go, you go"

John starts the engine, Boris and Verge step slowly from the vehicle, Verge has his arms up but Boris, his are still at his waste. I keep aimed the pistol at Verge but direct my eyes slowly to Boris. As I do I see a quick jolt from Boris's right hand. I fire off two shots passing between the door frame and seat.

It wasn't difficult to hit a man who is at least six-five and two hundred and fifty pounds. One round hits him in the chest and one in head. He falls instantly. Verge tries to run but his bulked body allows for a slow start. I fire three rounds into him.

Two in the back one in the head. He falls, we sit and wait for a second.

John panicking, "What the hell Sam..what the hell are you doing?"

I shift myself to john and aim the pistol at him and with a calm stern voice, "Just drive just....go" I kick the back of the seat and he starts to drive. I cross over to the other side and close both doors of the snow-cat.

I remain to the right back passenger seat keeping aim at John. "You aren't going to do anything stupid are you?"

John nervously shakes his head and says, "No, but what the hell Sam? Why did you do that, you know who they are?"

I ease my posture a bit, "Yes, I do and no thanks to you John I almost died. Why the hell would you follow them? They were building nuclear devices right under our nose on our own soil. I really liked you John I really did. But then you had to go and be a spineless scientist."

John concerned and confused, "Spineless, I had no choice, they were going to kill my family if I leaked the information and you just wouldn't stop investigating what it was. Everything was fine till they sent you over."

Looking out the window for a brief moment, "John, did you ever find it strange that after two years of research from the government that they decided to send me. You sent them all the reports they requested but never sent them the ones they needed. They played dumb for a bit till they were right that you were hiding information. Now here I am, to clean up your mess."

John, now sweating from his brow with his black leather gloved hands gripped tightly while steering, "I didn't know this was going to happen. I stumbled upon this whole pile of shit while doing tests for possible new oil drilling. But I found all this instead. What was I supposed to do, let them kill my family?"

Keeping aimed my pistol, "I can't blame you for that, but you put the whole country at risk. A damn nuclear massacre was underway. And for them to be where they are, well, my guess is we have a mole. And John, I am sorry to say, but you're that mole. I always feel sorry for you moles. You play tough, pushing your buttons and your lies. But the moment you get in the corner. You just dig yourself a hole till you have no where to go and no one wants you."

John slowly moving his left hand out of view, "How do you even know all this, your memory was gone?!"

I smile, "Well, that's the funny thing about temporary amnesia, memory is only lost for so long. And I remembered the moment we hugged. Shooting my plane down was a big mistake. You tried to kill me, if you didn't I would have just handed you over to the government to set you in a nice cell for the rest of your life. Or, at least till they got what they wanted. Now I have to kill you, and those people in the plane were innocent. They were just a couple living their dream. Our transportation John, like what the hell man. Guess you moles are heartless. And by the way, they never were going to kill your family. Government already has them. They had them six months ago. Oh, and this blood on my head, that's on you. That's the pilots wife on me. Hope you feel good about that. I mean, damn, I've done some shit, but killing a married couple with a family, when all you had to do is ignite the device in me I would have died. Or just wait till I landed, not hard to track a plane John. Oh that's right, the device was only a tracker, I switched it out. The night after you implanted in me. See, I don't get drunk John, I was quite awake when you implanted me."

John swiftly reaches down to his left, I fire a shot grazing his right shoulder. "Don't do it John, unless you never want to see your family again."

John in agony, "But...agh...you said you were going to kill me!"

"Just a threat to keep you listening, I am not here to kill you, I am here to run the Russians out and take over their project. But I sure as hell will make it so you can't walk anymore. So don't do anything stupid."

John grunting in pain keeps the vehicle moving till we hit the city. I have him park just outside a hospital. I grab some rope from the tow kit and tie his hands down to the steering wheel. I hide the pistol in my jacket and sneak my way through the hospital and grab some supplies and return to the vehicle. I have John drive to the city movie theater. I patch myself up as we drive.

We both keep to ourselves as we make our way. After ten minutes we arrive at the theater, I tell him to park behind the theater. His hands still tied to the vehicle I help him place it in park and take the keys. I exit the vehicle and turn to John and say,

"It's always the cocky ones that think they won't get caught. Everyone gets caught, it's just a matter of time till you run into someone bigger than you. I'm sure at some point I'll meet that person as well, until then, good bye John." I smile at John, shut the door and walk to a blacked out Suburban. I enter the vehicle and sit in the passenger seat and look to John. A squad of agents exit a second Suburban and surround him and pull him from the vehicle.

Staring out the tinted window, I say to the driver "Look at that, his face is already tearing up. Lets get out of here."
--
What secretes are our enemies hiding on our land?

Keep your heart to the truth, you'll live better, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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The Harbor Beast

2019-05-06T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Harbor Beast

There we stood at the harbor, our weapons drawn. Our hundreds of ships shredded like veal to the tortures of a fork. Screams of men echoed through the thickly laid fog. Every man's heart beat could be heard that day.

Our bayonets branded upon our guns. Others stood with swords drawn, but what good were they? What good were any of us?

The desolation that floated among the harbor waters, was as if the wrath of god had rained down, and it was teaming with horrors. You could hear the screams of men vanish to silence as if death had rose from the water.

And the most haunting thing of that day still rests in my head like a scar upon the flesh. One of my men, my own son, aboard the ship I was designated for had swam to the very dock we stood upon. But as I and other men tried to save him, something took him. Something powerful, something beyond our eyes.

In one foul second we lost our grip and he was taken under with ease. His face pale with fright, I watched as it was plunged to depth too dark to see. And like a ghost in the night his face forever haunts me.

We tried our best, but it was not enough. The beast was powerful and we were but men. Soldiers meant to defend against other soldiers. Not this, not this creature of Hades. This nefarious hound released from the gates of hell.

What did it want? Why us, why did it devour us so?

Will we ever know, I cannot say?

But on that day, I shall never forgive myself for my men were slaughtered and I lived. The beast never chose me. It never grasped me in its long dark arms. It never took me to the bowels of its gut. I watched as it tore my men apart as if we were tender meat.

The echoes of breaking bones, the screams of dying men and the shrilling shriek of the beast is forever in me. I fought, we all fought, we fought till none of us remained....but I.

What purpose did this creature bring? What have I done to deserve such a forgiving ending?

Was its stomach full? Did it suffice its eclipse for its craving of a massacre? Or were we just ill fated by god? Did our sins flow too heavily from us and stain the heavens above?

I cannot say. But that day was dark, a dreadful spectacle of how feeble we are. Our minds are much against that which cannot be understood, nor seen. Yet we stumble about as if we are the rulers of this spinning stone.

We may be at the top, but as quickly as we are born the ravages of the unknown can snuff us like two moist fingers in the strangling of a burning wick.

The fog that day, it was dense beyond what I had ever seen in my ten years assigned to this harbor. It was quiet just before the nightmare unraveled. I paid it no mind as the birds all denounced their usual thrones and flew south.

Maybe it could have played out differently, but I had wished our ship to sail. To find new lands, my eagerness for my own objective had got us killed. It was my choice to sail beside the others. We could have stayed behind. Been in the quarters of our beds.

At least some may have survived then. Or maybe, it was inevitable and until all were murdered but I and that the beast would have remained?

What it was we may never know. But its long black arms at least eight or, even more, like the end of snake whipped, smashed, desolated our ships, our men.......my men. Demolishing our harbor as if it were but a tick upon the neck.

It wasted my men and all the others. Even our general was taken under. A man of twelve voyages. He had seen everything or, so I thought. But not even he saw this coming. Not even the eerie dead silence of the morning harbor alerted him.

Even the harbor waves were as still as glass. As if the beast had control of the ocean, control of the currents, the winds, the fog. Its shrilling shriek would resonate from the fog with such terror. Your ears would ring and your nerves would quiver.

It was invisible to us. It could see through the thick breath of the mountains but we could not. It could hear us from afar. Reaching at least a two hundred yards inland. It knew which buildings to strike first.

Where our alert systems were, our sentries that kept watch. It swept them all away before we even knew. And then, as I stood loading the last barrel of water. I stepped off the ship to help out my men with the loading of our rations.

And by whatever hand of god played that day, it wished me not upon that ship at that moment. For when I reached to gather my hands upon the edges of the first bag of rice. The splitting of our ship sounded with great devastation.

My men aboard howled in fright. The rest of the ships be heard at the hand of destruction. Like a blind man to the world I could only listen. Hoping for an answer, for someone to speak. But there was no voice, no reasoning, no commands, no procedure for such atrocity.

We thought it our enemies at first. But there were no cannons, no echoes of commanding voices in the fog. And no such man made device could cause such mayhem in such little time. But we all stood and fought, fought like fools.

Blindly shooting our rifles into the fog. Praying we do not hit our own men. But worry not, for as the fog dissipated against the rising sun, so did the beast. And among the harbor waters, every ship lay torn. Crushed, shattered like glass.

And not a single man was left alive, not even upon the shore but I. I was saved by the beast, it had swung upon one of my men and as I saw its unholy arm from the rolling fog I jumped to plunge my bayonet in it.

I was successful in planting my blade into its flesh. But it had grabbed the soldier I tried to save as it swatted me to the far sands of the harbor. Only a few seconds went by and I caught my breath but it was too late.

By the time I ran back it was gone and the harbor waters were clouded in blood, the shore was a massacre of slayed soldiers and the sky was glaring a golden sun. My ribs were broken and left leg fractured.

And here I stand now before you all, telling you the story of , the Ghastly Harbor Beast .
---
Love me a good mythical creature story.

Some times the horrors of life will stain the soul, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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The Council

2019-05-02T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Council

I stood in the door way as Count Dreygon lit the candles. His long neck stretching over the wax hugged wicks. Lifting a match so carefully as not to disturb the flame even the slightest. It was odd, how he wished us to be in silence the moment we reached this cathedral like structure.

Our conversation prior had extended from his stead to the very entrance of the building. Before we entered, he turned from the door way placing his index finger upon his lips in gesture to keep silent. I had no reason to not agree nor be concerned. As I had agreed to meet those that had helped him to obtain a position among the council.

His mentors, I was told. And I, one with ambition to be a part of the council was willing to do as Count Dreygon asked. So my ambition and curiosity have drove me to this very chapter of my life.

As I stand in the doorway, a draft of wind soars into the building with what feels like the need to be noticed. The wind is strong enough to force my jacket to ripple. I quickly turn to shut the door and once I do I turn back to Count Dreygon and there he stands.

His conniving eyes of midnight glare upon me with disapproval, as the flames of the candles are bent to the winds will. I quickly shun myself with a face lathered in an apologetic sense as the door latches shut. My shoulders slightly shrugged in submission to Count Dreygon.

The last thing I want to do his lose the company of Count Dreygon. As unsightly as he is and as dreadful a personality he carries. He is the key to my success to gaining a seat at the council. We may not share every view congruently. But we assuredly both want one thing in common.

And that, is too keep all others unalike from our seats. We neither wish, nor want any others of another party to settle upon our chairs. We have fought hard, most definitely crookedly, but we fought none the less.

And for the right reasons. For without people like Count Dreygon or the others. Who would bring the gifting of such wealth. Such abundance upon its people? We know well as we have been educated and brought from the shelters of politics.

We are as you could say, the rightful owners of such. We give our people roam of their will as we give roam to beasts in the jungle. But we do not allow them truth, but we do allow them their truth, our truth, for truth is but a bitter flavor upon the tongue and only drudges the people in self animosity. Truth is merely subjective depending on where one stands. Truth shows the blood beneath the nails and no none want to be viewed in such.

So it is our duty to keep veiled the people. For we are the real truth, we follow the rights of our hearts. The feelings of our souls, for no man should be bound to the legislation of law unless they wish to. But yet, we must have law to an extent, laws that abide to all that keep us all in line. Sheep, and we are the shepherds.

People of poverty know of no such understanding. They have beard no stress of legislative duties. They have never carried ink across curling scrolls as we have. The burden of such is great and so we do our best to make such ink a parent to the weak. We wish them not to wonder without parental advisory.

We are the virtue that needs to be upon this land. We shall make it so!

Count Dreygon, his back arched at such a height casts a ghastly shadow upon the wall. I look to it as he reaches out to draw me in. His shadowed arm tethers like a demons, its claws, skin taught, and bones visible.

But in my slight of fear I jolt my eyes back to the Count and follow the command of his wish. I follow him past the candles on our right as we make way down this chilled hall. Pillars of light grey, like smoke, grasp to the ceiling with formidable presence of power.

Every twenty feet is a pillar as wide as five barrels of whiskey. They stand to at least fifty feet high. They form to an arch, connecting to each other in the middle embraced by large sculpted hands. As if the pillars are the dead reaching from graves.

My eyes are dawned in such detail as I look about. The chilled hall comes to an end. We reach a door, a single door. No wider than two people side by side. Above it hangs the sculpted head of a goat with a chiseled necklace around its neck.

Its too high up to catch the detail. But the goats mouth hangs open with a small hand extending from where its tongue would be. It has two horns that curl from its head for a foot or two. I pay it no mind as my heart is anxious to meet those who will hopefully welcome me.

Count Dreygon places his aged hand upon the metal ring of the door. He pulls with all his strength and as he does, a gust of wind shrills from the other side like shrieks of ghosts. A ghastly feeling overcomes my body. A quick shiver overtakes me.

Count Dreygon sees my cold shiver and with his tight curdling voice he asks, "Are you okay Simon?" While he remains motionless with his hand still gripped to the door as if I respond contradictory to what he wants to hear, he shall shut me out.

So I look to him with confidence and respond, "Yes Count Dreygon, I am quite alright." I nod my head to affirm my answer.

Count Dreygon, pulling the door open, "Very well, you may enter...after you." He presents his hand before the opened door as to welcome me.

I look through the entrance and I see nothing but pitch. A darkness so dark that not even sound could penetrate. I look at Count Dreygon and make my way passed him and enter into the pitch. As I do, I hear the closing of the door behind me.

I swing around to look but I see nothing. Not even a splinter of light breaks from the door. Then, I feel a hand settle upon my shoulder and a whisper in my ear, "No need to be frightened Simon. It is merely show to see if you are worthy. We don't care for those that reject the darkness."

Lightly startled, "Oh, it is you Count Dreygon." A quiet sigh of relief rises from my chest.

Count Dreygon keeps his hand upon my shoulder and guides me through the darkness. I can feel his breath fall upon the back of my neck. A very unwelcome moisture from his breath settles upon my skin. I do my best to ignore it.

As we walk deeper into the pitch I begin to hear voices. Soft whispers speaking on both sides of us. I do my best to listen carefully to them, but I cannot make out what they say. The voices sound of foreign language. They are all speaking in unison, as if muttering an incantation as if a witch.

The further we go the louder the whispers become and the colder I begin to feel. Walking I start to feel my hands become frigid, as if I am outside. I clasp them together to keep warm. I try to speak to Count Dreygon, "Count wha..."

"Shhh, quiet Simon. We mustn't disturb the council." Whispers Count Dreygon as he places both hands upon my shoulders. A hand of seconds go by and suddenly rows of torches appear from either side of us. Faces beneath each and every single one is whispering along side the others. Chills begin to trickle down my spine.

I can feel my breath form into vapor. I become a little worrisome but reassure myself what I shall gain from this. We then stop only moments later and the grasp of Count Dreygon dissipates. I can feel I am left alone among this chilling darkness.

