The Art of Zo

New Site

2010-05-01T22:34:00.001+01:00

So I've moved to Wordpress and set up a new blog, pretty much marking the end of Art of Zo. Expect all future posts and stories on TotallyZo.com. For your convenience, clicking any part of this text will take you there.

Hey, it's because I care :)

- Zo

Sway

2010-03-05T03:32:00.001Z

Sway

B y Zo Hashim

She swayed to and fro, like a fluttering escaping dream. Like sand flowing through the eye of an hourglass, it’s final resting place within sight but out of reach. Sand that flowed like time, like the melody of a song. The music filling the room with a powerful ambience of movement and lust.

The air conditioner was silent but powerful. I could feel the thump of my heart as it beat harder and faster, in lieu to my excitement, contrasted by the heavy chill in the air around me. My eyes rocked back and forth, almost fazed out, like a boat on the open seas, drinking deeply of this vast pond, wondering what secrets it’s depths hid, what treasures and perils were in store for those who braved it’s depths, perhaps never to surface again. A place where some or many may venture, depending on the whims and calls of the sea, and the depths of her desire.

She flicked her hair, a wild stallion, with hair of magenta and red. Uncontrollable, a fire that could never be put out, the spark set deep within her green eyes as she looked down at me from above, her gaze spreading evenly desire and indifference about the chill room. Her lips, parted slightly, in an eternal pout, the most desirable face she can muster. The one she would sit and practice for hours at home when she was younger, the one she would pull in all those teenage photographs. It wasn’t her real face. It wasn’t the one a lover would see in her ecstasy, nor the one a shoulder would feel in her grief. But none of that mattered as she sold her lie, to me and all the others present.

Her chest rose and fell as she moved; an exotic dance into itself. Her perfect form, cavortng itself gracefully forwards and up, dignified in its uncivil glory, her perked nipples a testament to the chill I felt. They flirted in their youth, noble and unsheltered and proud, void of the touch of plastic that she may one day yearn, designed to appeal to the fires in others.

I yearned the touch of her against me. The feel of her soft skin, that which she spent hours every day rubbing with products the companies and the media told her she needed to be beautiful. I longed for the beat of her heart against me ears, holding her close to me. I longed for the tight velvet wetness between her thighs, the sign of her woman hood, her place of ultimate surrender. The hidden pearl amidst the cataclysmic seas. The rising storm and the ebbing away of the tidal waves after.

But not today. I stood up and made my way past the small stage. Past others like it. Past more young lithe females, practicing their allure, past many like myself, forever destined to watch from the comfort of the dark. As I passed through the doorway I turned to look at her once more, our eyes locking briefly. She smiled at me, and I knew it was forced. She was relieved one less person had to watch her lay herself bare. And in that moment I knew how she cried when she went home every night. How she cursed herself for being born with the beauty she had. How she despised herself. And perhaps somewhere a part of me felt ashamed.

But that part would die out, deprived of the cold air that place pumped in. The night air outside was humid, and the warm raindrops cleansed my guilt. It was a different world in the room behind me, one that had no consequence to the world outside. I did not see her or love her in this world, this world where she cried and didn't feel beautiful.

But I would be back the next day. Just like she. And I would play my part as she played hers, destined, locked together to fate and the flowing sands.

The End.

The Well

2010-02-07T18:47:00.004Z

By Zo Hashim

(Dedicated to Sarah F. and her awesome boobs.)

The weariness was staggering.

I gasped for air, sharp bursts of respite that brought both life and pain with each drag. Sweat covered me in a fine glazed sheen, mingled with upturned dirt from my heavy footfalls on the ground. I paid them no heed, instead focusing on my goal. I kept moving forward.

Tree branches and the tendril like hands of smaller entities blocked my path and I dug through as best I could, wedging a path with my tiring hands, adorned with a latticework of cuts and welts. I ignored them. It was beyond my ability to function fully; the fever and heat and driven me half mad, and I knew my mind was reaching its limit.

I stumbled through the green growth before me and staggered a little, taken off guard by the fact that I was no longer in the tight confines of the jungle, but rather a clearing too near and perfect in shape and size to have been naturally formed.

I retreated a little, back into the cover of the tree line. While in the jungle I was harried and beaten by the elements and the spirit of the forest, it still served as protection, a kind of maternal embrace, hiding me from the naked brazenness this open space offered.

Slowly I built up my courage and crept forward.

The grass on the ground was immaculate and untouched yet well kempt, like the pet project of a secret gardener far from the prying and envious eyes of neighbors. My eyes trained forward, adjusting to sight so alien from all I had seen these past days.

There was a well, centered in the clearing. It was of a smooth dark stone, the type of which I was not familiar with, but my knowledge of things masonic was limited. Still it struck me as a kind that was not common. It portrayed a shine akin to shimmering silver and I found myself drawn toward it inexplicably. As I walked forward I felt the weariness lifting from me, my back straightening, my mind reasserting its natural calm, my cracked and bleeding skin stitching itself shut and smoothing without a trace.

