Mark (Mitch) Weil
I am an aspiring author, both in the novel and short story genres. I have loved books and reading my entire life, and look forward to creating the same awe and wonder in readers that other authors have done for me over the years.
The Last of the Dreigiau
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley… Dragons used to live in a lot of other places, too. The hills and mountains; the swamps and plains. In all different shapes and sizes, dazzling in their variety of color. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve only seen one dragon in my short life.; the only one that’s been seen outside of the Valley in 12 years. I thought it was the most beautiful creature I’d ever witnessed. My father thought so too, but only after it had come crashing down to the earth with several ballista bolts in its chest. You see, for some reason that no one has been able to adequately explain to me, we went to war with the dragons. Well, my father and the other clan leaders call it war. I call it extermination and genocide.
Julius Caesar woke up screaming. Again. For several seconds he thrashed against the sweat-soaked sheets, hopelessly entangled. Slowly, as he realized he was safe in his own bed and not truly locked in the midst of battle, Caesar calmed and took several deep breaths. He peered cautiously around his bedchamber, as if to make sure no enemies were lurking out of sight. Everything seemed in its place: dark purple curtains shut out light from the peristylum and the capricious figures dancing on the walls stayed put where they were painted. Once again he was glad of his decision to place his bedroom on the far side of his domus, away from the slaves’ and guests’ chambers. Most Romans would likely have kept their slaves in rooms close by in order to have them dote on every little need as quickly as possible. However, if Caesar’s slaves heard his nightly howls, then his reputation as the most powerful man in Rome was potentially threatened. Instead of slaves’ ears, the sounds he made fell only on the stone walls.
August 18th, 2018 What do you feel when you look at me? Love? Rage? Indifference? The question itself may be flawed. In fact I think it is. Is it truly possible to express what one feels in words? I certainly haven’t found that to be the case, which may make this whole exercise pointless. Every attempt I’ve made to make an impression, a true impression, of what I’m feeling at a given moment has fallen woefully short. And don’t even get me started on trying to get other people to understand what I’m feeling at a given moment, especially a tough moment. It seems to me that the best anyone can do is try to create a poor facsimile of their feelings. So why start journaling? Maybe I’m just a fool. Probably. But that’s beside the point. Perhaps, with enough practice, I can make myself understand exactly how I’m feeling at a given moment. Emotions are confusing things after all. If I can do that I might be able to express those feelings better to other people. They might even come to understand after a while. Probably not.
We live in a crazy, unpredictable world. Dangers abound beyond our control and tragedy is a way of life. However, we are a resilient people. Generations of hardship breed a specific type of toughness. Our clan, named Highwell after the enormous hollow tower in the first castle our ancestors occupied, is one of the toughest of them all. I was chosen to lead us after my uncle returned to the earth. After all, with the world we inhabit, we can’t afford weak leaders chosen only by dynastic succession. Only the strongest, bravest, and smartest are selected to lead the Highwell clan. Even so, sometimes there are days that discount skill and smarts altogether.