A voice then calls out, a deep bass in the form of a hymn. As if the voice is calling out for a response like a bird. The voice then grows to a steady pitch and is then accompanied by a flock of voices. Each mimicking the first tone.

I remain still as my heart beat begins to race. I feel like a caged animal, helpless and with no sight. I am then welcomed by a glowing light from across the darkness. And then another light grows to my right then my left, behind me, lights at six different points begin to glow.

They light up the once dark space with flames. I am quickly relieved of any worry and around me sits the council. I am standing in the middle of the council. Their forty-two seats, on three rows stacked around me in a circle.

I smile with elation as I am surrounded by such power. Such virtue I can feel myself be lifted to the sky. I feel as if I am miracle birthed into such wonder. I spin around slowly as my smile generates fire within me.

The council stairs upon me with judging eyes, but I welcome them. Let them pierce me to my very core, let them ask what ever they may. I shall kneel before them and show them my great devotion. I would gladly peel my skin my from bones if they ask if it shall grant be leadership among their seat.

And as I swell my ego in their presence I become motionless as I see an empty seat. I see a barren throne waiting for me. I see myself coated in a position of greatness as a crown of gold sits atop my head.

And there, next to my empty seat, my throne, sits Count Dreygon. He sits tallest among them all. I can't help but smile upon the graces of Count Dreygon. But he does not smile back and so I remove my smile. I stand firm with a face ready for battle.

And from all the silence a voice rings out. "Is this your nominee Count Dreygon?"

Count Dreygon, "Yes Lord Cide"

Lord Cide, with her hair pulled tightly back and her face appearing as if she pinned her loose skin in desperate attempt to falsify her age, "Very well, we shall begin, ask what you may but as always, if he passes the questions but not the trial, then he shall not be accepted....does the council understand?"

A resounding "understood" is echoed from the entire council. Goose bumps percolate from my body from their divine response. I quiver with such ecstasy as I am granted one step closer to throne.

And without warning I am tossed into questioning like a hound tossed into a fight. I bare my teeth but the do not let up. My bark brings them no fear and my attacks are worthy but do not scathe the armor of the council.

I am formidable but am but a newborn beneath their guise. But I sunder enough strength to with hold the hours of questioning. I am consumed in the anxious worry of faltering but give myself no inch to quit.

And just I am growing inconceivably tired they cease the questioning. Lord Cide takes up the gavel and slams it upon the oak counter. It resonates with such command, I revel in its ability to silence us all.

A smirk escapes me as I remain silent in the presence of these fine kings. I am then presented with more trial, a trial I have never heard of nor dare thought such exists. Lord Cide stands from her chair as she is supported by her companions, each with faces of clear groveling resentment.

But none the less, they hold her and from her scratching throat she says, "Bring on the sacrifice, we must see if he be as worthy as he speaks."

She is then carefully helped to her seat. She sits as her head droops to her chin. Her bones are weak along side her body. It is only a matter of time before her seat is up for grabs. And if I can be the sword, I can surely cut my way there in no time. And then, I can be the one to show them how to truly operate such cogs.

Standing still in the middle of the council a distant sound of rumbling. Like a cart pushed against stone reverberates from an opening between the gaping circle of the council.

And from it a man dressed in white is pushing a cart just as I thought. And upon is a sheet with a large round bulge beneath it. A mound the size a small boulder.

The man pushes the cart up to me, his face is dead, an emotionless vessel with eyes deeper than the caverns of earth. He gives no words to me but hands me two utensils or, rather tools.

He hands me steel tongs and a very small shovel like tool with both edges sharp enough to cut flesh if one wished. Receiving the items the man leaves but not before removing the sheet from the cart. And from the removal of the sheet the contents upon the cart is revealed.

And upon the cart lays a woman no older than twenty-eight. And I can see that she is not alone. Her belly is protruding as it may when one is pregnant. Holding the tools in my hands I look about the council with slight mortification.

I am unaware of what my purpose is in the moment. The air is cold and my body is beginning to feel the briskness. The council, seating silence for a moment as one yells out, "Look, his face is petrified, he's beginning to tremble he is no councilmen."

I spin to the perpetrator of the words. But before I can they are settled in their seat and as motionless as the next. Blending in like tombstones among tombstones. And as I start to worry more and slight tremble crawls to my knees.

Up stands Count Dryegon and with reassuring confidence, "Simon, do not be what they think you are, be what I believe you are. You are as suitable as these chairs as another that sits before you."

Count Dreygon sits down and the council begins mumbling among each other like a class of children. I am then presented with instruction from a gentlemen about my age. His hair short like mine, he wears clothes of a politician and says with no reluctance,

"This woman before you is pregnant as you can see. But she does not wish to bear it to full term. It is but a baring on her body and mind. She has no finance to birth it a good life and her suitor was no more than a midnight fling. She has granted us the power to remove said such a burden and we wish you to be the one to grant her, her life back. " He sits back down and says, "proceed, you may you those tools in your hand as you wish there are books before you that show you the procedure. You have exactly one hour to complete said task. If you wish not to do it, leave now. If you wish to proceed please, continue."

I begin to think in my head as I stare at the girl who is clearly drugged and can understand no more of this than I. I look to the tools in my hands, their cold bodies held in my clammy hands. My hands become shivering wastes of grip.

I turn to look at Count Dreygon, he nods and I nod back. I then step to the woman and stand between her legs. I look at her belly and back to her thighs. I then look about the council and bask in my thought of ruling.

I inch the tools toward the cavity of the woman but as I reach my stomach begins to churn. I place the tools down carefully and reach for the medical books on the shelf beneath the cart. Pages to the procedure are already marked with tabs. I open them and as I do there are no pictures only words. The pictures have been removed. Cut out with clear precision.

I then begin to read. As I do I become more sickened in my stomach. I can't help but see the possible life as I see my possible throne, my rule of kingdom. But is that as worthy as the child that lay dormant inside this woman? If her current suffering worthy of the severing of her child?

Could she not have been the fool to her flesh and kept to her own? Just as the man whom sought her, been a man and stood to his decision. Why are we placing ourselves above the future, what right do we have to slaughter all in the name of poorly planned living?

As I stand looking to the book and questioning this moment, I look about the council. Each with eyes of a void. Some, their eyes are so shallow you can see the filth that sits upon them like oil in a puddle. Some I can see shiver in fear for if they run, I can only imagine the horrors for them.

Will I be met with horror if I live? Surely the child will be met with horrors either way but maybe not. Maybe I can do something different? For no future should be met with tools of murder for the sake of human interactions.

So, with what is left of my hollow body. I place down the book, walk to the head of girl and with no words I begin to push her toward the exit. The council becomes instantly raged, they scream and shout. They curse me, they blare obscenities I have never heard. And even Count Dreygon is shriveled at my choice and slays me with horrible utterances.

But neither I nor them were friends and neither ever will be. I, them, are but hungry spirits only to posses fame and power. The ink is what we wish and nothing more. And we shall do what ever it takes to get it.

This act I commit now may not resolve me of my wrongs. But I pray it will relieve me of myself. And as I push the girl out the door there is nothing but the out rage of the council echoing through the draft halls.

Leaving the councils cathedral I remove the girl from the cart and carry her to the nearest hospital. They care for her and mend her to health. I was told she gave the child up for adoption and found herself in a new steady job.

But as I suspected, there is no escape from the council. For the past three months there have been men following me. They follow me from my home, to work, and to any stops I may have in between. And now, I am beginning to fear they know that I know.

Any day now they shall either rid me from existence or hold me captive till I am forgotten and rot as any prisoner of rape would. And today I think is that day, for today I am met with a strange madness. I tingling in my mind that I cannot explain. I stopped at my usual cafe for coffee and there was a new gentleman serving.

But I thought nothing of it. Now, I have the urge to end it, to leave it all alone. A heavy sadness has swelled my chest but I do not know why. For I have taken up the well of kindness and have greatly changed my efforts of my action and character.

I must leave now, I can feel myself wishing to escape my own skin. What is this miserable feeling? I stand at the corner of the cafe, waiting for the carriages to pass by. But I can't take it anymore and suddenly I am drawn to great depression. A melancholy of voices crowd my head.

And with no sense I step into the street and lay before the passing carriage and with no warning I am trampled by its horses and ran over by the wheels. The cracking of my ribs is felt and all my body is consumed in excruciating pain.

The carriage passes over. The driver dismounts to check upon me as well as a younger gentleman, a little younger than me. Steps over to me, kneels down, places something in my pocket and whispers.

"You should have saved that woman from her suffering."

And as I lay helpless in the road doctors and police approach. Blood curdles from my throat as I begin to choke. I can feel there is no hope. The lights dim and my body begins to feel of no pain and at the last few minutes I hear a voice of woman, "That's the man who saved my baby."

I smile as I her voice drowns to my death.

Three weeks later, news paper headlines read,

"An old council nominee found dead in street from suicide

Dr. Simon Richmond, committed suicide on December 24th 1901. The police had found a known concoction used often by the severely depressed to help them end their life. There was a letter of suicide, which cannot be read do to its graphic nature and obscene vocabulary. He has no known wife or girlfriend and was one of the highest nominated for a new seat among the council."

If we don't consider life at the start then when will life ever count?

We are often followers of mass for there is more acceptance of surrender.

A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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A Returning Love

2019-05-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

A Returning Love

The aroma of tea tickles the air as I wake with the embrace of a morning sun. Stepping out of my bed tossing my sheets from their grasp. I make my way to the view from my window. The soft touch of snow had settled upon the grounds in the silent wisp of the night.

It's a spectacle to behold. A pleasure for the eye as the dim barren ground beneath it is no more. But I can't help but think of him. I can't help but remember his virile touch. How it gives me such comfort, such protection. His smile of ivory and his scent that raises me with elation.

Our time spent apart has been difficult but, he is living his dream, his sought after passion and how dare I ever be one to wish him to fray from it. All for the sake of my own need of him. We are both creatures that have clung to our dreams with great vigor.

Neither has left the side of our hearts and we are each formidable in our arenas. We shall never back down though many nights are cold, alone. Many days are spent fighting the exhaustive thought of surrender as hordes of doubt flow from the mist of our minds.

But with each other, we are unstoppable. We are each a pillar for the other. Holding high the burdens we both bare. Each an ax to sever the misery from the other and lips to whisper mending truths, words of trust and restoration.

We are each other and we are ourselves. We neither trove either in emotional greed but neither abandon the other in need. We have balanced ourselves through the dedication of acceptance. And the founding of common ground, creating equal agreements as we dive deeper into the other.

Always finding new dragons, new beasts to slay. Finding new avenues that open the wind of exploration. We have formed ourselves to be boundless in the other. Though we are not without our faults and not without our disagreements, our night spent upon separate rooms.

We are human after all.

"Leah...Leah...your tea is ready." calls out my mother.

Keeping my eyes to the delicate wonder of the pearl sleet I reply, "Okay mother, I'll be down in just a minute." My breath settles upon the frosted window dissipating like fog to a rising sun.

I turn away from the window making my way to the bathroom. I go about my usual hygiene and dress myself appropriately for the brisk day. Comfortably hugged in a heavy knitted sweater with the usual jeans and hiding beneath are some cuddle worthy thermals.

Standing in my room I extend my arms in a stretch as a welcomed yawn escapes me. I check myself in my mirror to make sure I am not some hodgepodge looking girl. I mean, you can't go out looking like you rolled out of your hamper.

After a quick detailed examination I do one last slight adjustment to my hair and paint my lips with a shadowed purple. I then turn from my mirror with gentle smile and make my way down stairs. The sweet aroma of tea still tickles the air.

Such mornings as this warm my heart with such a graceful and cozy feel. They make me feel like a child again. As I approach the final step from my descent, my mother peers from the corner of the wall from the kitchen.

"Hi darling, would you like anything to eat?" she smiles as a spatula peers beneath her chin.

I look to her as my feet descend upon the hardwood floor sending a cool pinch through my body. "Yes, I would mother, thank you!"

Making way to the kitchen I pet our cat Amnythist, her tail curls around my hand as I edge to the end of her body. After petting the cat I walk to mother as she begins to cook and gently place a kiss upon her cheek and say, "I love you."

My mother replies with an endearing smile, "I love you too!..so what are your plans for today? Isn't Ryan supposed to be home anytime this week?"

Ryan, my husband.

I plant myself on the other side of the kitchen counter on a stool facing my mother. Observing her as she cooks, "Yes, but unfortunately they have had a delay on the flight back because of the snow so he will not be arriving till tomorrow night." My eyes fall with a dash of gloom as my heart fills with a morsel of emptiness.

My mother, stirring a bowl of batter, "Well, that is really too bad. I was really looking forward to seeing him back today. Guess we will have to save the mimosas for tomorrow night then."

I look up at my mother, I respond with a sarcastic voice "You bought stuff for mimosas?! You didn't have to do that. I was just planning on crying and falling into his arms just like his last return from deployment."

Mother and me giggle at my joke. Mother then stops stirring the batter and reaches over to the kettle that is simmering on the stove and pours me a glass of tea. She leans over the counter and hands it to me. "Thank you!"

I clasp the warm glass of tea in my hands and savor its aroma as I close my eyes with delight. Images of camp fires and laughter echo through my mind. Tea always seems to remind of summer time, not sure why.

I take my first sip carefully as to test the heat. It is just right, I take a large sip and enjoy its warm body as it dives into my stomach. After the first sip I place the glass down. As I do my mother pours pancake batter onto a skillet.

I bring myself into a state of memory as I dawn my eyes upon the cooking batter. I watch as the small bubbles pop and I begin to think about my husband and the great joy it'll bring me. Such jubilation will enthrall my senses, there is no hope but to cry.

I can feel a smile stringing across my face. I think to myself, "It's been another three months without him. Another three months and he was only home for four months. It'll be nice when we both can settle down forever."

Swimming through my thoughts I take another sip of tea. And as I return the glass back to the counter I hear the clacking of a plate upon the counter and the sweet scent of a freshly cooked pancake with syrup coated upon it.

Looking down, there it is. Its light golden complexion just waiting to be devoured. My stomach growls a bit. Mother places a fork and a napkin in front of me. "Here you go dear."

I grab the fork and begin to eat. The only noise being created right now is my mother cooking and the sound of my wondered enjoyment of her cooking. With my mouth half full, "This soooo good!"

Mother turns around with a smile, "I am glad you like it honey. Anything else you want?"

Looking up from my pancake, "No....I think I am good, thank you though. I am just going to sit here and enjoy this."

Mother turns back and shuts off the stove and goes to the fridge. She pulls out the champagne, some orange juice and sets them on the counter and pulls out three glasses from the cabinet just to the right of the fridge.

I am somewhat confused as that is for the celebration of Ryan's return. "What are you doing mother? I thought you were saving that for Ryan's return?"

I finish off the pancake and drink some of my tea.

Mother, standing across from me with the mimosa ingredients, "Well, I know, but seeing as it is your birthday tomorrow and with Ryan returning we probably won't see you guys tomorrow since your dad in I will probably be in bed before he returns. I figure, why not celebrate a little early for your birthday, treat ourselves to mimosa." She smiles and pops the cork off the champagne.

The champagne fizzes and she begins to pour it into each glass accompanied by the orange juice.
Before she pours it into the third glass I ask, "What are you doing? There is only two of us? Is dad here?"