I did not notice these things ,for my mind, eyes, ears, and every other sense were locked on the beautiful being that sat on the rim of the stone well.

She was graceful, her naked skin tinged with a hint of regal, calming green, her body lithe and sensuous. Her limbs moved with grace and allure. I blushed, or would have at least, had I not been so utterly captivated by her beauty. Her perfect breasts, defiantly thrust up when she crooked her back, the scent of her invading my senses, filling my mind with thoughts and ideas from beyond the capabilities of my imagination.

Her wild hair, red as drying blood, gently swayed in the wind as she set her eyes upon me, deepest of blue I had ever seen.

She smiled a little and I felt a tug on my soul, drawing me closer to her, till I was close enough to feel the promise of warmth emanating from her.

Wryly she leant forward and whispered in my ear. She told me not who she was, but what she represented was left to no doubt.

“Three wishes?” I asked, a little cautious.

She smiled, mouthing words softly, her voice a breeze on the gentle winds. “Three. No more, no less.”

“What is the catch? What do you get from this?”

She smiled wider, a lion on the scent of its prey. “Your pleasure is my pleasure.”

I knew what I wanted. I knew why I had come here. Why I had sought her out. I fell to my knees before her as I began to cry.

“I want to be happy.”

I suddenly felt a change in my feelings, my emotions churning, before they settled again on what they had been.

“I do not understand. Nothing has changed.”

She smiled that knowing smile. “For there to be happiness, there has to be sadness. The two are in eternal balance. Without one, the other cannot be.”

“You don’t understand. This pain I feel, it is beyond any other.”

“How could you know this?”

I cleared my tears. My second wish. “I want to be able to see the happiness and sadness of others.”

She touched my forehead and I gasped as awareness of the emotions of others crept into my consciousness. From hundreds of miles away I could sense them, living their lives, feeling their feelings, free from the knowledge that someone could be watching them. I saw the heaviness in their hearts, some much greater than mine, yet they struggled on with their lives. How did they keep going.

My tears flowed heavier now. I could not bear the burden any longer. “Please. I wish to die. I wish to be free of this.”

She looked at me for a moment, then very slowly took my face in her hands. Helping me rise to my feet she pressed her gentle form against me, causing the heat within me to rise. She kissed me.

My eyes forced themselves open. I did not know where I was. Disorientation settled and slowly I took in my surroundings. I was back in my home. It’s walls were barren, our possessions smashed and shattered, memories and stories from my life broken and scattered like pots of clay.

My beloved lay at my feet, her body still cold and twisted. Lifeless. Even in death her beauty was astounding.

I braced myself for the flood of tears, but they never came. I stood watching her, for a long while, till she was nothing more than the ghost of a memory, a hint at something that had once been. I turned away.

I felt nothing.

The End.

Secrets

2010-01-05T15:18:00.002Z

Secrets
By Zohaib Hashim

I looked up at the stars. Probably the same way hundreds before me have looked upon them, making their wishes, observing their beauty, sharing their deepest darkest secrets. The stars were a gentle listener, always promising something more than was immediately there. Many secrets lay hidden beyond their veils, secrets from our pasts. Secrets to shape our futures. Secrets that we would never know.

He moaned a little as I stroked his excitement, and the timbre in his voice sent shivers up my spine, much more heightened by the way he stroked me gently too. We lay beside each other, looking at the stars that would keep our secrets.

I turned to look at him gently, stroking his rough face with my hand. He in turn closed his eyes, enjoying the tumultuous depths of our serene moment; the inner cacophony that raged bright, not betrayed by the calm exterior.

He clenched his hand tightly in my hair as he stroked me faster with the other. The inner fire continued to build, seeking a release. Rooting out that one source of escape from whence it burst forth, shattering the external calm, creating a sweet gentleness within as the flames died down to a gentle ember, a great flame within that the spirits of our desire would toil endlessly to reignite continuously till the far years of our lives. We were breathing heavy, and looking upon one another, we smiled.

We turned to face the sky again. The stars smiled down on us, soaking us within the comfort of their illuminating radiance. In the distance, I saw a large cloud. It was moving slow, and I knew one day it would blot the stars above. But it was not today, not in this moment, and that I would not let be ruined.

He sat up slowly, looking out at the distant horizon. I sat up beside him, following his gaze. We sat in silence, gazing at the distant skyline. At the rises and falls in the land painted in eerie tones of gold and orange, the final dregs off the palette of the setting sun. I narrowed my eyes as the wind picked up, blowing specks of dust in my face from the arid planes below.

He slowly stood, dragging the moment kicking and screaming back by its heels to the reality we lived in.

He turned to me and gave me a gentle smile. “I should go. She will be waiting for me.”

I faltered a little before I returned his gesture. “When will I see you again?”

“Soon.” He left me sitting there as he made his way down the stepped hill we had been laying on. I sat a while more, looking out into the wilds as the light failed. Finally I too stood up to make my way back. I looked off to the east, at the ruins of the great civilization that had once been.

The ruins and spires went high into the air, strong walls of stone and steel. Streets of stone, interlaced by steel lines thick and thin, like the many lines of veins and arteries coursing through a body to keep it alive. To keep this civilization teeming.

