Requiem for an Unloved Hero
Requiem for an Unloved Hero: No one knew from where the Dark Man came…or for that matter, from when the Dark Man came. A forsaken corner of space and time? Some outre dimension of woe, despair and fear? Was he even from this universe? It was doubtful that even he knew from whence he originated. But did it matter? Certainly not to him…he always was and he always would be.
It’s not a Dream!
There's nothing more boring than routine. Those who know me, understand very well what I mean. A life in limits, in terms and rules. You know what it's like to wake up in the morning, do a job you don't like, deal with people you don't fit into, live with money that barely reaches you for a month, spend your time, no chance of evolution, no room to escape and finally live a life you don't love, just spending it, until the day you leave from it. And yet, there are people who love this way of life. They're never late, like they have a timer in them. Their lives are a well-timed watch, without coming out of the way and breaking any rules. That's life, they say, that's how society forces it, until they just spend it all having lived, absolutely nothing.
I was travelling in my grandfather’s car to the city to begin my first year of university and impulsively decided to take a scenic route and drive down some dirt roads. They would lead me on a more direct path to the new city than the highway which would take me in a semi-circle and hit some larger towns on the way. When I was two hours away from the city and it was nearly dark, my passenger side tire blew while I was on a right directed bend in the road. My car turned hard to the right, slid sideways, and then shot off the road and into a tree in the ditch.
The Hammer Man
The flat. Bent nails, held, flattened against timber. The entire structure leans, an arched fit between boards threatens,
Melisande choked on her blood as it poured like a great rain down her throat. Her sentence was to be carried out by her dain- her husband to be. They were to be the next clan leaders. As Melisande looked defiantly up through her blood soaked hair, she couldn’t stop the hate that festered in her heart for her dain. Never again would their bond be the same and it was not because he was currently torturing her, it was because he did not listen to her as a dain ought to. It was a clan’s Dain that led with ruthlessness and his Daima who kept him from mercilessness. Without Mel guiding him by his side their clan was doomed to horrors untold.
Carry Me Away
[Quick Note: This is one of my stories on Wattpad that I am currently still updating almost every day.] Link: https://www.wattpad.com/story/292039396-carry-me-away
The House on the Hill
A fresh start. That’s just what I needed. I purchased a new home, in a new state, California. It’s a two story home with grey shingles, a white finish, and a light ocean grey-green covering the window panes, and the banisters on the porch. Both the balcony and porch extended out wide and far. There is a white picket fence around the property, and behind the house there is a barn. It is long, wide, and has two stories. The roof is rounded, and for some reason there are two horses residing inside. A mare and a stallion. The mare’s coat ,and mane shone beautifully, a pure white. They had matching black eyes, and the stallion, who stood tall and proud, had a dark black coat. The barn was well kept, and clean. Both horses had plenty of food and water, and their saddles and bits sat across from their stalls and shone like a well-polished coin in the sun. How odd.
“It’s been uh…” she clicked her tongue against her teeth. “It’s been a year since the accident. Since the first day, at least.” She stared down into her lap to avoid the gaze in front of her.
Statue as I am
I’d left Torreon only days after it happened. I’ve tried to forget and move on; I’ve tried to assure myself that it was only my imagination playing tricks on me, but the memories are too real, and those images which I saw with my own eyes play again and again in my mind. The stories still circulate today, popping up online or on TV, as if they’re intent to follow me all across the continent. I’ve moved to Monterrey, Mexico City, Vancouver, L. A., New York. Nowhere is far or big enough to hide after my season in the production of Don Juan Tenorio in Torreon. The role I’d landed was Brígida, Doña Inés’ maid, shared with another which I preferred: a graveyard statue that turns into a ghost and kills Don Juan along with the other statues during the legendary climactic scene. That is, I preferred it most until opening night. I’ve managed better roles as I move from city to city, but the shadow keeps following me because of my relation to Javier. I have recurring nightmares because of the news I read every week. I fear that it’ll soon be my turn, because she’s ticking us off one by one.
We Didn't Know
You begin to ponder how close to sanity you ever actually were once you've been floating in a tin can through the endless void long enough. The vast, inhospitible darkness looks so empty but is in reality full of worlds, stars, and black holes that, if it's quiet and you're close enough, you can hear screaming.
An Unexpected Surprise.
My alarm clock rang sharply at 7:30am every morning. Startled out of a dream, I smacked the top of my alarm to shut the noise out for just a few more minutes. It had been a good dream. The colors had been vivid, the smells were so real, I could almost taste the powdered sugar on top of the funnel cake...
Cries in Cold Night
Sarah had just taken the noodles off of boil, and was fanning thick steam out her kitchen window into a bleak January night when she heard the giggle.