Mother tops off all three glasses and garnishes them each with twisted rind of an orange. "No, figured Ryan might want one as well. "

Looking to my mom greatly confused, "But Ryan's not back till tomorrow."

The sun starts to penetrate into the kitchen, glazing the dark haze of the hardwood with a gentle kiss of amber. It reaches onto the counter slowly stopping just at my right hand as it sits on the cool counter.

I look at my mom as the sun warms my hand and as it does I feel something lightly land upon it. I look over and there upon my hand is another hand. A hand I recognize all to well. I turn toward it and there behind me is Ryan.

His dark hair, blue eyes and ivory smile splash over me. I am instantly over come with joy. My heart flutters about wildly like a child to their first crush. I throw my arms around the back of his neck while throwing my legs around his waist.

Not a word is said, only tears of happiness and the entwining of our lips. And what feels like a life time away has turned into no time at all. We embrace each other for several minutes before we let go and enjoy the company of each other with freshly curated mimosas.
--
Who do you miss that you can't wait to see return?

We are more than we give ourselves credit, A Man's Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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A Morning Hell

2019-04-29T10:26:00.004-07:00

A Morning Hell

Time is running out, the bomb has only ten minutes left, what do we do?" Says Jermaine as he looks to the weave of wires.

With his weapon in hand and keeping eye down the hall way from the exit of the room, Cash responds, "I don't know...I don't know."

Jermaine, staring at the bomb with beading sweat he looks over at their downed friend Cruise, his lifeless body lay slumped against the wall with his back. His head settled into his chest as blood dries from a wound just below his heart.

Jermaine looks back at the bomb, it's time ticking away, counting down their lasts breathes. Jermaine, rushes over to Cruises body and looks for the bomb diffuse manual, a small manual with overall tips for certain explosive designs.

Jermaine fumbling through Cruises body, "Maybe there is something on that stupid manual Cruise had." Wiping away sweat he reaches into Cruises left chest pouch and finds the folded up manual.

He unfolds the manual, he looks it over, every inch is scattered in marked notes and sectioned off diagrams. Jermaine, frantically looks over the manual for any clue, "Which is it....what damn one is it?!... Cash, you have any idea?"

Cash, quickly looks back as Jermaine holds up the Manual for him to see. Cash takes in the diagrams very briefly and looks back down the hall. "I don't know man, it was you and Cruise who went through the course!"

Jermaine, pulls away from Cash and peers over the bomb while holding the manual. His eyes darting back and forth between the bomb and manual. "Nothing seems to line up, this is all bullshit man, I only took the first course of class. After that I was sent overseas for an espionage course. Fuck man...fuck."

Cash gripping his weapon tightly with his eyes scanning the hall way he sees a shadow coming around the corner. "We got someone, figure that shit out man or we are screwed, can't call shit in till that things is....(a target leans from around the corner, Cash fires a few rounds.) Just figure the damn thing out, if you have to just cut a fuckin wire, we are running out of time!"

Jermaine grabs a pair of scissors off his vest and lingers it over a wire. A bead of sweat falls from his face landing at the blade of the scissor splitting into two. Jermaine's heart is beating so rapidly he can slightly see his vest shiver to the beat of it.

Cash, popping off shots down the hall way, "They found us man, hurry! Do something, blow the damn thing up if we have too. I ain't letting these fucks take my life, it'll be my damn choice when I go!"

Jermaine, hovering the scissors, he looks from wire to wire, eight wires hang connected to the bomb. Only a third don't match each other. "I don't know what to cut Cash, what the fuck, this is fucked man...fucked!?"

Suddenly a few rounds shatter the windows to the right of Jermaine just above Cruise's body. Jermaine jolts for a moment and picks up his rifle that lays beside him. He aims to the windows and realizes it is coming from the outside at ground level.

Just as he puts his rifle down he hears the rapid fire of a machine gun go off. Rounds start to hit just passed him in the room. With no where to go he covers the bomb with his body. He quickly shifts his body over the bomb and places himself so he can see down the hall as well.

Round after round snaps over him. Cash is laying prone as well, "I am running out of ammo man, I don't know how much longer we can hold. Just cut a damn wire and pray for the best!"

Jermaine, looking down his sights, his heart leaping from his chest and the bomb ticking down. He looks at the timer, "We only have three minutes left...fuck bro, I guess this is it, do or die\!"

The sun starts to creep up from the horizon, the dimly lit room and hall slowly become pierced by the glowing sun. Beams of pumpkin light break through the windows, revealing the dusted atmosphere.

The walls are tattered by years of war and lack of attention. You can't tell what bullet holes are new and which ones are old. The building is riddled with holes like Swiss Cheese. Jermaine, still looking down the hall as gunfire blazes over him.

He looks to Cash and as he does, he sees Cash get hit. A round from the machine guns hits Cash in the right shoulder. Cash feels the round hit, "Fuck....I'm hit man, come on! We can't let these fuckers get us, either we kill them or we all die together, you're choice Jermaine!"

Adrenaline courses through Cash's veins like a flood through a coastal village, the bullet wound causes him to lose little focus.

Jermaine, curates his body to see the bomb more clearly, "Ha, you would leave the responsibility to me, fuckin asshole, you never change do you?" A grin sits upon his face as he grabs hold the scissors.

Cash, still firing down the hall way, "Hell no, I like being an asshole, it gets shit done!" A wide smile covers his face as he carefully injects rounds down the hall at the enemy.

Jermaine looks over the wires once more and over at the manual, he sees what could be a related diagram to the bomb he is looking at. "Well, (hovering the scissors over a wire,) One minute left, here goes nothing. Have a good after life Cash."

Cash, "See you on the flip side!"

Jermaine squeezes the scissors tightly over a wire, it snaps in two...........

Jermaine, "Fuck, I think I did it! (looking at the timer), the timer stopped...shit!"

Cash, "What the fuck, you did it? I had no faith in you."

Jermaine, "See, you'll never change ha"

Cash, "Well, lets light these mother fuckers up... call it in."

Jermaine puts down the scissors and grabs his radio. "Panda White, this is Panda Black, do you copy?"

Panda White, "Panda Black, this is Panda White, we hear you over."

Jermaine, "Bomb is diffused and we are ready for fire over."

Panda White, "Roger, ready for fire, choppers are already in the air. They shall be directed to your coordinates break....what is your location over?"

Jermaine calls back to Panda White and gives his location.

Panda White, "Roger that, you'll have birds on site in five mikes over."

Jermaine, "Five mikes, you hear that Cash?! Five minutes! Panda White, roger on the five mikes, out."

Panda White, "Roger, out!"

Jermaine grabs hold his weapon and takes up position with Cash, "Lets give em hell!"

Cash looks over at Jermaine and nods. The sun has now fully enveloped the building, rounds are being fired from outside through the windows behind them and the windows in the hall. Enemies are crawling through the building like ants.

Jermaine and Cash remain steady, they keep fire down the hall and suppress the enemy for long enough for the choppers to show up. As they fire down the hall, the sudden spray of rockets and heavy rounds from the chopper hit the surrounding area of the building.

A few more intense minutes go by and suddenly all becomes silent. A few bodies at the end of the hall groan from bullets wounds. Jermaine and Cash slowly stand up. Jermaine grabs Cruises body by his rear plate loop as Cash stands up. They stay ready as they press down the hall.

Chopper pilot "Black Panda, this is Savior Three, it appears you are clear to exit the building for exfil, We already called it in, break...exfil ETA, ten mikes we will remain present till arrival. Good job down there guys. Savior Three out."

Jermaine walking beside cash, "Roger Savior Three, Lima Charlie."

---

There are those out there doing what most will never do nor ever wish to do. Let us not forget what is going on in the shadows for the safety of our freedom.

What have you done to keep yourself grateful of our freedom here in America?

A Man's Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

Where else can you find my writings? Twitter, YouTube, Facebook, Instagram

One's character is open to change,

The Wretched

2019-04-25T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Wretched

I hear them knocking on the door, their voices acting in kindness. But I know their intentions their wants. Their need to calm their craving of this false way. They are putrid to our earth, rodents that feast upon the feeble and spread disease of our touch.

I can feel them, their cold empty presence, just as I. But I did not bow to the corruption. The naive lies of their power. And now here we stand, me against them. Me against my own, how odd. How unsightly that we have drove ourselves into this.

Into this chaos all for the sake of their incessant need to be all. To be the deciders of the world. They were once nothing, just as I. We were once the subtle voices in the night that preyed only upon those who wished for such. Who approached us with peace.

But now, now we are vermin loitering the streets with our madness. Our corrupt fever of existence. I can smell them, I can smell them as I smell blood. Their tongues covered in lust of temptations their teeth stained with the innocents and their lips lathered in the aroma of copper.

It won't be long till they decide my silence is not enough. And they shall tear open my door with ease. The only reason they have not, is for the sake of not knowing my intentions. But their patience will grow dull and they will bleed themselves into my home and flood like rats.

And with much worry and care, I look over to the young girl that quivers in fright. Her belly rounded by life and her heart beating in unison. How precious, how unfortunate such things are now praised as corruption. That one must obey the whims of these rodents that knock upon my door.

"Quick, you must hide here!" I lift a door hidden beneath the coffee table and rug. "Take to the stairs and follow the path to the right till you see a door on your left. Take that, it will lead you into the sewers but go no further than the second street cover. Exit through it, run to the house with golden trees and tell them Frenseco Ruper sent you. They will know what to do, Go! Go now!."

The young girl, filled in fright makes haste down the stairs. Her hands gently upon her belly. Oh how beautiful her scent. How delectable she would be, but such vile consumption is only a truth hidden in a lie. A need for power over the future.

I replace the coffee table and carpet and plant myself upon the couch with a bottle of bourbon and begin to drink. As to disguise my slow approach to their knocking. But before I have a chance to finish two excessive swigs I hear a sudden crash.

My door has been torn from its hinges and flung to the ground. I rush to stand up but, am quickly forced to remain seated. I look up from behind and there he stands. Duke Caspar, a man so ghostly even his own complexion I would assume frightens him. Ha, or rather that's how I proceed to see him, as he is an unsightly man, not of looks, but of mannerisms and character.

His posture is quite refined, his physique is one any could be jealous of and his height, I can't assume he complains about that. His fashion sense, what would you say....hmmm? Proper or, maybe Royal you could say. His head sits so well atop his broad shoulders, quite the gentlemanly look. So refined, so reacquainted with his feminine side one could say..ha!

His pale skin glows against the flames that dance with romanticism as they hug inside the mantel. His eyes as daunting as the next ghoul. But I fret not, for there is nothing in my home. And there is quite a spell to hide the door beneath my feet.

The Duke, with his hands firmly grasped upon my shoulders he leans into my ear and attempts to coerce information from me. He asks with a demanding whisper as his grip intensifies, "Where is the young girl, Frenseco? I can smell she was her."

Me, with my wit I respond, "A girl, you smell a girl?!" I pause for moment as if dim in thought. "Oh, you mean that smell of roses and blood. Yes, that is from the other day, I had brought home a few fresh pigs for dinner and settled them in some deceased girls blood I purchased from her family along with rose pedals to lighten the aroma of the filthy pigs." I stare toward the fire as I sip the bourbon from the bottle.

The duke releases my shoulders and grumbles with contempt. He steps over the couch and sits beside me. He looks to me with his nefarious eyes as he gently grasps the bourbon from my hands and places it on the table.

"I have no time for games Frenseco, if that girl is not here, then where is she? I know you know of here whereabouts, you and your "Resistance"..your group of imbeciles that won't even allow your own kind to live with the choice!"

The Duke takes up the bottle of bourbon and takes a swig. I look to him with a snide smile and say, "Last I checked, what we eat now was never what we ate from the start. Yet you wish to slaughter, oops...I mean eat the innocent, the unborn... I mean the animals. Long before they even get the chance to feel the air of aging or, even their first words."

The Duke stands up and laughs, "Hahaha, their first words? The air of aging? What foolish books did you read that from?! Frenseco, this is what you do not understand, these women, men and children are but objects in our way. They keep us from truly thriving, these human females, the dim witted males and children are but a hindrance to our lives. They are but cattle for us and you wish to cast your morals upon as if you do no wrong?" Duke Caspar turns toward the fire with his hands held behind his lower back.

I situate myself and as I do the Duke waves his hand to gesture the gentlemen that have been standing outside my door. They rush in and begin to tear my home apart. "You'll find nothing here and here is why Duke Casper. I am no man of circumstance, I am a man of morals and where my morals stand now, is where they shall always stand. I neither wish for you to die nor do I wish you to live. But I will never go out of my way to see your desolation for the mere satisfaction to crumble your inferiority..I mean, your goodness."

The Duke turns away from the flames with a snarling look upon his face. "You dare speak to me as if you are something of moral standards? You drink from the same cup as I do, you are a Vampire just as I!"

I stand from the couch and pick up the bottle of bourbon and walk about the room. "See, that is where you are wrong, I may have been born a vampire and desire the same cravings as you. But I do not act upon them as much as any human may wish to act heinously upon another. See, we are just as re-strainable in our tongues as are the humans. But you wish to place yourself in a virtue higher than the humans. As if you have not slaughtered millions in the name of your ideal world. You can only play the virtuous for so long. Soon the humans will revolt as many of us Vampires have. Then what, who will you massacre then, where will you get your food? You can't murder them all for the sake of your cravings." I drink the bourbon as I slyly take a small cloth tied sack from the shelf beside me."

The Duke lingers about the room as well, as his eyes examine the surroundings, "See, that is where you are wrong, there are enough naive children in this world who will follow me. I have promised them what you won't and that is the freedom to choose themselves, to be without restrain of order.

I have given them madness in the from of empty promises. And for the lack of fifty generations they have grown to love it. They are fools who wish not to be their own. They need command, so why not give them the ultimate command, let them act upon their wills as freely as the ape acts upon his?!"

I place the cloth sack in my pocket as I take a drink of bourbon and begin to untie the cloth sack as it sits my pocket. "Well, I guess if you wish for sheep then that would be the best approach. But see, without people to rule you have nothing and you are only eating yourself from the inside out. The flavors of farming humans has become dull as I know from those who have retreated from your grasp. As well as those who have spoke of your growing paranoia.

You are a man of lies corrupted in the need of power. And see, I am a man merely wishing for the order of structure with laws of dignity and founding principles that have kept us alive.

And you only seek to destroy that. Soon your lies will flow like a pipe under too much pressure. Only so much can be held until one of your followers can take no more and leaks all over your floor."

The Duke becomes angered and clenches his fists, "Frenseco, tell me where the girl is now and I will not hang you here in your own home.

I will give you the dignity to present your case before the people before I burn you at the stake." The Duke stands back at the fire and peers into it with a smirk as the vision of Frenseco's death plays in his head.

I have undone the knot tied around the cloth sack. I approach the Duke while lowering the bourbon near my pocket and pouring the contents of the cloth sack into the bourbon. A slight seep of sweat escapes my brow and Duke Caspar turns around to look to me.

His eyes gather at my head, "I see you are sweating Frenseco, is it something I said?" He smiles as he looks to the sweat above my brow.

I lift the bourbon carefully from my waist and begin to present it to Duke Casper. "Here, I will tell you where the girl is, but only if you are willing to polish off this bourbon so I may celebrate my last breath on earth and we can open my vintage bottle, I have waited so long to taste. And I see there is no point in resisting anymore. You have no proof of anything yet you can waltz, wait, break into my home from mere will and there are no repercussion. So, I guess I am at a loss, checkmate as they say" I bow slightly before Duke Caspar while the bottle of whiskey is presented to him.