I looked up at the sky one last time, at the stars which knew all. They would never tell us what had happened here, but that could not be changed. We all have our secrets and we must keep them how best we can, and gain from them what we will. I slowly made my way down the hill, putting the thoughts out of my mind.

Tomorrow would be another day.

The Door

2008-12-03T17:37:00.002Z

It was warm.

Not the pleasant warm you feel as you climb into the bath. Or the warm you feel at the beach on a sunny day.

It was the kind of warm you felt sick in, where sweat would mesh fabric to flesh; nature’s pungent glue. It was like the warmth you felt in your face after you got caught lying; it was the texture of shame.

I had walked on the landing enough times before to know where the creaky planks were. She’d had a long argument with him once about when he’d finally fix them. He’d nodded absently, his eyes still on the TV set; his sentient thumb cranking up the volume as her tone rose, then lowering it as hers ebbed away. There was some game show on TV. It wasn’t very good. I sat in the corner of the room, watching them both, invisible.

There were three doors on the landing – four if you counted the one I had come through, the dusty, dank room behind me well suited for my needs, draped in darkness deeper than the night. A darkness whose embrace was softer than silk. I yearned its embrace and seeked it always, its caressing strokes soothing me with its anonymity and blind love.

Monty Hall’s chiming, jolly voice ran through my head as I remembered the old reruns of Let’s Make a Deal that used to be on TV.

“Let’s see what’s behind door number one!”

The audience cheered and clapped, whistling, urging me on. I pleaded them for silence, but it was a token gesture. I was pleading for my heart to beat more silently. There was no sound, except the gentle rustlings of a zephyr outside the window at the far end of the landing. The old Elm tree in the garden scratched at the glass, its wizened branches like the gnarled claws of some aged being, dancing in the wind, rejoicing at the sudden respite from the heat, attempting desperately to catch our attention to come outside and to share in its merriment. We would laugh, sit under his branches and sip lemonade, as he would dote over us like an adoptive mother. Or father. I didn’t really know the gender a wizened Elm would choose. Perhaps it would be both. Then when it died, as all things die, both mother and father would be buried together, and be so forever.

The door was creaky and my heart jumped every time it creaked, a shrill scream in the silent dark. Finally it was ajar, and I crept in.

The girl was six. Her room was decorated in pinks and purples, amongst other colours one would casually associate with young girls. A fat bear sat staring at me. It was rugged brown – perhaps a little more brown than it had been originally. Dirty. One of its button eyes had fallen off somewhere, victim to the tour of service he would serve with a child. It had been replaced by an ill matched replacement. It was still staring at me, with its one good eye. The other, I fancied as a monocle of sorts. It was a noble bear. A filthy noble bear that needed a wash.

I sighed. It was getting late. I looked down at her once more. She was not of my concern. She was always good to me. To her I did not have to be invisible.

Time warped, as it always seemed to do, and I stood before the door to Room Number Two. It was tall – far taller than I. It grew taller and taller as I approached and I fancied this was solely my own interpretation of planar distance as opposed to the intimidation I felt – but I knew better. The brass knob was gleaming. I hesitated to touch it. In my mind it was red hot. Were I to touch it, it would forever be engraved on my hand, a reminder of the deed I had done. People would recognize it on the street and accordingly would react. I would meet others who had done the same and would sympathize with me, and those who would shun me, not able to understand the reason behind why the door must be crossed. The mark on my hand would be the ultimate catalyst for all the human interactions in my life.

I banished the fears from my mind, taking a broom to idea and sweeping it away. I took a breath and clasped the knob tightly. I did not turn it for fear had returned to me in its fullness and in my fear I had mistaken the deep cold of the knob for searing heat. As realisation came to me I began to ease up. I was sweating, beads forming on my brow, running into my eyes, their salt stinging. I wiped at it then ignored it, knowing it would be back later.

Slowly I turned the handle, my knuckles gleaming white against the pressure I was exerting on the cold, smooth surface. Painfully bright in the envelopes of darkness that were now gathering along the landing. Outside, I fancied the howling of a wolf, far off in the distance, as the fresh clouds move across the sky, blotting out the moon. I could imagine the moon, swimming desperately to stay afloat of the darkness that was swallowing him, trying desperately to remain aloof and shine. He would lose the battle tonight.

The door was open, and I forced myself to not think. To not feel. To only do. I stepped in.

The room was less colourful. It was decorated primarily in earthy shades. Browns and black. There was leather on the chairs. A single painting hung on the wall at the head of the bed. At the far side, the window was open and sneaky zephyr had changed its name, sneaking in and going every which way it could, like a silent pervert, sniffing at the possessions of man as much as it could before it was time for it to fade.

She lay on her back. He lay on his front. She was facing up. He was facing away. One of his arms was loosely draped across her naked chest, an unintentional attempt to guard her modesty. Her hair was spread out roughly. She hated it like that. Both of them were sweating, breathing deeply. Their bodies glistened in the dim light, like fantastical gladiators after a great battle. I looked from one to the other. I clenched my fists and teeth tight to stop from screaming.

