I have ink in my veins. It is a curse and a joy. Reality makes it challenging to devote myself to the pen. I have finally succumbed to my daemon blood and hereby commit myself to making it the reality of my life. Perhaps I will find peace.
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Thousands of years ago the gods created it as a place to hide their treasures. They weren’t really gods, but rather master manipulators of other dimensions. Thieves, who stole from the multiverse realms and enslaved their peoples. In the mountains high above was the gateway to these other places. The Valley below held a grid carved into the basin. This living map, which was visible only from above and undetectable to its inhabitants, led the way to the treasure trove. Slaves were brought there to work the land and unknowingly guard the horde. With no memory of enslavement, they innocently worshipped these thieves as gods. Brainwashed to believe they were being protected from wild beasts living in the mountains, they made weekly sacrifices at the foot of the mountain to the South. Superstition and mystery prevented the farmers from exploring beyond the limits of the Valley. It was enough for them to live within its confines, which was a lush patchwork of green pastures covering its floor. Shepherds lazily watched their flocks from beneath apple trees that clung to stone hedges dividing up the land. It was truly idyllic. Botham, a shepherd’s son living on the North side of the Valley, didn’t recognize its beauty, nor the people’s superstitious ways. He was sombre and hateful as a child, who only grew more morose with age. Everyone has a choice when it comes to light or darkness. Each path brings its own allure. When darkness came to him with its seductive power, Botham took hold of it with both hands. He began the destruction of this paradise, bringing more than just dragons to this realm.
Raven and Owl
In a vision, I came upon a man dressed in deer skin leggings and tunic. Leather thongs wove feathers and beads into his long black hair that hung heavy around his face. He peered at me through the darkest eyes I have ever seen. I was not afraid. I knew and loved this man, but I couldn’t remember from whence. I was filled with pure love to see this man. He was my Shaman.
Mud sucked at Sissy’s rubber boots as she tramped through the gooey stuff at water’s edge. Early morning sunlight dappled through the trees around the spaghetti pond. Its warmth kissed her rosy cheeks, as her breath crystalized in the air before her. She followed the misty sparkles as they drifted and faded into the light. These shimmering gems of rainbow light took her mind away from the mission. The one that she hadn’t been invited to join. Earlier in the kitchen, she dismissed her brother’s protests as they pulled on their rubber boots and jackets. Ever William’s shadow, she tagged along. Now she trudged behind him to the spot he deemed perfect for collecting pollywogs. The distance between them grew as she struggled to pull her feet from the mud which suctioned her in place.
Crack the Whip
Rebecca absent-mindedly sipped her Sunday morning coffee, as she peered through the frosty pane. Winter had been particularly long with countless storms and cold, so very cold. Despite her dislike of winter, she marvelled at the sparkling drifts and swirls laying just beyond the window. Trees became indistinguishable beneath plump layers of crusty snow. An icicle, too heavy to sustain itself, fell crashing to the ground, bringing her back from reverie. Shards of ice scuttled outward as if in a game of crack the whip. Images of children spinning outward flooded Rebecca’s mind.
The Cost of Kisses
The afternoon sun tilted in the sky. Smearing the clouds shamelessly with bright smudges of pink. So began its ritual descent. Lisa admired the way the sun kissed the clouds so passionately with its goodbye. Not long ago, her breath was taken away by such luscious farewell kisses. She missed that time. All that remained was the little black book. Secrets her lover thought hidden. Oh yes, and the money. She can’t forget that.