The Duke, eager to be the victor he is blind to my trick. See, in that small cloth is garlic marinated in holy water. Quite rare, but I am quite the resourceful son of bitch. Duke Casper smirks so proudly as he takes the bottle. Standing next to the fire Duke Casper polishes off the bourbon.

I nod to Duke Casper in a sign of understanding my surrender. I take the bottle from his hand and place my hand upon his shoulder and say, "Well Caspar, there is a slight problem with the girl."

Duke Casper looks upon me with confused rage, "A problem, but you said you'd tell me, guar....."

He tries to call for his men who are upstairs, probably rummaging through my many papers and collections of antiques. Some I am sure they already have pocketed for themselves. But Duke Caspar has just drank his death. He drops the bottle as I watch him look to me with surprise has his mouth begins to foam, his throats curdles with his melting flesh.

I watch with pleasure yet sadness, for he could have left me alone but the fool is taken so deeply by greed he just could not resist the urge to slander me into death. He falls to his knees, grasping at me with a dire look of plea. But I watch him slowly suffer and as his body weakens I step back a pace and thrust my foot into his chest. He is flung into the flames and burns in silence.

I look about me for a weapon and there against the wall is the fire rode. How convenient I think. I shrug my shoulders and make way up my stairs. I can hear the two man clambering about my office. Their shadows cast in and out of the door frame like one moving their hand in front and away from the sun.

I think of what I shall do while I speak out, "I hope you gentle men are thirsty, I have brought you some drinks. Bourbon I hope is to your liking."

The gentlemen freeze and they shuffle ever so carefully toward me. They both peer from the office. Their dark eyes and frail bodies linger out of the room. They look me up and down with curiosity like an animal. They see I bare no drinks and behind me is the fire rod.

They then become worried as they do not hear, nor see Duke Casper. They try to rush pass me but I do not allow them such a chance. I plunge the rod into one of their hearts and my fist into the other. They both die instantly and fade away liking burning ash.

I remove myself from their death, making way downstairs and find my way to the girl. A few minutes later I see the house I told her to seek out. And there in the window I see her smiling and laughing with Antonio, my son, and fortunately he did not contract the vampire gene from me. His mother was never a vampire.

And the home they live in, is protected by an ancient spell not even I know how to break. Maybe one day, I can tell Antonio I am his father, but until then we are but business partners in our antique shop. And I am but a Vampire turned to the well being of humans.
--
A world of Vampires hell bent on keeping humans in the grip of lies and fear.

We are destined to be great but only through action, A Man's Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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Champagne Wane

2019-04-24T20:02:00.000-07:00

Champagne Wane

I remember her well, like one remembers the death of a friend. Something you never forget and something that forever remains. And though we were destined to die, as does the ash from a burning pipe.

I still taste her, feel her as if she is the wind and the savory smoke of a cigar. She's last nights Bourbon, shes the morning dew, the frozen ice that hangs, waiting to melt; waiting to fall. But there are no hands, no hearts that can catch her.

For she is too cold, frigid like the Arctic plains. She will flow to you like a severed glacier. And in her lonely state she shall find you upon a sandy shore, just as she found me. And like distant stars she will shine, glimmering with a call for love.

She will reach out with a soft whisper as her rosy cheeks grip you with lust. And you, the lonely fool upon a sandy shore in midwinter. Will reach out with a hand, quivering to the brisk air and you shall risk the bite of raw ocean tears.

Neglecting the blackening of your heart as you swim in the deepest of seas. For you are blind by her beauty, her allure of grace. Her eyes gleaming like the moon. Ah! Those eyes, how beautifully they sang to me. Like sirens in the coves of dead men.

How blissfully I swam to her. My body warming to her presence but my heart cooling to her breath. She was elegant, as elegant as swans upon still waters. As regal as an ivory tiger among falling snow.

She was the kiss I needed, the love I yearned for, but the hell I never saw coming. Our nights often drove with laughter, our hands weaved with love or, so I thought. I remember the eve of a very endearing night.

I had purchased a bottle of champagne from the local shop. Nothing fancy, for my pockets were shallow as had been hers. But how grateful she made me feel, how elated she made me. And as the moon beamed its silk light.

I took to her home by foot beneath an October evening. My breath so delicately waltzed as my heart beat with jubilation. For it was our night, the anniversary from which I rescued her from the depths of a freezing ocean.

I pulled her to shore and held her in my arms and kissed her. How marvelous that first kiss, like the first taste of vanilla. Her sweet lips composed against mine forged a stunning spectacle of stimulating wonder.

I felt our souls burst like a fruit in the grasp of teeth. I felt myself pour upon her with such riveting emotion, such affection. But what a fool I was, to feel as if that kiss was the opening to our desires. But it was only a fatal kiss, a poison upon my lips.

A wound had been lacerated upon my heart like the bite of snake. But like the venom of many creatures, it was slow to take. And so I lost myself to her every step. Walking blind with groveling submission.

But alas, that endearing night how quickly it spun to chaos. Like the burning of Icarus I flew too close. For upon my short travel to her home, champagne chilled between my hand. She sat alone, crying to midnight clouds.

I rushed with eager sympathy and I poured us two glasses of champagne. Her eyes, watered from sadness and I, standing with a shivering heart for her pain. I looked to her and she to I and with a velvet tone I asked her of her pain.

But before she spoke I felt it, I felt the history of us begin to tear as if time itself ripped us apart. My ears shut, my eyes looked to her pink lips as she spoke and the words fell from her mouth like blight from a devils gut.

I watched as her cigarette withered her flesh with each inhalation of toxin. I watched as her tongue split like a serpents and her eyes formed to voids. And with a single sentence, our love, our affection, or what ever it had been, was null.

Stricken from our pages like an unworthy chapter, like a scribbled note lost to the forgetfulness of a poet. And there, in my hand was the bottle of champagne and before she could finish her undesired words.

I drowned my gut in the last of it. I drank the bottle till nothing remained. And with a numbness of my chest, I released the bottle from my grasp allowing it to shatter at my feet. She stood with rage but I understood and so I took up my heart, held it in my hands an made my way into the October night.

And as I walked, a tear fell from me, a single tear and from that I imitated her words with a sorrowed voice,

"I don't love you any more, I never did, you were there and alone, just like I...I'm sorry."

And as those words scrapped my throat I felt sorry for the next fool who will be standing on an empty shore on a midwinter night.
--
Not all live will be and not all people will last in love. But some of the best love will be the broken love and some of the worst love will be the lasting love.

But we mustn't allow ourselves the lasting sorrow of broken heart.

What is story of a broken love you have yet to let go of?

Our hearts run deeper than we would like to admit, A Man's Traveled Heart you'll find more thought striking stories.
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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The Selfish in the Eternal

2019-04-22T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Selfish in the Eternal

"Forgive me, forgive me!" James cries out as she dissolves from his view like a ghost to the tales of a story. His tears, as sorrowed as the death of love. He reaches out as his steps become heavy, but she is too far and his heart is too heavy.

"Why do you say nothing, why leave me like this...whyyyyyy?!" He bellows as not even a breath is heard from her lungs. Her steps as subtle as a stroll against a lake. His eyes as wallowed as a raging ocean.

His body tumbles like stone shattering through a hollow earth. Everything around his becomes ruins, shrapnel of pain. "What have I done?" He says as tears collide against his hands. "What have I done?"

His knees compressed to the paved road. She, as distant as a star, so bright yet far from anyone's embrace. He is lost for words now as he begins to feel clutched by a cold gritty grasp. He lays knelt in his pain as a brisk breath falls upon him.

Wafting across his exposed neck, the hairs upon his skin stand with tingling fright. His bones begin to shiver and skin turns to grey. And from the frightening feel he turns his head toward the cold. And as he peers, there before him stands a figure dressed in a black cloak.

Its face hidden in the depth of a void. Its breath forming like mist as blackened tears fall from the forming cold. Shattering upon the rigid black road. And James, tearing from his eyes tries to speak. But his voice is silent.

He begins to panic, he becomes frantic. His eyes to the cloaked void he grasps to the figures garb. Pleading in silence for help. But there is no response but the silent raising of a scythe. Dark clouds form, rolling about the sky like tumbling boulders.

James eyes dilate in horror but his heart is silent. He fixates upon the well edged scythe, its blade stained in blood. Its silver splendor curves so frightfully, yet elegantly. Screams echo from the faceless figure. And James, he tries to resist. He tries to reach to the heavens.

But his body bears too much weight. The earth has been placed upon him. Death stands before his face and the gust of the damned reaps upon his soul. Grasping with madness to the cloaked figure as tears repel like falling soldiers, James idles back from the scythe to the faceless void.

He lips the words, "Let me go....let me go!"

But there is no response. Only the frozen grasp of death. He tries again and again, pleading like a beggar upon the streets. But with no prevail, James becomes hopeless. He feels himself shrink to a pitiful existence.

He feels the darkness of his wrong encroach upon his throat. He releases his hands from the cloak, his tears cease. His eyes become pale moons and his tongue shrivels to dust. His jaw weakens and hangs like the gaping mouth of a fish.

But he is granted posture, the ability to stand. And from such gift he turns away from the scythe and the faceless figure and begins walk. But as he does a heavy wind rushes upon him. Forcing itself against him.

But he panders in resistance with his pale eyes, his gaping mouth and grey flesh. He presses against the wind with every effort, as groans of weeping sorrow escape his thirsting throat. He keeps trying and trying but not a single step of advance is made.

Hour after hour spreads before him. But time has lost him and suffering has found him. And she, his distant star fades to the curving earth. But just before she is taken from his view, she turns and her face is sullied.

Coated in tears of deep and conflicting emotion. Her face shimmers against the hazing light of the falling sun. James tries to call out, but only groans of agony breach from his mouth. And as he forces himself against the wind, she speaks out to the open void of the road before her, staring to the home where their love was first met. And with great mourning and outrage she says,

"Why....why did you do this to yourself, why did you do this to us? Why did you kill yourself? I thought... shared it all, I thought...we shared it all? I thought we knew each other? But I guess I was wrong. I guess I was not the love you wanted.....I guess...I was nothing to you, for now you leave me with this. With nothing but suffering, nothing but the sour taste of lies. The bitterness of hate and the ever grasping of lonely misery and the forever question of why?"

Her words echo through the wind, piercing the ears of James. Forcing blood from the canals of his skull as shrilling pain shocks him from nerve to nerve. But he can neither cry nor speak, he cannot walk forward, nor see life. He is now taken by death, forever spending time against the wind with his gaping mouth as his suffering becomes the suffering of those he loved and those who loved him.

Feeling his body take to the weight of a broken heart and an eternal mistake. Seeing his love fade at his own hands like spit beneath summer heat. He crumbles to the raging wind. His body falls upon the road. He closes his eyes and for a moment feels relief.

But in his brief drop of relief, it is interrupted by hell. And a hand of sickly shade, dripping with blood, accompanied by a crooked imp of sharp teeth and yellow tongue, hoists him to his feet. He tries to fight back, but the foul creatures strikes him with a burning whip.

And for eons to come, even upon the absence of the earth. He shall wander without change. Forever, in the madness, of his eternal mistake.
--
How do you look at suicide?
Through my experiences, I have found it to be a distasteful surrender and give no meaning to what one used to be.

We are the heart we give ourselves, Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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A Samurai's Purpose

2019-04-18T19:55:00.000-07:00

A Samurai's Purpose

The world is flooding and none can find shelter. The Titans of Ezerek have breached their cells of punishment. They, or someone has helped them break the magical barrier that has kept them from this world.

Their red eyes beam like far off lasers seeking their target. A darkness has seeped from their chambers and shrouds them in view. They stand at the heights of the tallest buildings. They are destruction and know of no other way.

They are spawns of hell that were born in the battle of who will obtain earth, good or evil? Who ever won the battle is allowed a Ten-thousand year reign without any outside resistance greater than that born of the devils spit or born of heavens breath.

Small demons and other small creatures are granted pasture upon earth as good reigns. But they are not allowed to infest any humans unless they are welcomed. So they must rely on tricks to build their presence. But now, either the devil himself or another powerful force has set free the true spawns of hell.

And heaven is not pleased and so the god of heaven now floods the earth in attempt to stop the Titans. For nothing else has ceased their destruction. They have leveled cities after cities. Neither the devil or god himself are allowed to appear on earth.

So they must rely upon their pawns and their abilities of nature. As of right now there is little hope to cease the devouring grasp of the Titans. All angels have been murdered at the hands of the Titans. No gallant soldiers of god have found a weakness.

For the only weakness that be of the Titans is the binding contracts between god and devil. But there has been no sign or voice of the devil. So god has flooded the world in hopes to keep them from more.

For water is the weakness of many foul demons. Enough water and the Titans should at least become paralyzed. And if paralysis takes hold, the heavens can seek the devil and slain him for his wrong doings. But if the devil be not the one whom set these Titans free. Then it shall be a mere improvement of the devil until real culprit is found.

Two weeks of torrential downpour and the Titans still walk. The waters cause little resistance in their motion. Their towering forms cause massive waves to crash upon the shores of earth that remain visible.

Their voices echo with vile howls of misery as their souls are but black flames with no hearts. And so they walk empty, hollow in expression and vast in the yearning of life. But their echoed chests allow no such thing.

So they walk mindless with hands of massacre and flesh that seeks pleasure. But their be no other Titans to please them for only males be their companions. So they walk with harshness upon their lips and devour the bodies of women like sweets.

The earth covered in oceans the Titans walk with malice. Approaching the shores of Japan there stands one man waiting, Oda Sugimoto. A man of faith who long ago swore to keep all demons from his family. He knows not where he came from or who his family is. He was found on the steps of a police station twenty eight years ago, his exact age, unknown.

He was found by a police officer on his way to work, Akio Sugimoto. His wife, Suki, adopted Oda that week he was found.

Oda stands with a samurai sword watching as the Titans approach. He feels something in his blood, a rush of heat and calm feeling as if among a pasture of plants glowing beneath the moon. As they approach he feels the world tremble beneath his feet, but he moves not an inch.

He centers his thoughts and aims for a victory. What he shall do, he does not know? But he will fight, the sword in his hand was designed by the lost warriors of the Nobunaga tribe. A small settlement in the northern parts of Japan. They were wiped out by a massive tsunami. They had lived most their lives on the islands of Japan. But later sought refugee to the mainland do to constant battles with the ocean.

But in their attempt to migrate, they were devoured by a massive tsunami on their way to the mainland. No survivors were ever found, except for a single sword. Found by Oda's father during a hiking escapade.

Growing up Oda was taught by the best fighters as he was always drawn to fighting and self defense. He father signed him up for martial arts at three years after being adopted. Oda spent every day he could learning and honing his skills.

He is now the best known fighter in Japan and is proficient in five different martial arts. He has never been defeated, even in his young age as a child. There has always been a warrior in his blood. And so now, he is to be tested beyond what he has ever faced.

Watching the Titans approach a mighty wave heaves off the Titans knees. It reaches hundreds of feet high. The wave is so massive, Oda can no longer see the Titans. Oda the stabs his blade into the ground, ties his wrists so his blade and plants his feet behind him.

