Langley Häftling
Bio
Wenn Vertrauen bedeutet, die eigene Freiheit aufzugeben, bedeutet Misstrauen, ein Diener Ihrer eigenen Unsicherheit zu sein.
Ich werde kein Gefangener zu dieser Welt sein.
Stories (8/0)
Hidden And Wealthy, And, Ghastly And Dead
"Everyone died. Yet, all of us survived." - The Silver Cassowary, (qtd. 1847) The Silver Cassowary: The ground howled in agony, the floor flying from its place, drawing with the fire three hundred feet behind in the seconds it was present. A metal grated floor slid beneath my hands at a speed fast enough it scorched my fingers to melt beneath my weight. My fist flew forward, in instinct, seeking something to grasp. The pillar of air vanished between my knuckles. The back of a sharply ridged object met my back; the encounter snapped my neck back into broken rebar falling out over several sets of leather seats, sliced down to strips from the damage. A wind of synthetic air swept my face and chest, quickly followed by the fire that aroused me first. The floor rumbled violently, and I traveled across it from the sheer force of its motion—nearly thirty knots at the time. As I inhaled the smoke, I was hesitant to reach out in front of myself, that I would grasp a blade of flame and reduce my fingers to wax.
By Langley Häftling 8 months ago in Fiction
What Only Mothers Do.
I used to be afraid of the thought of becoming a mother. Something my mother has always told me is that "your mission changes when you become a mother." The goals, desires, and dreams you once had, don't necessarily die, but they now become filtered through the best interest of your children. A mother's goal, a mother's hope, a mother's dream, her job, her ministry, and life purpose become for her children.
By Langley Häftling 11 months ago in Families
Dandelions For Dreams
I was certain I had fallen in love. There was no other explanation for it—I had never fallen in love before then, but my stomach churned inside out over and over again, and my skin felt like glitter trying to fly into the air, and laughter always got caught up in my throat. My heart felt like a bird who had been held in its nest for far too long. I knew people always believed in love at first sight, but that kind of love never seemed to last, it would eventually die by the time you actually got to know who the person was. Of course, my kind of love was different—I had never seen the man. I didn't even know his name, but his words were stunning, his handwriting was lovely… it scrolled across the page in elegant arabesques. The S's swung like birds in the sky, flying north in the spring. The R's and M's ran like mountains and hills, as they told of reddened sunsets over the treetops in the valleys, reflecting on the rivers, and rolling rocks splashing in their creeks. Even between the spaces, where there were no words or letters, I could read between the lines of endless nights full of gazing at the stars. I imagined mornings walking away from the campfire he'd just smothered with sand, before he wrote of coming home, smelling like smoke and bitter leaves.
By Langley Häftling 2 years ago in Fiction
Chasing the Wind
The wind had a voice. I was certain of this. All of us were told, through the whispers of our mothers before tucking us into bed, the influences of our teachers and masters, and through the writings of old literary dignitaries. Only I knew more than this, I knew in my heart, in every part of me, that the wind was a beautiful thing, and it had something to say to all of us. It wasn't one to demand eminence, but it had such an elegance that would show it's natural ascendancy over everything on the earth. The way it brought what it wished and carried away likewise; the way it whistled and sung and danced with all of us who were rooted by gravity. I was willing to chase it wherever it went. We were taught as early as primary school that our world was only able to exist because of the elements that so faithfully lasted through the times. Even when the animals died and the plants withered, when the people grew lost and depressed, and when countries and nations were torn apart, the ocean persevered, the plants lived, the sun shone, and the wind never died. The ouders realized this pattern and were able to create a revival on what was left. So, as long as there was air, I had a place here.
By Langley Häftling 2 years ago in Fiction