She was mine. I was always invisible to her, but she was still mine. He had no right to hold her like that. Her body belonged to me.

He roused and I gasped. For a fleeting moment I had fancied them dead, forever frozen in that final position of repose eternal, basking in the gentle darkness and the pleasant wind. He opened his eyes and blinked, looking at me, confused for a second.

“You okay, buddy?”

She woke up too, covering herself and leaning up. “Is he okay?” she said to him.

He waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t he stood up and walked to me. I heard the joints in his back crack. He reminded me of the old tree outside. Picked me up and carried me out of the room.

I wanted to struggle, but I knew it was no use. He carried me past the last door, back the way I had come. I stared at the final door. The third door.
It was a beautiful door. Not because of how it looked, but rather, because I knew what it represented. It was the final door. Behind it was the final answer. The frame was a plain mahogany, not extravagant in its depiction, but in my mind’s eye, it shone like a beacon of light, to rob me from the clutches of the comfortable darkness I forever resided in. I knew it would tear me free. I knew it would hurt. But I was ready to no longer be invisible. I did not need the darkness anymore.

I am ten years old. He laid me on my bed and I knew I would not get the answer tonight. It was the same every time. I would never get to the final door. I would never understand why. Around me my friends the shadows came and hugged me, cheering me up. They comforted me and stroked my head with their many hands. Their claws raked my face, gently, sensually, and I felt myself gently being tugged into sleep.

End.

The Passage of Time

2008-11-18T00:00:00.002Z

I woke up, turning my head slightly to one side to see the screen of my phone staring back at me, judging me, displaying the time like a bright neon light outside a seedy bar. It was past noon. There were no morning text messages to brighten my day. There wouldn’t be anymore.

“Fuck.”

I rubbed my face with my hands. I didn’t have much time to get ready.

I slowly climbed out of bed, taking my time. I tried my best to concentrate on what I was feeling. The numbness. That blank slate of sensation you feel as soon as you wake up, before your mind has time to remind you of why you should be hurting. It was the best part of my day.

Someone had fucked up when they said that love and pain comes from the heart. When you don’t remember what you’ve lost you don’t hurt at all. You just feel... empty.

I crave that emptiness. I rely on it more and more nowadays. And so I sleep a lot. And I cherish those few moments before the reality of it sinks in again.

I made my way to the bathroom. There was no window and I had left the heating on all night. It was like a hotpot and I began to sweat. I didn’t really care. I looked at myself in the mirror, at the ghastly, haggard, ghost of a person I had become. I began to feel my eyes welling up again, stinging against the dry morning deposits at the sides of my eyes. I rubbed them clean and looked away. I couldn’t look at myself anymore. Not like this.

I brushed my teeth and washed my face, hoping to God that the water would wash away some of the pain. It didn’t. I didn’t bother with my hair.

I went back to my room and looked through the closet, trying to find my black suit. Perusing through my clothes, I wonder, which of those suits would be the last one I’d wear? I put the thought out of my mind, pulling on a fresh white shirt and a dark tie. It wasn’t my day today.

My phone rang just as I finished pulling on my jacket and did my tie. God that ring tone was fucking annoying. Why had I kept it all these years anyway? Too fucking melodic. I wanted the world to feel what I felt, to share the loss. I wanted that fucking singer to redo his lyrics to honour me.

I picked it up. “Yeah?” My voice sounded hollow, almost like a whisper. It had been hoarse for days, the large bruise on it just beginning to fade. It was Katie.

“Hey, I’m downstairs. Come on out when you’re ready, ok?”

“Kay.”

I hung up and took one last look in the mirror. I looked fucking disgusting. It didn’t matter, I had done enough. On the way out I felt the pangs of sickness hit me like a truck and I just managed to bend over the toilet in time, vomiting violently. I hadn’t eaten much the last few days. It was mostly just liquid.

I checked to see I didn’t have any on my clothes, and then hit the flush. I walked out of my apartment, realising at the last minute that I didn’t have my keys and stopping the door in time. I’d started forgetting a lot more stuff lately. I grabbed them from the counter on the side and began walking down the hallway stairs.

Katie was parked outside. It took me a second to get in the car. I didn’t want to be in a car. Not yet. My mind kept flashing back to the night.

Katie smiled at me as I sat down, trying to encourage me.I was silent for a while, then spoke. “I... I should have listened to her. She said she was tired. Jimmy was already asleep. We should have just stayed at her parents the night.”

I had needed to finish a project and I reckoned if we’d set out at 11, I could be home and have it done before 1 in the morning. That would free up the rest of my weekend morning. I’d been driving them home. But that truck, it just....came out of nowhere.

My boss had told me to take as much time off as I needed. That project was still lying there, undone.

Katie reached out, putting a hand on my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault, David.”

I nodded slowly, fighting the tears. I wouldn’t cry today. I’d already cried enough.

Burying the ones you love is the hardest thing there is for a man to do. I stared, blanked out, at the two coffins before me. One contained the love of my life, the other the pride and joy. I had been robbed of all three things in one swoop.