The wave crashes over Oda, the force is so powerful the building beside him crumbles instantly and is taken away. The wave subsides and Oda is still standing. He releases his breath, his wrists and smiles.

He looks to the Titans and taunts them. They reach Oda, they stop and stare down upon him. Their red eyes gaze like upon him like a bloody moon, piercing the silent air. Oda can feel their evil presence trickle down his bones like a shiver.

The Titans say nothing and all three step up to Oda lifting each a foot and force it down upon Oda. Oda does not move, he removes his blade from the ground and aims it above his head just as their feet come down. Oda is pressed into the earth like an insect, but he does not give up.

He feels the earth press away from him like loose dirt. The Titans pull up their feet. They peer into the crater they made but see no sign Oda. They look to each other with confusion. Their shrouded presence in the seeping darkness wafts like flames as wind passes over them.

They look for Oda and as they do, one Titan feels something upon his neck. He goes to swing his hand to swat the feeling as if to be a fly. He lands his hand on the back of his neck. examines his hand but see nothing. This time he feels something on his head.

He swings again, but there is nothing. Just as the Titan goes to brush his hands through his hair. Oda comes sliding down a strain of hair and flings himself and his sword into the Titan's eye. His blade pierces the Titans eye with ease. Blood comes spurting out, the Titan screams wildly and flails about hitting another Titan.

That Titan becomes aggravated and pushes back. The Titan, bleeding from eye covers his wounded eye as he retaliates upon the Titan that pushed him. Soon two of the three Titans are fighting among each other.

Then, as they fight the other one feels something on his neck. He smacks his neck but finds nothing upon his hand or neck. Then, Oda comes rushing up the Titans arm and leaps onto his face and slashes both eyes of the Titan.

The Titan screams and acts in madness from the pain. The Titan strikes the other two Titans with his blinded swings. The Titans then fight each other. Smashing, kicking, and throwing each other. Oda now stands off a few hundred meters from the Titans and watches. He laughs as they wildly fight with no concern of their lives.

An hour goes by and the Titans are badly wounded. One is missing an arm, another has the rib of another Titan in his chest, it was plunged into him like a knife. The other stands completely blind with a broken arm and a beaten face.

Another hour goes by and all three Titans are motionless, floating in the ocean bleeding out. The surrounding waters turn to blood. Soon after, the Titans are feasted upon by sharks and other sea life. And just as Oda is about to leave, a rumbling shakes the earth one last time.

Suddenly the ocean rabidly starts to flow away from the shore, as if a drain plug has been pulled. Then, Oda rushes up to the tallest vantage point, a tree near by. He looks out, and there off in the far distance is a whirlpool pulling in the water.

A few days go by, the Titans are gone and the world is no longer flooded.
---
Do you think everything that happens to us happens for a reason?

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The Ugly Place

2019-04-17T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Ugly Place

The trees are thick with tar, dripping from the smoldering breath of the crimson sun. The heat swells with moist humidity. Vapors of hot breath paste to the flesh like glue. While hands embrace feebly to tattered umbrellas to keep refuge from the goo of the lonely trees.

This ugly and forsaken place be the lands of Hollow Graves. An empty place where many lay but walk bare with nothing to say. Their lips crusted of pain, hydration is far from the soul. No rivers flow with water, only the blood of the dead.

The mountains bare no snow, only the flesh of those of womb. The sacrifices of the living, those who took what was not theirs. Snuffing the gift they were bestowed. Searching for a lasting escape from sufferings of the life. Only to find themselves torn with each repeating day.

Their flesh kissed by the mending lips of demons. Only to scream out to repent as the devils sly lips turn sharp. Lacerating the innocent skin, the newborn flesh. Howls of dying men and women shatter the skies with each passing moment.

No stars hang, no moon shines. There is no night, only day, the sleepless eyes of the sun. No rest is to be found here. No comfort for the damned, the frail hearts of those who ran. And so walks Stan, a tired and bitter man.

A soul once flourishing with life. Only to be extinguished by grip of his own hands. He drew too close the dark shades of the lame, the damned that walk the halls of our hearts. None are without them, without the shadows of misery.

And so he sat beside them. Drinking, singing, dancing, forgetting the blessed moments of night and day. The blessed moments to breathe and see. To wander with no restrictions of thought. And now he is but a pale soul, a walking prey of his own.

His eyes are far off windows of darkness. His heart is stone, beating only in the moments of a devils kiss. A twisted tease of pleasure, keeping mind the memories of life. And now wretched be his posture, a crooked creature.

Mangled teeth, no tongue, for none are allowed to speak. Only the shrieks of bitter pain they may reap. Cutting crops of breath like locus to farms. The blades of hell now lacerate the body of Stan. A constant loss of grip.

A forever trip of too much death. Never to rest, to see past the memories of yester scripts. Denying why, he walks this ugly place that exists.
--
I fear we have embraced suicide like we embrace the simple act of kissing. I fear we have embrace the slaughter of youth for flesh in exchange the obsession for "eternal" youth. I fear we have exchange life to me only ourselves over the existence of others and there of, the expected.

Heavy be a heart alone, but deadly be heart alone that never speaks. A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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Darlene's Summer Heat

2019-04-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

Darlene's Summer Heat

Ninety-five degrees and the humidity is sticking like spit. Darlene's fan is quickly spinning, but its motor gives out a spurt and ceases. A short grinding of gears as if a final scream before death. Darlene, held in the grasp of copious sweat rolls slightly over to the fan from her bed. She slaps the fan in hopes it will jolt it to life.

But there is no such luck. With her exhausted body from the relentless beating of the sun, she slowly sits up while uttering obscenities beneath her breath. "Damn, fan...why in hell would you quick working now? You bastard, you pointless machine, now you're nothing more but a damn paper weight."

Sitting up in her bed, she slides her hands through her ruby hair and guides it to rest behind her head. With her hair behind her, she looks around her room as the sun blazes through the thin white curtains. "Why did I not buy darker curtains, this place is hell during the summer?"

Her face, glistening she curls in her lips with frustration. "So much for a weekend of relaxation. I'm fighting for my life just to make it through this heat." She picks up a near empty glass of water and consumes the last bit.

She looks at the empty glass with desperation from thirst. She can't help but feel agitated as this heat is unlike anything she has felt before. "I should have stayed like my mother said, (wavering her finger about) You should stay Darlene, you won't like the heat. Damn, she was right. I loath this protruding heat. It gives no space and no privacy to think. Hell, all I can think about is this heat."

Darlene, in her frustration peels herself from her bed with glass in hand and makes her way to the kitchen. The whole house is closed off from the world. Every curtain is drawn in resistance to the glaring sun.

But even that does not stop the sweltering heat. Walking to the kitchen her head is tilted slightly toward the ground as if to surrender to the scorching earth. Her hand is gently clasped around the empty glass. Her eyes daunting with exhaustion.

She reaches the kitchen and sluggishly turns on the water. Doing her best not to move too quickly. As if doing so will keep her cool. Raising the glass it feels as if she is lifting a heavy weight. Her entire body screams to compel her to stop, to cease anything and everything. To fall to the ground and let the blaring red sun be her doom.

But she resists as she fills the glass. The water is almost as hot as the outside. She fills the glass, leans her body upon the counter and slowly places her lips on the edge of the glass. She tilts it with slight hesitation as she can feel the heat from the water resonate with such an unwelcome presence.

But she cannot go on without water. So she opens her lips slightly and allows the hot water to pour into her mouth. She keeps her eyes shut as she tries to think of other things as the heated tap water fills her empty stomach.

She drinks about half the glass then places it on the counter and wipes her mouth with her forearm. She then turns away from the counter and leans her rear against it. She crosses her arms and looks to the front of the house.

There, on the other side of the home, is two long closed cream colored curtains. And like most curtains they curve ever so slightly as they progress closer to the floor. Allowing a very unwanted amount of sun to penetrate through the window and into the house.

Darlene, looking at the sun splashing upon her floor, she scoffs with disgust. Such animosity that she would be foolish enough to purchase such horrible curtains for such a climate. But she thought for sure, that the heat would be much more bearable than the frigid weather from back home.

Oh, but she was so wrong, crossing her arms and glaring at the splitting curtains, "I was so wrong, so damn wrong. I can't stand this and it's only been three months since I moved. I could curse everything in this house and walk away. Damnmit...that is just what I am going to do!"

In the heat of her emotion, Darlene paces quickly to her room and starts to pull clothes from her closet and dresser. Without any tactful thinking she starts tossing whatever she finds into a small bag just at the foot of her bed. Her angered rage from the heat as coaxed her blind of anger.

"Aaaaah! This is so stupid, why the hell did I do this?! (Tossing clothes onto her bed) But nooooo, I wanted somewhere warm, somewhere I could see the sun more often and not worry if my toes were going to fall of from the cold!"

Darlene, packing her clothes away with force, a sudden knock comes from the front door.

Knock, knock, knock!

Darlene's instantly freezes up, gripping clothes in both hands she quickly maneuvers out her room to the edge of the hall and peers around ever so carefully. She waits for a moment or two and then again, more knocks.

Hearing the knocks repeat she quickly darts back and places herself against the wall. Still gripping clothes she looks down and sees she still holding them. She drops her clothes and while walking back to her room, "I don't know anyone here and I didn't order anything, who could it be?"

She looks about her room and as she does the knocks progress even louder and a voice of man calls out, "Hello! Is anyone home, hello?!"

Darlene hears the voice and feels something ominous about it. She turns toward her dresser and just to the right of it is a body mirror. She looks to herself and sees she is only in her undergarments, "Man, I am still pale, so much for tanning, its too damn hot."

Momentarily forgetting about the man outside, she starts to hear the jiggle of the front door knob. Darlene becomes frightened, she leans down quickly and grabs a pair of jeans and puts them on. As soon as she does she reaches into her bottom drawer of her dresser and completely pulls out the drawer.

Behind the drawer attached to the back the dresser is a pistol. Its sitting in a small black holster. Darlene reaches in and pulls the pistol from behind the drawer. She cocks it back and grips her hands around it. Her heart starts to race.

She quietly exits her room with the pistol at her chest angled down slightly toward the ground. She keeps her steps soft and steps out from the hall. "Can I help you?!" as she aims the pistol at the door.

Sweat dripping from her brow she blinks to keep it from entering her eyes. The man on the other side of the door responds. "Oh, uuuhhh, my car broke down from the heat and I am just looking for some water to get me to the next gas station. Could you help me?"

Darlene, unsure what to do as everything around her is still pretty new. She knows no one but those she works with. She responds tactfully, "Well, ummm, I am new in town and don't feel comfortable helping a stranger out. Maybe you could go to the next house?"

The man, momentarily silent. "Lady, it's like a hundred degrees out, I am drenched in my own sweat like a whore and I already tried the other houses, no one is home. Come on, just help a guy out. All I need is some water."

Darlene, gripping the pistol and keeping sights on the door. " I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

The mans voice becomes agitated. "Lady, is there like a husband or a boyfriend in there that can help me out?"

Darlene steps back a little and looks around the house to see if anyone is walking around outside. Suddenly, something blocks the light for a second from the kitchen window. Darlene becomes even more nervous.

"Um, they are asleep and I don't want to wake them, they have been working all day and you know, this heat is no friend of anyone. Please just...find a different house."

The man outside grips the door handle and starts to jiggle it rapidly as he tries to turn it. "Just help me out lady, trust me, it's for the better."

Darlene becoming increasingly concerned, "Sir, please get away from the door, I have a gun." Darlene grips even tighter around the pistol. Not even a single bead of sweat makes her lose concentration on the situation.

The man at the door, "Ah, sure you do lady."

Suddenly she hears the breaking of glass, the window to her room has just been shattered. The man at the front starts kicking the door rapidly. Then, Darlene, with no hesitation fires her pistol at the door. Three rounds burst out, each with the press of the trigger ever so efficiently.

After the three rounds are placed through the door she hears the groaning of a man. She carefully steps to the side of the door and angles herself to approach it. She reaches the door and says, "I am going to open the door, I have plenty of rounds left to make it count."

Darlene grabs the door, slowly unlocks it, keeping the pistol aimed and her eyes on the door. The door is unlocked, she grips the doorknob, swings the door open, steps back a pace and aims the pistol outside.

And there, at the foot of the door is an older gentleman in a jean jacket and denim jeans with a wooden bat in hand moaning in pain. Darlene then keeps her pistol aimed at the downed man as she scans her surroundings.

"Where is the other guy!" she asks as the man grips his wounds.

"I...I don't know....pl....please don't kill me."

Darlene laughs, "Ha, you better hope I already didn't."

She keeps the pistol aimed at the man as she grabs the bat and tosses it inside. As she does she sees a neighbor exit their house in a worried state, they stand looking across from the street in panic. Darlene waves to them while keeping eye on the man. "Hey! Can you call the police, this guys just tried to break in!."

The neighbor nods in hysteria, runs inside and calls the police. Darlene keeping sight of the downed man, "Until the police show up, it looks likes it's just you and me."

Darlene removes herself from outside and stands just inside the door while aiming the pistol at the man. Five minutes go by, the police arrive with an ambulance and take Darlene's report.

And as the last officer leaves he says, "If only there were more like you around, idiots like this would think twice before entering a home."
--
What are your thoughts on home defense, what else do you think Darlene could have done?

As time fades so does our chance to truly live, we are fading as we speak.
A Man's Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words.

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Maiden of the Lake

2019-04-11T19:55:00.000-07:00

Maiden of the Lake

I swear I saw her, the maiden of the lake. I saw her on a late night walk as I passed behind a distant row of trees. My heart beat irregular that night. Something pulled my eyes toward the glimmering lake, I remember vividly.

The night was brisk, the stars shimmered from the sky as their light laid upon the lake like cream. Glittering to the gentle waves created by the oh so bitter wind. My hands rested stiffly in my pockets as I tried to keep warm.

My thoughts were lonely, a cold crisp pattern of thinking yanked my already stressed mind. But as I was walking, battling the torment of my thoughts. The odd sense to veer my eyes toward the mirroring lake led me to see her. To witness the magic I have only heard of.

It was surreal, nothing could have accounted for a more brilliant and magical moment. It was beautiful, a captivating wonder. Nothing could describe what I saw, a woman fair of everything. A woman so vivid of color, of presence, the slumbering flowers that surrounded the lake bloomed.

They blossomed with such elegance. Their necks stretched like eager children toward the aroma of sweets. They turned following the maiden with careful motion. They followed her as they would follow the sun. The water beneath her feet held her as if it were glass. Her hair pursued the wind. And oh was it beautiful, it was as if it were painted.

Splashed with colors, an artists madness upon her hair. An expression of beauty that could only be expressed in a geyser of color. There was no one hue that stood out more than the other. The colors harmonized with such, such magnificence.

Oh how I adored the multitude of her hair. I was lost in it and the moon only gave it more grace. And dare I speak of her skin as I peered with allure from the shadows of the trees. My breath delicately displaying the frosty air.

It was breath taking, a tantalizing pleasure to observe. If only to touch it, oh how unfitting I be for such fairness. It glistened like moonlight, dripping with visual succulence like the sun falling to a sinking horizon. Like sorbet falling from lips in the summer heat.

I could not advert my eyes, her hair wrapped about her body like loving hands. My heart was excited, pouncing at every step she took. Mesmerized like a school boy fool I kept watching. Lingering with awe.

