Morning came and just as promised I was able to go home. My whole family came. I was finally allowed to change into real clothes, but my clothes looked baggy and big on me because of the amount of weight I had lost since I was in a coma. I got into my dad's Volvo and we drove into the city. We then came to a community that had large black iron gates. My dad rolled down the window and punched in a code. Then the gates slid apart making way for the car to roll in. As soon as the gates were wide enough my dad drove the car forward. All the houses that we drove by had tall walls guarding them against the outside world. Then we came to a property where the walls were pink and had white trim on the edge of walls. A simple white gate held the people out of the estate. My dad punched in another code and an automatic voice answered: "Thank-you, welcome" and the gates opened so fast that it almost snapped the walls. We then drove down a curved driveway that was lined with trees. Then we came to a roundabout wherein the center was a large white fountain with a tacky cupid that sat on the top and shot water from its arrow. I then saw the largest mansion I had ever laid eyes on. There was a marble staircase leading to the house and large rectangle windows with silver frames. The whole house was pink and it matched the walls of the exterior of the house. There were white columns just beneath the balcony that had patio furniture set up. Two large planters stood on either side of the staircase. A man in a tuxedo stood by the car door and my whole family got out, including me, and the man in the tuxedo took the car keys from my dad and he drove off to park it.
As far back as memory will afford me, I know only two things; the Monolith and that I am compelled to climb it. A tower of cold black obsidian-like night bereft of pale moonlight. Spanning acres, puncturing the grey rain clouds above and emerging from dark, vast waters below. Waters that ebbed and crashed and roared with shocks of white sea spray defining each wave and ever-rising with incessant downpour. The Monolith is both my port in a storm and a prison. My mausoleum.
Fiara Lunii, or Beast of the Moon, is akin to the Earth stories of a werewolf, a man that can transform into a monster during full moons. However, the name Beast of the Moon is a misnomer. A more apt name of the beast would be Demonul nopții, or Demon of the Night. I give it this description because while some people think that this monster only transforms during full moons, it, in fact, can transform at will even during the day. Long ago before they were eradicated, the Fiara Lunii ravaged several towns across the countryside of Brëtana. Their gruesome night raids became infamous and also attributed to the inaccuracy in the name. This misnomer often leads to many unfortunate souls meeting their end while trying to cross the forest paths at night. Sadly this is how our story begins. With a particularly unfortunate traveler wandering a lonely forest trail a little after dusk. He had been hiking since that morning and had grown weary. This brought him to a tough situation. He could either make the journey through the night to make it to his destination by morning, or he could set up camp then finish his journey by tomorrow afternoon. Feeling the toll of his long trek weighing him down, he decided he would make camp. He soon came to rest in a clearing that would do. Lazily, he set up a makeshift tent and started a fire. Feeling satisfied with his accomplishments of the day, he looked up at the stars, feeling sleep beginning to consume him. The stars in the wilderness were always so much more clear than in his village. The moon shone brightly, bathing him in a white light that made him feel safe. This was until he heard a sound that chilled him to the bone. It was the howl of a vicious, bloodthirsty wolf. He shot up and did a quick scan of the area only to see that his fire had gone out enclosing him in darkness.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth; man and creature lived together. Due to man’s barbaric instincts, they began to hunt down the creatures, killing them off. This was the start of a fatal hundred year war between man and creature. Every day there would be a bloodbath, leaving casualties on both sides. Women and children of all species went into hiding.
There was a soft beeping noise and it subtly grew louder, and then there was the mechanical noise of air being pushed. My vision was blurry and undefined. I could see the light flooding in and then finally a man with glasses right up at my face. That's when it hit me; my head hurt. A lot. My tongue felt dry like sandpaper in my mouth. I could not remember the last time I felt so dehydrated. I turned my head and the doctor was saying something.
Sarasota, Florida is known to be a place of perpetual relaxation and happy feelings. Unfortunately, its population becomes less relaxed and happy when Michael Staats is standing nearby. At the crisp age of 47, Michael has devoted his life to the art of investment banking, and truly takes pleasure in confining himself to the world of finance. He was not the kind of person who stops to smell the roses, and he was certainly not the kind of person who took pleasure in the slow pace of the town surrounding him.
It was 4:02 in the afternoon when the girl got home from school. Even though she got out at 2:30 PM, it took a while to walk all the way back to her house, seeing that it was far from any other places in the area. She didn’t have any neighbors. The house was completely isolated, sitting atop a tall hill. As she always did when she got home, the girl went straight to her bedroom. It was a one-story house with an attic, which was her room, separated from the rest of the house. Her room, with a mini fridge and a connected bathroom, was the only place in the whole house that she ever went: the attic was hers, the first floor was her mom’s.
Faint rays of sunlight pierced the mist-shrouded dawn, illuminating the faded mountain fortress. The light meandered through the high, open-air windows of the ancient stone bedchamber dancing across the closed eyelids of the satyr, bidding him to wake and greet the new day.
The longer the shadows become in my life,
The People of the Two Suns were as gods to us. Like us in base, but unlike in all that matters. When I was a girl I would go to the places that they created and marvel in the glory of their works. Their structures touched the clouds, made of stuff from faraway and deep beneath the ground. And everything that came from them we considered holy. I would wake and behold new temples of a greatness that bested the efforts of all my kind as one. And all that they made, they made for us.
"Wake her up. Take the bag off her head." The priest commanded.