The day just seemed to be on fast forward. I didn’t really feel the reality of the situation till I saw the earth trickling from my hands on to the twin mahogany graves. Tears filled my eyes and I couldn’t stop them. I hated myself for it. I wiped at them furiously, smudging dirt on face. What a fucking spectacle.

Katie drove me home. We sat in her car outside my house.

“Do you want me to come in? Do you need anything?”

I shook my head.

She wanted to say more but stopped. “Just call me if you need someone to talk to, ok? I’m here for you.”

She hugged me and it felt good. I turned to her and kissed her, suddenly, unexpectedly. She pushed me back, stunned.

I... was lost for words. I didn’t know what had just happened there. “I... I’m sorry.”

I got out of her car. She got out behind me.
“David, wait!” She called out to me but I kept walking. I got up to my apartment and put on all the locks. I put my back to it and sat there, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps up the stairs, waiting to pretend like I wasn’t against the door, holding my breath to stay as silent as possible. The steps never came. I began to cry again.

I went over to the TV and put it on. It was the news. Some new disaster somewhere. Hundreds dead. I didn’t care. I wanted to watch the world burn itself.

*

Time passed. That reality is inevitable, no matter what’s going on in the world. War. Peace. Famine. Plagues. Unrest. Violence. Time would still past, no matter what else remained inconstant.

At first it was hard to get past each day, but I kept with it. Kept taking each day on its own merits. I forced myself to think about them less and less and gradually it became a reflex action. I forced myself to drown in my work and that’s what I did.

Me and Katie stayed friends, even after that royal fuckup. I guess true friends do forgive one anothers indiscretions and moments of weakness. I would see her from time to time, but we both knew there wasn't going to be that kind of a relationship between us. I was glad. I needed her more as a friend than anything else. I wasn't ready to see anyone. Not yet.

*

I met her about a year later. We were both at the same coffee shop, trying to beat the morning rush on the way to work. Our orders got mixed up. Hers was the cappuccino, mine was the iced tea. We started to talk. And before I knew it, I had her number. I didn't even know her name then.

I don’t know why I called her. I definitely wasn’t ready. She was amazing though. Her intelligence, her laughter, her smile. The shine of her red hair set in a rebellious fashion, the bold proper style of her dress. I was nervous out of my mind but she put me at ease. She finally told me her name.

Before we knew it, it became a longer term thing, and one morning I realised I had gone a whole day without thinking about my dead wife and son. She lay in bed beside me,asleep, exhausted after our passionate love making. I felt guilty again. I wanted to throw up.

Somehow she read my mind and sat up behind me, hugging me from behind, her warm naked breasts pressing into my back. She kissed my neck and whispered reassurances in my ear, and the ghosts went away.

She whispered beautiful things and promised many more, and then told me she had a secret to tell me. I asked what it was, but she promised that the day I was ready to hear it, she would tell me.

I started recovering. Stopped blaming myself. Stopped blaming the world. I still missed them, but the remembrance wasn’t a revolting illness that kept me from the colours of life anymore. And then I realised that was the time she had been waiting for, when I would be ready to move on with my life.

She held me close, put her lips to mine, and kissed me softly. She trailed her lips across my cheek, breathing her warm breath on my face, then gently nibbled once at my ear. Then she told me the secret she had been saving.

“I love you.”And the truth was? I loved her too.

The End

Penitence

2008-11-17T22:07:00.000Z

A jet of cold water splashed down on me, deadening my nerves, causing me to jerk awake, gasping for breath.

起來!

The guard kicked me hard in my stomach, and I groaned, as already sore muscles went into another violent contraction. I spat out the small amount of blood that had collected in my mouth on the stone floor, and blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden appearance of light beyond the door.

在您的脚, 间谍!

Two more dark shadows materialized out of the light, and hauled me up to my feet. My knees gave way and I stumbled. Promptly, something hit me hard in my stomach, causing me to clench my teeth, as spittle flew out. My feet were dragging across the rough stone slates of a dimly lit corridor. The walls were stone too, and bare light bulbs hung every dozen feet, casting dull light.

They pulled me into a room darker than my cell and put me in a steel chair stained with dried blood. The pulled my arms behind my back and fastened them to the chair. A bright light came on over head, causing spots to appear in my eyes.

I coughed a few times, trying to regain regular breathing. A man slowly walked into the shadows beyond the bright light, his outline barely visible. I closed my eyes. I knew what was coming.

谁您服务为?

He spoke calmly, and I strained to understand something. Anything. Time passed. He laughed, then motioned to a man behind me. A bucket of hot water was tipped over my head. I screamed as the water scalded me. It was a strange sensation. It deadened the pain somewhat. But then it returned in full force, and I sat shuddering, straining against my shackled wrists, wanting to fall forward on the ground and die.

More time passed. The man's footsteps wrung loud on the stone. Slowly he turned back to face me; or rather, his silhouette did. "Why do you pretend to not understand?"

I blinked. That was the first time I had understood what they said since…I couldn’t remember how long I'd been there. I didn’t know where there was. I could hardly remember anything before waking up in the stone cell I woke to everyday.