And at a moment, I swore she had seen me. She had turned her eyes toward my attentive presence. Ah! What stunning brilliance they were, stars, stars trapped upon her face. Sparkling with waves of silk, shimmering so softly to the darkness of the night.

I was lost, lost in her. There is nothing I knew of her but of now. No voice, no name, no story but the one that unfolded before me and the childish tale I was told. And as I looked to her eyes from the short distance between the waving trees.

She had vanished upon our moment. For I swear we looked to each other as if captivated by one another. As if their was something more than my gaze wandering her body. Never had my heart felt such a thing. The emotion, the elation of her left me joyful, yet saddened.

For when would I ever see her again and if I do, will she be more than just a walking wonder? Or will I be graced with her hand or at least her voice as I peer from the trees?
--
Who has caught your eyes so deeply you had to meet again?

It is now or never for the heart is only beating closer to death, A Man's Traveled Heart

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A Weary Traveler's Words

2019-04-10T19:55:00.000-07:00

A Weary Traveler and their Words

Where to travel with this weary heart? I take up my art of broken dreams the seamless lines of darkness crowding my vision into blankness. A shroud of shadows singing so proud the hallows of the empty hollow halls. The void of my heart, tearing the delicate parts.

Where to take this lonely heart? The mountains are cold, the valleys are low and my heart is even deeper. Sinking further into the distance, a star fading to existence as wolves prowl between the howls of the wind. A sin I live in, a torment of grief, of cascading pleads.

Hands bleed as a I hold this ax, cutting down trees. Making a home that shall fit me. But alone it is difficult and in time gives no residual. And alone these eyes see two perspectives. Two objectives of my miserable perception.

Joyful and dark, each with their own end, their own start. A stark terror of fear, rejection of joy, of a happy poise. As whispers of hopeful ploys, ladled in a faithful bosom of life. Trying to consume the bitter view of my strife.

The clouds thicken, dark, burying the bright, winter has come with intent to murder. To strike, to take the colors and make the world fade. And she shall be wearing a gentle color of white, crystal earrings and hair made of snowflakes.

She shall come with lips of vivid paint. Dripping colors of purity so bright, advert your eyes. Or surely they shall go blind. My hands frozen, black, frostbit by the misery of my own crypt. A death in my own head.

Feeling the cold breeze of winter hit. A masquerade of beautiful haze, this winter be. A glee most often for youth and pain for those of age. My soul taking to the dungeons of my graves, a black rose to smell. To sing, to tell my lonesome face of my forsaken grace.

As I sit with my body stiff to the blizzard of these dark dark days.
But I still grip in prayers of something better to come this way.
--
Do not let you pain be the existence of your life. If you must, write it down, talk about it, learn about, accept it, and love yourself. Winter should only be a season, not a reason.

Unlock the box, your heart has been locked up for too long, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words.

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Today you Conquer

2019-04-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

Today You Conquer

Today, you stand before yourself like any other day. You stand before the reflection of your mistakes. The reflection of the scars that pronounce themselves as if they are all you shall ever be.

Today, you stand beside yourself, split down the middle. Yet intersecting with every moment, sadness and joy. Each fighting to warp the mind, each weaving between the neurons of your thoughts.

Coaxing you to fly or fall.

Today, you are your worst enemy and this day onward. Today, you face yourself unlike any other day. Today, those enemies that shake the walls your your heart, will be slain.

Today, you do not falter to the demons that spread lies with silver. Today, you do not sheath your sword in fear of death. Today, you are your sun, your moon, the stars, the galaxy of which you orbit and command.

Today, you are the voice of reason. Today you shall triumph, for today, though your heart feels as as heavy as an earth without gravity from our star. You stand, you walk, not with a smile, but with courage, with confidence.

Today you stand against the hordes of the vile. The wicked voice of misery, of self-loathing. Today you are the warrior you long for, the hero you seek, the love you lost and the love you need.

Today you paint your face in the blood of your demons. Today you strike down the cowards of your thoughts. You ignore the voices of the outside and transcend yourself within.

You drown out the flesh, finding only soul. Today and those days ahead till death consumes your body. You conquer, you besiege the gates of your enemy and rip them from their throne.

You seek for the next level. You search for the new demons that challenge your strength. For at this moment, this day, you will no longer be idle in mind your hands.

When lost, you will remain calm.

When angry, you will remain in focused

When sad, you will speak joy into life.

When exhausted, you will not rest, but rejuvenate.

You are no longer the reflection of what you see. But the existence of what you think. You tower over the giants that bring you fear.

You speak without stutter and you fight for your desires.

You are no longer the shaking bones beneath your flesh. But the burning blaze of your spirit.

You are a force every soldier of hell fears and every angel that welcomes. You are not what you were yesterday, nor the months before, or even the years, not even now.

You are never still in your growth. Your roots weave past the span of your breath. They fester in the kingdoms of hell bringing in light. They rise to new galaxies to embrace new wealth of body, mind and spirit.

Today and forever, you are grateful, not only for the healthy times. But the sickly times. You are the what you need and you rise when you feel weak. You no longer feel your pride stripped when another gives help.

You no longer are the fool of your emotions and the blind wanderer of your lust. You are now purposeful with each day. You learn while others rest, you create, while others eat, you fight, while others run.

You are humble, while others boast, you love, whiles others hate. You defend, while others weep. You are disciplined while others complain. You no longer speak of blame, only action.

You no longer heel to enemies, but prepare for battle. You are the warrior you need. And today, and those days till the end of your breath, you shall be as such.

But do no be a fool and think perfection. Do not be a fool and think knowledge be all, for education is formidable, but experience is all.

—

How do you keep yourself going?

We never see the purpose till we need to, A Man’s Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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Thanks for the support!

The Doctors Motive

2019-04-04T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Doctors Motive

The cold lights of the operation room ominously fall from the ceiling. I feel them collapse upon me with such a somber feel. As I stare between the glowing lights I begin too feel my legs become numb as they administer the injection.

The doctor and nurse peer over my face as they look down on me. There blue medical masks obscuring their faces as a dull haze of a halo mists from behind their heads. My eyes start to become heavy.

The nurses face fades from my view as the doctor continues to look at me, his eyes as still as the moon. He blinks a few times and says, "Count down from one hundred."

I start to count and as I do I feel a sudden penetration of a cold shiver take my body. But with the injection I feel no motion of shiver. A tinge of worry takes me as I count. "One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven...."

I can no longer keep my eyes open. Fighting has become hopeless as I feel a frigid presence hold me down. My eyes fading to the anesthesia, everything begins to blur. Sounds become robotic as voices sound of electric aliens.

I am awake no more, the dark wonders of dreams compel the passing hours. Then, in the deepest rest I have had, I come to. I wake, I see hazy lights sparkling as my eyes slowly expand. I look around in slight panic as I feel cold. Almost as if dumped in a bath of ice.

I try to talk, but I can't. I can't move my hands, my fingers are numb, my chest, I can't even feel my heart. "What is going on?!" I think with growing anxiety as my visions becomes clear.

I turn my eyes down toward my feet and there, there in the middle of my chest is the doctor. Blood covers his hands, his arms, spatters cover his mask. "What is this, what the hell is going on?!"

My anxiety increases and fear swells like a festered wound. My mind becomes an anchor for horror. I can hear now, I can hear the voices of the nurse and the doctor. I can hear them communicating as I see the doctor dive into my chest with edged blades.

I can't look away, it is madness, pure awaking malice. "What is this horror before me, why am I awake, why cannot I feel anything?!"

I try to scream, but it is useless. My entire body is the epitome of nightmares. I am as frail right now as I was in the womb of my mother. I look up at the ceiling, hoping to drown out the moment with other thoughts.

But these lights, these abducting lights. They take any peace from your mind. They shade you with false warmth as they lay pressed into the hospital like dying fireflies. Suddenly a spatter of blood lands upon my face.

I can slightly feel its lukewarm temperature upon my right cheek. I panic even more, I can't feel my heart, but if I could, it would be pacing faster than the drill the doctor has spinning in my body. I start to hear the sound of rapid beeping.

It sounds of a monitor going off. "Wait, is that me, is that my heart monitor?!" I think to myself in panic as I feel more and more of the blood on my face. It is now dry, crusted upon my skin like a scab.

"But why can I feel that and nothing else?" Suddenly I hear the nurse and doctor begin to scramble about. Speaking calm jargon I do not understand. The monitor begins to beep faster and faster. I feel my eyes dilate like the expansion of a star.

I feel sweat seep from my brow. A tear falls from me, a strange sting strikes up my spine and reverberates in my head like a migraine. The lights start to dim, my vision is becoming a blur, I am having episodes of blacking out.

I feel panic not only in me, but in the room. The monitor is spiking fast, I can start to feel the ends of my body. My fingers, my toes. "Ouch..what the?!" Pain starts igniting from all ends of my body. I look down and there stands the the doctor, frantically trying to clamp a geyser of blood.

As I watch the doctor I begin to cry silently. The horror before me cannot be described but as pure as a living nightmare. A horrific visage of horror.

I keep my eyes to the doctor with an ungodly need to watch. But the pain in my body becomes excruciating. Pins and needles crawl up every inch of my body. The feel of knifes rapidly penetrate the nerves of my back but I cannot scream, I cannot move.

I begin to pray and as I do, I start to feel my lips. The words, "Oh so help me god" are formed but are silent as my lips softly form each syllable. Then suddenly, I am struck with the sharpest, most relentless pain I have ever felt.

The pain is so horrendous my body becomes completely awakened, I scream. I start to jolt as my arms and legs are strapped. I struggle and struggle to escape. My panicked eyes look down at my chest and there stands erected in the middle of my body, a set of silver clamps wavering back and forth with each second I try to escape.

As flail about I feel two hands grasp my shoulders, they press me down to the table and all I hear is, "Inject him, hurry, hurry or he'll die!"

I look toward the voice, my eyes are as far over as possible and all I can see is the edge of needle and suddenly I feel a pinch in my neck. My nerves instantly clam, the erratic beeping of the monitor subsides. And again, the lights become filtered in a haze and I can keep my eyes open no longer.

What feels like a few moments later I wake. But this time I am sitting slightly up. My head just above my heart. A little drowsy I look around, sloshing my head from one side to the next. As I look to my right, I see a window and a belt of trees. Then I look to my left and there stands a nurse looking at what I assume are my files.

I try to speak, but I am still too dazed to do as such. The nurse finishes her examination of the files and looks over at me smiles and says, "How are you feeling Mr. Cowl?"

Looking at her, I try to summon up some words but I can't. So with no voice I scrunch my face in approval as one may do in a state of drunken stupor. The nurse then comes closer places her hands on my forearm and says, "That is good to hear, everything went as planned, not a single complication, you should be out of here in a few days. Rest up and be sure to consume whatever the nurses supply.

We don't want you here longer than is necessary. If you need anything, (the nurse pulls up a button from under my hand that is attached to a white cord) just press this. But for emergencies or bathroom use only. My name is Liz, I will be here a few more hours and then the next shift will take over. Now...get some rest."

I tried the entire time to say something but I couldn't. Whatever they injected me with is still having side effects. The nurse exits the room and as she does an older gentleman steps into the door way. My eyes still affected by the injection I can't quite make out who it is.

But he just stands there looking at me, I think he has a blue medical mask on. He then starts to enter the room. I become somewhat worried as he has said nothing. I feel that cold breeze again I felt in the operating room just before I past out.

The man nears me and leans over me saying, "I am Dr. Frip, your operating surgeon. Lets check your vitals and see how you are faring."

The Doctor checks my vitals and while he does I try to speak. I am actually successful and am able to say a few words, "What...what happened?"

The doctor, checking my eyes, "What happened?!..what do you mean?"

The doctor lifts his light from my eyes. "I...I woke up...up during the procedure!"

The doctor, still wearing his blue medical masks removes it. His eyes stay upon mine as his hand pries it down. His face plastered with confusion, "You woke up? What are you talking about? There were no complications, everything went smoothly."

I look to the doctor with much scrutiny and better motor skills, I raise my hand with a finger extended. "No, I woke up, I saw you doing surgery on my chest. Cutting into it, cleaning away blood. I saw everything. I even saw the clamp you placed swing about as I freaked out."

The doctor stands away from me and laughs a bit, "Oh, you're one of those, okay, simple enough. The anesthesia we gave you sometimes as incredibly adverse effects on a patient.."

"Adverse?!" I respond while gripping the hospital bed.

"Yes, see, some patients have outstandingly wild dreams or, rather nightmares. We even had a patient think we were aliens taking his heart. But trust me, you still have a heart as much as they do."

I become somewhat unnerved by the response and grab at my hospital gown over my heart. I let my hand set there for a moment. I feel my heart beat and I become relieved.

I smile at the doctor and say, "Well, I can feel my heart, so everything must be okay. Guess it was just dream, a terrible one at that." I laugh a little then cough as the pain from the surgery snuffs my moment of pleasure.

The doctor then replies with a smile and says, "Alright, I shall be back tomorrow to check on you. Have a good night and get some rest."

Dr. Frip turns away and starts to leave the room, as he does the lights in my room dims for a moment, as if power was being drained from them. As that happened a strange shadow contorted from the doctors shadow. A shadow with an oversize head and four arms.

That cold feeling I had before took to my body again. Just as the doctor exited the room he turned back, looked into the room at me and smiled and as he did, I swear his eyes changed as if they were eyes of cat or something.

A jolt of fear took me and then he vanished. I then grasped at my chest one more time to double check my heart. I close my eyes and carefully listen.

"Thump, thump, thump" replies my heart.

I release a sigh of relief. The next day I am released form the hospital. But upon exiting the hospital I start feeling a sharp pain in my chest. I start to cough, the nurse pushing me in my wheel chair rushes in front and asks if I am okay.

I look up at her the best I can and I shake my head no. It starts to rain, thick clouds of grey rumble with anger. The nurse turns me back around and pushes me inside. As she does she calls for the doctor. It's the same doctor that did surgery on me.

He runs over with urgency, "What is the problem nurse?!"

I continue to cough as the nurse replies, "He is coughing uncontrollably, I think he may be rejecting the heart!"

Over hearing the nurse between coughs, "Rejecting the heart? But I wasn't in for heart surgery?"

The coughing continues and the nurse and doctor exchange words as I try to suppress this unyielding cough.

"This can't be." Says the doctor as he lifts my head and shines a light. "He was the perfect candidate, everything matched, this should be him. A hundred and fifty years of research and you're telling me he is rejecting it? Bring him back to my office, maybe we just need to tweak a few things."

My cough only worsens as they spoke. I could not hear much of what they said as my entire body aches. The nurse pushes me through the hospital as the doctors leads us through. We reach his office, he opens the door and there in the middle is the usual patient bed.

They both grab me and toss me on the bed. They strap me down and start to examine. The doctor leans over me and says, "You may feel more than a slight pinch."

I look down at my chest as I feel his hand slid up under my shirt. Then a sharp pain sparks through out my entire body. I can't scream in pain as the cough is too powerful. My eyes are observing the best they can.

As I look with the doctors hand under my shirt, I see strange motions. Motions a human hand would never make. I hear unearthly sounds from under my shirt where the doctors hand is. Sounds as if something is being pumped.

As the pain continues to rupture through my body and the cough only increases the room becomes a frigid hole. The lights glimmer with a shroud of darkness and the walls become an irritant to my eyes as the shade of yellow becomes very unappealing.

But suddenly, the doctor sands up, the cough ceases and I fall back completely limp on the bed. The nurse and doctor look to each other as sweat pours from every part of my body.

The doctor looking at the nurse, "It seems his body was having a tough time meshing both the blood compounds together. I gave him some of mine, so it should even out now. Hopefully by tomorrow we will know the true success of this.

Our leaders will be quite pleased if we can transfuse our hearts into these humans. If it is truly possible and this is it, we have billions of hosts."

The nurse smiles at the doctor reaching into her pocket and grabs a bottle of pills. She opens it and places two in her hand. She then turns around grabs a small paper cup from the counter and fills it with water.

I look on but am too exhausted to move. She walks over to me and asks me to open my mouth, I foolishly follow her command. She puts the pills in my mouth, followed by water and has me swallow.

I feel the pills slide down my throat with ease. The nurse tells me I must remain here for twenty minutes. The doctor looks at me and says nothing. His five o'clock shadow smile says it all. He exits the office along with the nurse.

I become worried as they leave me strapped to a patient table. I try to move but I can't, twenty minutes goes by. I feel warm and fuzzy. A smile spreads wildly across my tired face. The nurse enters, "Okay, lets get you out of here and back home."

The nurse helps me into the wheel chair. I feel drool dripping from my mouth. The nurse pulls a clothe from her pocket, "There there, we can't have you drooling all over the place." She wipes the drool from my face.

After a few minutes outside the hospital a van pulls up, "Witch Tree Mental Hospital."
My eyes glide across each word. My drugged brain has little to say but a feeling over takes me. A feeling of unrest.

A portly man exits the van and approaches, he nods to the nurse as he moves behind me. I suddenly feel a heavy grip grab the wheel chair and begin to push me. The van door opens, a small elevator lift rolls out. I am guided onto it and into the van and safely belted in.

The portly man enters the driver side of the van. While a gentleman beside me in an all white nurse outfit looks forward. The portly man turns the key, starts the engine and before we drive off he looks back with a devilish green and says, "Welcome, you'll be quite comfortable here, no more living a life without friends."

Drool starts to fall from my lip. Both the driver and the gentleman beside me ignore it. I grunt to grab the gentleman's attention, but he just looks at me as my drugged eyes beg for help. He says or does nothing but keeps his eyes front.

About thirty minutes goes by and we arrive at a large dull government looking building. No windows, only a black door with the bold words printed on it, "Authorized personnel only."

I am briskly removed from the van and escorted to the secured door. We enter the building and make our way through a security check point. In my drugged state, I can only explain the place as a drab nightmare. A place colored in despair. Where the floors are cracked, the smell of rubbing alcohol hugs the air.

And dim yellow lights like dying fireflies are pressed into it. After a few moments of check points we walk down a long hall pass multiple doors on either side. Still heavily sedated I can do nothing but hope for the best.

A pool of drool has formed over my limped right hand that rests just at my waist. The portly man guides me through a set of doors at the end of the hall. The doors were locked with a chain and a key card to enter.

As we enter the room I see many others like me. Others in wheel chairs, others just slouched in stationary chairs and others on the floor drooling. The portly man pushes me into the middle of the room.

He then steps in front of me, takes his sleeve and wipes the drool from my face with a devilish smile. He places one hand on each arm rests of the wheel chair and says, "see, now you have friends just like you. No more lonely nights my friend. And hopefully soon enough, that heart in there won't be rejected by your body and you can be accepted back into the world...Well, you won't exactly be you, but you won't be this any more." As he looks around at all the other drooling patients.

The portly man then stands back up and disappears behind me. Then, all I hear is the sound of the door being locked and the mumbling and grumbling of those around me.
---

Do you think there is strange experiments out there that are trying to change the world forever?

It is only the limits you design that shall set your worth, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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A Sunset Fade to Love

2019-04-03T19:55:00.000-07:00

A Sunset Fade to Love

I look to Jessica as we sit across from each other. The train is packed and two strangers sit across from both of us. I am unsure what to say, as this is the end of our trip. The semester is over and soon will be saying goodbye.

This was her last semester before moving to her next step. Her next step to getting her masters and I have I one more to go before my bachelors. So, the tension in my heart is very constricting. She could be moving out of state or staying here, she is unsure still.

And me, I don't think school will be something I aim for after. Maybe a job for a short while then start my own thing. But this could be the last moment, she is flying to see her parents and I am flying back home, which is where our school is.

This abroad semester has been amazing. It has been a living fantasy to be beside Jessica for as long as I have been. And looking at her, her nose is deep into her book so there is no chance she'll see...."Oh crap" she just looked up at me.

I dart my eyes down to my feet. She must have seen me looking? My cheeks become a slight flush of red. I wonder what she thought I was doing, eek, total stalker moment on my end, ha, hopefully that's not true.

Man, I make this more awkward than it needs to be. Looking down at my feet I listen to the trains rhythmic tune as it hits the tracks. I sort of lose myself to the rhythm while I think about Jessica. Its been twelve weeks and we have been at each others side almost everyday.

I can't even think of day where we had nothing to say. There were those moments of silence, but they were welcomed. You know, those moments with your best friend where you are sitting in the car and not a single word is said, but you are okay with that.

That was the kind of silence we shared from time to time. But everyday there was laughter, some days more than others. I even had the chance to really get to know her and her, me. We both swapped our life stories through out the weeks.

It was great, it was like learning about a whole new world. Where only a handful of people understood how to navigate through it. And I got to learn about hers, and man, did she have a tough life.

Much tougher than mine, but that I think is what makes her even more special, that, and her beautiful smile. I can't get that smile out of my head. Every time she smiles I get this feeling in my gut. Like butterflies but with a twist of happiness.

It is just so perfect, each smile she makes glistens like a sunset against a calm ocean. Watching her smile, I get lost in fantasy. Lost in the thought of kissing her, of holding her in my arms and telling her how beautiful she is.

How wonderful her presence feels and how she makes me feel like a foolish child around their crush. Oh, and her laugh, don't even get me started. She hates it, but is magic to my ears, it warms up my soul when its cold.

And her little quirks, those just get me. Learning quirks of another is like finding a treasure no one else has found. But a treasure no one wants but you. She does this thing when she is reading, but only when she gets to a part she is really into.

She bites her lower lip and flares her nose. Don't know why, but that is my favorite of all her quirks. I think its the intensity in her look I enjoy. You can really see she has found something she truly enjoys in the moment.

She can get so lost in a book she'll forget where she's at. Oh, there I go again, trailing off on thoughts of Jessica, but damn. How are you supposed to get such perfection out of your head? Well, my shoes are looking the same, I wonder what the outside has going on?

As I go to look outside I give myself the excuse to look at Jessica. My eyes slowly glide up from her shoes to her knees, her legs crossed, up to the book, her hands tightly gripping the pages, and up to the top her head. Since her face is buried I guess the top her head is what I get? Ha, better than nothing, I think as my eyes mover over her.

But just as I am about to look outside, I see the sun is sinking behind the cascading mountains. Now is the time to get her attention. I raise my finger to point to the sunset and jumble up a set of words to attract Jessica.

I can feel my chest ready to release the necessary air to speak. But I fail too, I am too nervous, but why now? Why cannot talk to her now? Probably because she is leaving most likely and the fact that I want to be more than friends makes me extremely nervous. What if she is not into me like that?

What if I tell her I like her, she rejects me and now I am just a fool dreaming of what he was never met have? A fool now stuck across from the beauty that is Jessica, a now pillar of rejection.

Suddenly I am bumped by the stranger next to me. He nudged his shoulder into mine. I look over at him, he looks at me then at Jessica and nods. He looks back at me again, leans in and whispers, "It's now or never my friend."

I look at him with an abrupt moment of confusion. Then I look outside at the sun. Its orange haze is fading quickly. Its golden halo is being swallowed by the horizon ever so sublimely. I can almost taste the colors.

I look back at Jessica, her face still buried, but as I look to her, she slowly presents her eyes over the edge of her book. She sees me, we lock eyes. I become instantly flushed but as I look at her, the falling sun glows upon her face.

A display of an angel sits before me. Painted in the kiss of the sun and who else right now, in this booth on this train is having this exact moment with this exact feeling? Probably nobody and here I am, the luckiest guy ever.

And as quickly as the sun is fading so will this moment if I do nothing. Looking to each other, I turn and point outside to the sun and tell her, "Jessica look, the sun is falling?!" She sits up, places the book in her lap and peers outside.

I can see in the corner of my eye her attention is now drawn to this moment. I then look at her and say, "Come over here, you can see it better." That was a total lie, you can see it just fine from either seat, but I used it as a reason for her to come closer.

She looks at me and smiles gently, the glass reflects our presence like frosted memories. I stand up from my seat and her from hers. We both stand staring out the window, watching the last inches of the sun.

And just before it fades, I blow on the glass and draw a heart. Jessica looks at it, then back at me. She then does the same, but draws a smiley face. We both smile, I then look to her with soft passion and she looks to me with her glistening eyes as the stars start to wake.

But I become frozen, awkwardly frozen, "she's till looking at me and smiling, she got up from her sit when she did't really need to. Say something" I think as I stand frozen like a fool.

Then a voice from behind us speaks, "You gonna say something or let her walk away like that sunset just did?"

We both turn around and there is the same man that nudged me earlier, looking at me with one brow raised with a look of command.

Jessica looks back toward me with an innocently confused look, but I could tell she knew. At this point I am stuck, I can't walk away now. I turn to Jessica and gently grasp her hands with mine. Our eyes as still as stones.

"Jessica, I don't know how to say this, but, I like you, well, more than like, but yeah. I mean, we have spent all these weeks together and never had a dull moment. We make each other laugh, I know you might be moving but. I don't want this chance to fade like the sun does. And if you feel the same, awesome. If not, then we have these twelve weeks to share for a life time."

During that whole speech I could feel my face become one large rose. Every ounce of blood I had rose to my face. You could have cooked a steak on my cheeks, that's how hot they were.

Now I am standing in silence waiting for a response from Jessica as I stare at her like an idiot. At first she says nothing, she turns her head back toward her sit and looks at her book then back at me. Not even a smile lays upon her lips. No real emotion what so ever.

I just keep staring waiting as my once dry hands now sweat with anticipation. Jessica then begins to speak.

The dim train lighting falls upon this moment like soft candle light. Candle light for either a romantic moment or, candle light for the somber death of my heart.

"Well....Ryan, I mean, I did have fun in all....but.....("Oh dear, here comes the pain.") But you never finished that book I recommended and if you can't finish my favorite book I don't think this would work out." A smile paints across Jessica's face.

I smile and give out a quick laugh, "That's not fair, you never told me it was your favorite!"

We both laugh and as we do, a voice speaks out over the intercom, "All passengers please be ready to disembark, we will be arriving at our final destination. Thank you for choosing Waywarks Rails, May you have a safe trip home or where ever you may be headed."

Caught off guard by the intercom we had lost track of each other, but we never let go of each others hands. The train starts to slow and with a my heart racing faster than the train could ever go, I lean in for a kiss. Jessica meets my lips with hers.

And in this moment I feel my heart slow, I feel everything in me become clothed in bliss. I feel ourselves entwine like honey upon the tongue. A combination unmet. Such a vivid explosion of feelings pours out from me.

I can only hope she feels the same, so here starts our journey of tragedy or love.
--
What has been a time you were to afraid to tell someone you like them or know of someones awkward story of similar situation?

Could we have more than one love or, do we have many tries but only one true love?
A Man's Traveled Heart

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Drown This Heart

2019-04-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

Drown My Heart

Drown this heart! I scream as I plunge it beneath the depth of the ocean. Drown it till it can beat no more! It has no place here. For I am empty of any love, my senses are absent. As absent as breath is to death.

Let a corpse be my existence for the twinge of life I have allowed it to cripple me. But I have given no cane to my soul and no hope to my mind. Let the water suffocate what is left, what shall save me? Nothing, for I have swept myself clean of any desire to stand beneath the stars nor the moon.

Let me vanish from the sunsets. Let me be a shadow of every night and the shade of every morning. For this heart is miserable. It drips of tar, a blackness gripped in the bowels of misery. I bear only contempt for my actions, myself.

I have allowed fear to be my guide and have watched love fade because of it. So close I have been, so close to the warmth of love but, I am dirt flung upon any flame. And so be it, the silence of my heart. For I feel it to be better to never feel than be tormented by memories bliss.

The awful reel of what is no more. Like an amputee reliving memories before the pieces of them were stolen. I am cold, bitter as the ice in the Arctic and as alone as a canine stripped from his master. And so I am lost, wandering the paved streets with no direction.

Fearful of the slightest hand that reaches, scurrying to the nearest alley. Rotting, frothing with echoes as if bitten by the past.

So allow me to drown this heart and let it be nothing but an organ, a pulsating heap of tissue. Separate me from emotion and let the primal be all that is left. Instinct shall keep alive but drag me not through the damages of living.

Holding my heart, I feel it struggling, fighting, but I fight back. Like a rat shoved in a bag it wishes to escape. But it bares no teeth for such an attempt. It is dying, I can feel it, I can feel the rhythm slow. I can feel myself falling to the silence.

The Tundra of suffering, but where there is no sparks to ignite and so there is no hearts to burn. But my hands are growing weak and my body is becoming tired. Why does it resist, why does this heart wish to live? Does it not remember all the misery, the miserable, the tarnished soul that it is?

My hands are wrinkling to the moisture of the ocean and my grip is becoming as useful as shoes without laces. My fingers, I can feel them tingle to the cold, the numbness. Am I still holding it? I think as I cannot see it through the murky waters. Nor can I feel it. Have I lost it, but I do not feel freed, I do not feel as if I am void of it feelings, its desire for love.

Where is the silence, the ever reverberating feel of an empty chest? My hands, still beneath the water I slowly raise them and as I do, there is nothing between them but sand; Gritty, wasteful, and grimy sand! Where is my heart, where did it go? Has it drowned? Did it free itself unbeknownst to me?

I begin to panic and in my madness I strip myself of my clothes till I am nude, vulnerable to all. The moon is brightly lit, my pale skin looms from its gaze. I am shivering from the cold, but I do not see my heart. I do not see it beating in my chest. There is no beat, no rhythm I feel beneath by ribs.

I smile with slight relief, but as I do I am taken by a wave. And like a fish taken from water I flounder about with craze. With the frightful want to survive, to live. But there is no hope for me for I cannot swim and I have lost sight of the shore.

In my struggle to seek air I see my heart floating motionless near me. I frantically reach for it, hoping for its help but it gives me no response as it floats by. Its tissue as pale as mine as a crimson cloud pours from it.

I feel my lungs fill with the uncomfortable taste of salt. The world is dimming now and there is nothing for me to do. I so eagerly wanted death upon my heart and lose myself to the existence of feeling. And now, I have lost myself completely.

The moon beams upon the now calm shore and in its glowing grasp shines upon something no bigger than a human heart. And in the shadows walks a mother and child, adoring the cool night.

"Mommy mommy, look, what is that?" The child points to the shining object. The mother leans over to inspect. "Oh! My dear! That is a heart, poor fellow who ever lost that. Another taken by the false hope to escape I am sure."

The child looks at the heart and up at his mother, "what do you mean mother?"

The mother, looking to her child then at the heart, "When you get older son, you will learn that life is a constant battle to even breathe. And either you live it or, it lives you."
---
Anyone understand this or just me?