I didn’t remember coming to China. That’s where they said I was. I didn’t remember anything before China. I couldn’t remember my name, or any one else's. All I could remember was a red ball, bouncing on a concrete driveway.

They would bring me out, day after day, beating me mercilessly. I would cry myself to sleep at night, the cold stone floor the only comfort against the welts on my skin. Every day, the same thing would happen, and I knew I would die here. They would ask me questions, again and again. I couldn’t understand.

为什么您是在中国?

They tied me to a chair that day, and tore of my shirt. A man came and roughly ran a razor over parts of my chest and torso, nicking me and shaving the hair carelessly. A second came, dumping a bucket of water over my head. The first brought back a pair of thick needles, connected to wires, leading off to somewhere I could not see. I realized what he was going to do. "No, please. Please, don’t!" I cried for my life, tears streaking my already wet face. The man roughly held me down, and pushed the two needles under my skin. I shouted in pain. I don’t know for how long, and I think I passed out.

A second bucket was emptied over my head. I blinked, trying to get the freezing water out of my eyes. The pain in my chest numbed slightly in the cold, but not enough for me to ignore the sharp metal protruding, wires leading off somewhere.

The slow sound of footsteps was all I heard on the floor. The cold, stone floor. I yearned for it, back in my cell, the only place where I knew I was going to be safe, if only for a while.

击中他以六十伏特.

A steady buzzing filled my ears and my body seized up as electric currents ran over me. I struggled to scream. My tongue clung to the roof of my mouth, my throat emitting a deep guttural sound. I struggled to breath. Control of my body evaded me and I soiled myself.

And then it was over. And again. And again.

They dragged me back to the cell, leaving me lying in the center as the door, the only source of light, closed on me. I began to cry. The red ball bouncing. It was all I could remember. I swear, it was all I could remember.

My hand raised and fell, raised and fell, and it took me a while to realize I was mimicking the motion of the red ball. Bouncing away. My hand, slapping off the cold floor. The red ball. The red hand, stained with my dried blood. I began to laugh and cry. I don’t know which first. I don’t know which last.

"Honey, look! David is walking!"

I awoke with a start and I felt I almost remembered something. Something important. And as I grasped desperately at the fleeting memory of a dream, it slipped from me too. I was still on the cold floor. I tried to move, but my body protested. I lay there, looking above me at the damp roof. I thought I could hear rain somewhere. I thought I could almost feel the sunlight on my face. I could imagine it all when I closed my eyes. I laughed hoarsely, then began to cry again.

"Oh my God! James, David is out on the street!"

I jumped up from the table, dropping my mug of coffee to the ground as I ran full sprint out of the front door towards the street. I could see little David, running after his red ball as it bounced forward. He laughed, carefree.

Horrified, I looked up the street as a car swerved into the lane. David was hidden behind a parked car. The driver wouldn’t see him until it was too late.

I ran forward screaming for David to come back. Behind me I could hear Grace screaming too, as she struggled forward behind me, her six months pregnant body not agreeing with her.

I got to the curb and was about to leap forward. And then I realized something, in the tiniest fraction of a second before I leapt.

If I jumped, I could push David ahead and save him maybe, but I would die. If I didn’t move, David would die and I would be saved.

Suddenly, my body seized up. I couldn’t move. I could hear Grace screaming behind me but I just stood rooted on the spot as I watched the black sedan hit my five year old son.

I watched his little red ball, bouncing to the other side of the street. A ball he'd never play with again.

I wailed loudly as my tears came, the memory of losing David returning afresh. I screamed in anguish, wishing to God I could turn back time and just jump. Fucking jump.

看如他准备好谈话。

The key jingled loudly in the lock and the door flew open, flooding my small cell with light. I blinked away tears and clawed hopelessly at the ground, the cold ground of the cell, my only refuge, but the guards dragged me out of the door and towards another interrogation chamber.

They sat me down on another cold, metal chair, strapping my arms and feet down. I looked around wildly, trying to see what they would throw my way. I heard footsteps approaching and then a voice spoke.

"是您准备好... talk now, spy?"

"Huh? What did you say?" Slowly, knowledge was coming back to me. The languages I knew, the people I worked for. The faces of those I had killed and the jobs I was to do for my government. I smiled slightly.

The interrogator leaned forward.

"I said, are you ready to talk now, spy?"

I grinned, a mad glint coming into my eye as darker knowledge flooded into my head. Cramming it full, making it hurt. And the red ball. The red ball was still bouncing.

I looked the interrogator in the eye and slowly whispered something incoherent.

"What was that?" He leaned forward and suddenly I lunged forward, biting with my teeth. He screamed as he fell backwards, trying to clutch at his torn throat where I had bitten a chunk free. I twisted my arms into very precise motions, wrenching them free of the inferior straps. One of the two guards in the room leapt forward, swinging a baton my way while the other made for the exit, screaming for assistance. I grabbed the first mans arm as he swung, twisting his wrist till I heard the melodious crack. He dropped the baton and with my free hand, I threw it precisely, striking the second man on the back of the head, causing him to collapse in a heap. I pulled the first man by the arm towards my chair, hacking him in the throat with tenses fingers. He collapsed to the floor, gasping for the last breaths he would ever take.