There is trouble every where you go, but how you deal with it tells a lot about you,
Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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Logan's Demons

2019-03-28T19:45:00.000-07:00

Logan's Demons

Logan weeps as he watches it all burn. The smoke rising like death from a wintry rest. He cannot help but feel the world upon his chest. His eyes flooding beneath his feet, his hands wrapped upon his face like a mask.

But he cannot hide the misery that bellows from his sorrowed soul. He is alone, a solitude man with far fetched dreams. Reaching, falling, they slip through his fingers like light. Catching only the darkness that is left behind.

Even the birds that flutter about veer from his existence. They have abandoned all trees, all of natures touch. For Logan has breached the soils of earth with rotted roots. Piercing the once flourishing greens of his land.

But he is poisoned, poisoned by the ache of his heart. His eyes drivel with sorrow, sadness has sunk into his gut. Heavy be even the smallest breath. His flesh as pale as the dead, and like the dead, he feels no more.

He feels only the decay that has grasped his ribs and constricted his beating heart. He is slow to smile, slow to laugh, but quick to the anger of his anguish. He boils red inside, steaming coals beneath his flesh. But his touch his cold, his voice his brittle.

He screams as his echoes are heard no further than his own ears. How much he wishes to forsake, to walk away. To plunge to dark swamps, let the heated waters of tar take him. Envelope his lungs like melted metals to a cast.

But preserve nothing. Let the shadows be his only trace, for they are never seen as more than what they be. Hallow vessels for the withering to seek shelter. Vanish to the prisms of pitch, become nothing more than a fading print upon a shore.

How dearly Logan wishes to dissolve to the coldness. Become particles of detritus. Feasted by the bacteria like a sickness.

The dark smoke smolders upon the horizon with no veil. It openly rises, scouring every mountain, every valley, river, creek, and road. Devouring the living without a sense of sympathy. An apathetic take of existence.

Logan's eyes darken like midnight. They pearl like marble, shimmering upon the thunderous strikes of lighting. A storm hails over his heart. Waves crash upon his ribs, and demons salivate from their ships.

Raising his hand like a flag, Logan opens his heart, and from it shines a flickering light. And like stars in the sky, the demons take to it as if a sailor. They bash their ships upon the rocky shore, gladly letting the carnage of the storm take a few of their many.

And like ants they scurry to the light. They flock like months to lamplight and crowd the flickering beam. And with their tongues they savor the gleaming starlight that beams from Logan's heart. And with pathetic intent, Logan flails back, landing upon his spine.

Lying flat, looking to the dark thickened sky of black. Laying motionless as his demons consume him as if the sugars of heaven.
--
We are all at the edge of letting our demons become ourselves.

Take into account, you are only alone if you do not speak up, A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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The Bone Girl

2019-03-27T19:55:00.000-07:00

The Bone Girl

I hear whispers in the night as I lay my head to rest. I assure you I am not ill, I am not mad in the mind or body. Quiet whispers I tell you, tickle gently upon the canals of my ears before each rest at midnight. Like wisps of wind through an empty hall.

But oddly, I fear them not but I am quite gripped in confusion. As if lost in a room of mirrors, I am finding no exit. But I do not allow my lost mind to be wild. I keep my wits about me as I lay myself to rest.

What these whispers say I do not know. They are foreign in tongue, or so I think. I reach out to my doctor, he gives me no advice but to take pills to help me rest. He states, "It may be your lack of well rest. Often the mind will become delusional if not sufficiently resting."

I take his offer of pills and yet, I still hear the somber voices that trickle from the air. I am not mad I tell you, I swear. There is no delusion of my mind, only the haunting of my room. Maybe I should rest in another room? Maybe then I will be welcomed with silence?

So I try my living room, I lay my pillow upon my couch and my comforter rests snug upon my body. I hear nothing but the crackling of my fireplace as it dwindles to the night. The smell of smoke comforts my traveling thoughts as I wait for the whispers to come.

But there is nothing...

Wait, as my mind comes to exhaustion, just before the pills seize my body I hear them. But I am too weak to fight the medication. I drift to the lands of dreams, where I find myself lost in my own home. I am search of something, but what?

I feel frantic in this dream, my house is bare of any furniture and the front door is wide open. An unholy wind rushes from it. I try to close it but the wind is too strong, I am swept from my feet. Tossed to the corner near the fireplace.

As I lay with frantic eyes I look to the fireplace and a sudden shriek of a young girl howls from the chimney. Ash is flung from it and from the ash I see a face. A face of young girl, she appears to be in pain, pure torment fills the room as she screams.

My heart is rapid in pace and I cannot move. The ash falls upon me and covers me head to toe. I then see a small shadow, that of a girl. It crawls up my legs, it is cold and I shiver. The shadow clasps my ankles and forces me to the chimney. Pulling me up up up, as if I weigh of nothing.

I feel my bones break as I am forced into the confined mouth of the chimney. I can neither speak nor move. Just as I am pulled to the opening of the chimney. I am transported under the floorboards of place I do not know, but feels familiar. I pound the floor for help, screaming anxiously for anyone to answer.

A figure passes above, pacing back and forth madly. But there is no response of any kind. I then wake to find myself covered in sweat, drenched as if it rained. I feel no fever nor bodily sickness. I run to the bathroom and examine myself. No strange signs upon my skin, I am merely parched so I consume water from my sink with haste.

Lifting my head from the sink I see a shadowy figure behind me. I am breached with fear and I fling myself around. But it is gone, all that is there is the closed curtain of my shower. My heart is beats nervously.

I grab the bottle of sleeping pills that sits upon my bathroom counter. I read the side effects, but there is nothing of hallucinations. Maybe I am still asleep, I pinch myself and I can feel it. I return quickly no my living room and look to the clock.

It reads three-forty five AM. I decide to return to my rest. As I close my eyes I whisper under my breath, "I am not mad." I then fall gently to rest and surprisingly have a pleasant dream of my late wife. We laugh and dance beneath the moon and I wake to the early morning sun.

I assume my usual routine and abide to the call of my boss as he rings my phone asking me to stay late today. I agree, as I must if I wish for a better position in the company. I clean myself up and dress myself in my usual. Brown wool pants, a black cotton button up, my white suspenders and my long black pea-coat.

I exit my home and rush to work. Thirteen hours pass by and all I can think about is that horrific dream. Upon leaving my work nearing my home. I begin to hear the whispers again. This time, they are clear, the voice whispers the words, "Help, help, please help me."

I look about my surroundings and see nothing. Only the lit street lights and the rising dense fog. I listen, but the whispers are gone. All that can be heard is the chattering of shoes upon the stone streets and the laughter of couples and friends as they pass by.

It starts to rain as I reach my front door. I open the door and am strangely overcome with tiresome eyes. I decide to brew some tea and drop in one of my pills into my cup. I slowly sip my tea as I start a fire. About two hours later I become greatly fatigued.

Sitting upon my couch my eyes half open. I can feel myself struggling to keep hold my tea. I fall into a slumber, I feel my hand release my half drank tea. I wake, what I assume is a few hours later. My vision slightly blurry, I see my fire has woken itself from small flames to a comforting presence.

I grab the steel rode beside the fire and adjust a few of the logs. But as I do I become clutched by the sands of sleep. I tumble forward, feeling myself fall as I try to fight but I am unable to save myself. I fall face first into the fire.

I try to scream but am silent. I feel the heat ravage my flesh but feel no pain. I become engulfed in flames but only for a moment. A figure from the shadows splashes me with water and lifts me up placing me on my couch.

I try to look them in the face but they are hidden in the shadows. I suddenly hear the whispers again. They become increasingly loud. They turn to a shriek of pain. My body becomes consumed with fear, I close my eyes and pray in my head for this all to end.

I then wake again, at least that is what I believe. But again I am under the floorboards screaming and pounding for help as heavy footsteps pace with madness. I start to cry and I look to my hands and they are small, they are not mine. They are of a young girls, looking to these foreign hands I start to feel her pain, who ever this girl may be.

After what feels of hours, I wake this time to reality and how I know this. I look to the floor and there lies my half drank tea. Spilled upon the floor and soaked to the boards of the home. Looking to the spilled tea, I reach a thought, a conclusion as to what this dream might be telling me.

I grab hold the steal rode that leans against the wall. I start to pry up the floorboards in front of the fore. There is nothing there. I start prying up floorboards in all the rooms. Frustrated with the irksome need to end this madness before I become the victim of my own mind.

Hours go by and I have pulled up every room in the house but mine. I start to wonder if I really am mad. Then, in one last attempt to conclude my madness. I briskly make my way up the tall narrow stairs to my room. Why I made the attic my room I shall never know, at least not till I have an answer to these whispers. I open the door and begin to pry each board up. The sound of nails screech as they are forced from their placement.

I find nothing so far, I decide to move my bed, I lift it up and press it against the wall. I pry the floor up, my bones start to quiver as I fear I might find what I wish not too see. Prying up the third board, I see something. Something that appears to be bones. I pry the next board and the next and the next.

And as I reveal what lies beneath my bed, I am overcome with grief and despair as to what I find.

I find the bones of small girl still wearing a pink dress and many of her bones are mangled, broken. Her dress appears to have been burned.

---

What do you think of horror stories/mystery?

Did you enjoy this one, why or why not?

Let your heart run wild, A Man's Traveled Heart

Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words

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The Wild West

2019-03-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

The Wild West

My father sprung from the porch and swept me up in his arms. At first I was not alarmed, as a young girl I thought for a moment he was playing with me. But as he picked me up and I giggled he gave no equal response.

I looked up, his face was stern with worry. His eyes gazed into the horizon as the sun started to sink behind the short cascade of desert hills. I then looked over as well and there in the distance like walking shadows, were six men riding horses.

We often got visitors at our home. We were near a central road for travelers. Which we often gave them a place to rest as long as they respected our rules. But these visitors, if you could even call them that were not the usual kind.

My father rushed me into the house and told me to lock the door in stay inside. I was then overcome with fear. My father shut the door and I locked it. As he shut it I saw him reaching for his pistol that was slung over his chair on the porch.

I then ran over to the window to see what was going on. The men were then close enough to start seeing characteristics of their clothing. They all wore blue jeans and red button plaid shirts. Each had a different color bandanna covering their faces.

I had no clue as to who they were or what they wanted. I was merely a young daughter onlooking the situation. My father stood with his hand rested gently on his pistol as it hung from his waist. The men on the horses approached my father and began to talk.

I could no discern what they were saying. My father was defensive with his posture and kept pointing south. South led to the next town, about ten miles. I could vaguely hear my fathers voice start to raise in tone.

The sun had finally been engulfed by the fading horizon. The sky lit up with stars and the moon was glowing red. I remember looking at the moon and feeling a strange cold breeze over come me. I shivered for a quick second as I looked to it.

Then looked back and the men had dismounted their horses. My father took a few steps back and gripped his pistol firmly. I started to become frightened as the men started to surround my father. One of the men had a shotgun while the others only had pistols like my father.

They closed in on my father till they were only about five feet from him. My father kept to his position and would carefully swivel his head keeping an eye on the men as best he could. My father then tried to back away from the circle of men.

But one pushed him back into the middle. I remember them laughing as they did it. They then all started to join in. I started to cry as they bullied my father. My father was a good man and a strong man, the men were weak in stature but there were more than my father could fight alone.

Then, as they pushed my father around the man with the shotgun jabbed my father in the face with the butt of the gun. He fell to his knees and let go of his pistol and then raised his hand as if to protect himself. For a few minutes they just stood around him talking.

I could see my father was speaking as well. Probably trying to talk his way out of it. But the men were not having it. They started to kick dust at my father. Then, the one who seemed to be the ring leader, who wore a red bandanna, pulled out his pistol and aimed it at my father.

He stood right in front of my father, the pistol was gold, with a dark wood grip. I remember I started to pound on the window as I cried. I remember they looked over keeping the pistol aimed at my father. They saw me, my father turned and yelled for me to go hide.

I listened, sort of. I darted from the window and ran to my father's room. I then heard the men walking up to the door. Their spurs jingled with each step like a small collection of dull bells. I dove under my father's bed.

They tried to open the door but they quickly learned it was locked and kicked it in with only a few attempts. They then poured into the room with weapons drawn. There were four of them, I could see them from under the bed.

My father's room overlooked the front door. The men started to search, they tried to call me out but I remained silent. Then, one of the men stepped to my father's room and stood at the entrance for a moment while the others searched the rest of the house. Upstairs and down, I waited till I heard three of them upstairs.

That's when I made my move. The man that stood at entrance to my fathers room had no idea what was about to happen. My father always kept a shotgun under the frame of his bed. I had grabbed it the moment I swung myself under the bed. I can still remember the feeling of the wood grip and cool metal trigger as I clasped the shotgun in my hands. I aimed it at the right foot the man. I carefully placed my finger on the trigger like my father taught me.

I took in a breath and slowly released it till there was a pause. The man took only a single step into the room and I took the shot. The shotgun kicked, spitting out a single slug, penetrating the mans right foot, blood shot out and his foot lay mangled like meat battered by hammer. He fell to the ground howling in pain.

When he hit the ground we made eye contact, he yelled out to the other men where I was. My heart was beating insanely. I had never felt what I felt on that day. Adrenaline became my friend in that moment, I scurried out from under the bed with the shotgun and ran out the back door from my father's room.

The men upstairs ran down to find me. I hurried to the side of the house and slowly peered around the corner to see the front where my father was. I remember my ears ringing violently from the blast of the shotgun. I was completely focused on finding my father. I was hoping he was going to be okay.

I looked around the corner, my ears still ringing, I could not hear the men inside the house. When I looked around the corner, I saw the man in the red bandanna lying on the ground motionless. I then saw my father scuffling with the other man.

Then, from behind I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I panicked and turned around quickly with the shotgun ready to go. It was my older brother and my mother. He told me to be quiet. He asked me what was going on.

I told him in a hushed and hurried tone. He grabbed the shotgun from me and racked it back. The other men were trying to help out the guy I shot. My brother then walked into the room as my mother held me.

Then, suddenly, I heard two shots go off in the house. I jolted in shock and my mother grasped me tighter. We waited to see what the outcome was, luckily my brother stepped out from the house covered in spatter of blood.

My mother then grabbed my hand and we ran over to my brother. She hugged him for a moment and then we quietly walked to the edge of the house. I peered around the corner again with my mother and saw we my father fighting. But then he and the man scuffled off out of our view. After that, all we heard was three shots go off.

My mother told me to wait as she went to look. I then heard another shot go off. My mother came back running around the corner. Then, after a minute or two, our father came around the house with his hand on his stomach. Blood had soaked his white shirt near the bottom of his abdomen.

My mother came to tears and ran over to him and helped him in the house. I then walked along the house and stuck to the side of house to look. Laying there in the front yard, I saw three bodies lying on the ground. I ran over and saw one was my brother, who had ran off to help our father during the chaos of it all. And I will never forget seeing his face mangled from a pistol shot.

The man in the red bandanna was on his stomach. I could see a trail of blood from where he was. He had multiple knife wounds in his back. A few paces from him just behind me, was another man, his throat was cut with a bullet wound in his chest.

Two days later, my father died from an infection from his wound. Now it is just me and my mother and my little brother who was kept in the carriage during all this. And just like that, our brother and father were taking, all because my father would not allow bandits to rest in our home.
--
We never know when we may have to defend ourselves. The enemy will always come with an army and we must do the same.

We can only fight for what we have prepared for,