Calmly I undid the straps on my legs and stood up. My body was in pain but I had been taught to ignore it. I was focused. But all I could think about was the red ball, bouncing.

I walked to the second guard, turning him over onto his back. He was dazed, and I fixed that by stamping on his face repeatedly. My foot was slick with his blood and I wiped it on his jacket before reaching down for his set of keys.

The interrogator was still gurgling, blood spilling between the hands he had pressed to his throat. I knelt forward and pulled him to his feet.

He rasped to me. "Who…who are you? What do you want?"

I smiled. I knew what I had to do. I dragged him to the chair and sat him down roughly. I leaned over to the small metallic table beside, reaching for a large cleaver. I held each of his hands out, chopping them. He screamed and wailed for mercy, but I would not give it. I strapped him in and stuck the pins for the electrocution equipment into his chest, turned it to full voltage and let him sizzle and cook, his eyes popping and skin burning.

I clambered out of the prison building. How, I don’t know. But I kept moving, towards the evac point that would undoubtedly be waiting for me, regardless of the situation I may have landed myself in. What was important was done. All that was left was the red ball bouncing. The one thing I could not forgive myself for. The one thing I had to keep living for, as an eternal punishment.

End.

The Butterfly's Train

2008-11-17T22:02:00.000Z

Rebecca sat silently beside me, waiting for me to say something. But she knew I wouldn’t.

Perhaps it was stubbornness, or perhaps it was the right thing, but she knew me too well, in either case, to expect me to apologize or to take my words back. I wasn’t sure if I would ever see her again, but I wanted to, oh God I wanted to.

“Jack, my mind is made up. I’m going to New York.” We were standing in her bedroom. It was small and cramped but I loved it the way it had been. Now it was empty, large cardboard boxes everywhere.

“Rebecca, please, can’t we talk about this?” She threw down the shirt she had been trying to fold for the past half hour. “Look, Jack. It’s not working. And even if we make it work, how long will it last? A few years? What then? We’ll both go our miserable separate ways. Look, I have an opportunity to excel here. These people really want me. If you cared about me, you’d understand.”

“Rebecca.” I went to her and held her, pressing her gently to me. She didn’t resist, but I could tell she wanted the moment to pass. And I realized then that it was no use. She was going. That was that.

I let her go and turned away, sitting on a chair looking out into the garden. She came behind me and put her hands gently on my shoulders.

“Jack, come with me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Yes you can. We can start over in NYC. Come with me. Please.”

“No.”

She leaned closer and I could tell by the quaver in her voice that she was about to cry.

“Jack, this is hard for me too, okay? Please. I love you Jack. I don’t want to lose you.”
She put her arms round me from behind. I sat there silently for a moment, feeling her sob onto my back, then I stood up, brushing her aside.

“I think you have a train to catch, Rebecca. It was fun while it lasted.”

I walked out of the room and I heard her breakdown behind me. Tears welled in my own eyes, for I too was madly in love with her, but my pride would not permit me to admit it to her. I couldn’t lose this game. I always have to win. It’s just my nature, I guess, but I’m proud of who I am.

I waited in the car for about half an hour, while the delivery men took all the boxes out. She came out soon later, wearing the deep yellow dress I gave her for her birthday last year. I pretended not to notice it as she slid her heavenly frame into the passenger seat. This would be our last ride together. The last time we would be together. I was smoldering on the surface, yet somewhere deep within, I knew I would miss her like mad.

I stood on the platform and watched her get on the train. I tried not to focus on her face, and I could sense that she was crying. She put her hand against the window, pressing tightly. I just turned away, walking out of the station. Behind me, I could hear the train pulling out, and the first of my tears began to trickle down my cheeks.

I went home. The journey seemed unnaturally short. I parked my car and went in. It was perhaps six in the afternoon and I didn’t bother turning the lights on. I had some aspirin and went to bed, my head hurting and my eyes numb.

I woke up a few hours later. Thinking back, it seemed an eternity. It was around nine and I sat up slowly. My head was still hurting and it took a few moments for the hurt to settle back in. I stood up and went to the living room and turned the television on. CNN was on and I walked into the kitchen to find something to eat.

The newscaster was reading off a report.

“….It is still unclear how the train accident occurred but officials believe that there was a problem in the track switching board that caused the train to flip…”
My heart stopped and I ran back into the living room. The newscaster was telling his tale again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you are just joining us, a horrendous tragedy has occurred. The passenger train C-174 that left Memphis city at 5pm this afternoon, heading for New York, has flipped over. The fires are immense and the fire fighters are still battling the flames, trying to rescue any survivors…”

I didn’t hear the rest. I was out of the door. My car screeched forward and I was off, following the railway tracks out of the city. It took me perhaps twenty minutes or so to find the wreck. The area was cordoned off and I screeched to a halt behind a fire truck.

I bounded out of the car towards the devastation. A police officer saw me and stepped up to cut me off.

“Whoa, there. You can’t go through.” He wasn’t fast enough and I dodged around him. I ran into the charred clearing. I could still smell the smoke and I imagined the smell of burning bodies. I began to shout.

“Rebecca?! Where are you?!”

There was a small group of people huddled by some ambulances, paramedics fretting about. I ran towards them.

“Rebecca? Has anyone seen Rebecca Ambles?” No one said anything.

“Will someone please just answer my damn question?!”

“Okay, you! Enough of that!” The cop had caught up with me and he grabbed me by my arm. I didn’t resist. As I was led away, I heard one of the paramedics.

“These are all who survived? Jesus, it’s a mess. Most were burnt to death, some crushed and torn to shreds.”

I went into a kind of shock. I couldn’t believe it. No, Rebecca couldn’t be gone. No, this can’t be happening. The cop helped me regain balance.

“You okay? Look, go home, there’s nothing you can do here. We’ll call you.”

I nodded and headed back home, the longest drive in my life.

I looked straight down the barrel of the gun. It was a .38. The bullet would blow a melon sized hole in the back of my head. Instantaneous death. I could be with Rebecca, forever more. I slowly raised the gun and put the barrel in my mouth. My hand was shaking and I feebly used the other to support it. It was no use. I couldn’t pull the trigger. I was too afraid. Too afraid to join my Rebecca. The woman I loved. The woman who had left me forever.

Tears streamed down and I cried like a child, the pistol dropping from my hands to the floor. I picked up a foot stool and threw it, shattering the living room window. I sat down on my bed, crying and crying. And then I felt a slight fluttering around my ears. I looked up, bleary eyed, to see the most beautiful butterfly I had ever seen. It was deep yellow, the colour of

Rebecca’s dress, and it had slight blue swirls, the colour of her eyes.
I sobbed again.

“Rebecca, how could you leave me?” I looked sadly at the butterfly. It fluttered around for a while, then flew out the window.

The phone call came a few hours later.

“Is this Jack Gable? This is Memphis PD. We’re sorry sir, the body of Rebecca Ambles has been positively identified.” I had put down the phone and cried even harder. And that was when my mind snapped.

*******

2 years later

Dr. Green looked into the room, observing silently. The nurse behind him was showing him around the psychiatric ward on his first day.

“This is Jack Gable. He lost a loved one, his fiancé, in that horrid train wreck 2 years ago. He’s been like this since then.”

Green looked closer through the glass pane in the door. Jack sat busily, drawing something with crayons.

“What’s he making?”

The nurse gestured into the room. Green looked closer and gasped. There were hundreds upon hundreds of pictures of yellow butterflies stuck to the roof.
The nurse leaned closer and whispered. “We think he’ll be here for a long time. Poor thing, he just never recovered from the shock.”

Green nodded, then moved on to the next room.

Jack finished his latest picture, and held it up admiringly. “I love you, Rebecca.” He said, smiling, to the yellow butterfly.

“I’ll always love you. I’ll always be with you.”

Vertigo

2008-11-17T21:57:00.000Z

He slowly opened the large sliding window and stepped outside onto the narrow ledge. Warm air rushed to him and threatened to pull him down in a fearful plummet, but he clung timidly to the window frame and slowly made his way out. His shoes were Italian and his suit was French but none of that mattered as his foot finally touched the ledge. He slowly clambered out and shimmied sideways till there was glass behind him and violent, empty air in front. He looked down at the street below. It was the lunch hour and people milled around like ants, obsessed in their own senseless lives.

Another chill air ripped past him and he grasped fiercely at a nearby column to gain support. He would do it, yes. But he wasn’t ready just yet.

He graduated from Harvard with honours, and was at the top of his class. The corporate struggle to acquire the one called Jonathan Mathers had been a violent foray, but he eventually joined Gabriani & Sons. All was well for the first few years, then he met her. She had snatched his eyes from him at first sight and many years later, he was still not sure if he had them back. They had met at a company Christmas party and they got on well. A few months, and many nights of passion later, they married and settled down together. He was moving up in the firm, though his progress was slow.

Years passed and slowly the smoke lifted from before his eyes. She demanded more and more. Time, money, passion. He had limited amounts of each and he was stretched thin at the firm. More time passes. His progress at the company slows, and then finally stops. He’s not going anywhere, but she is.

He comes home and finds her in his bed with someone else. He doesn’t scream or shout but calmly leaves. She doesn’t stop him. There’s no need. The love is gone. He goes to his office, a single pair of pajamas in the back of his car. On the way he stops at a pawnbrokers and buys a .38. It has six bullets but if the time came, he’d only need one. Or two, if she happened to be near him when the time came.

The divorce papers came in soon and he didn’t argue or contest. She got the house, he kept his car. Everything else was split but it was trivial to him. All that was important to him was already split. The .38 was in his office, in a small locker box under his desk. He had almost forgotten it existed but the day the papers came in, he looked at the box long and hard, turning the key over in his hand. Eventually he had shifted gaze, deciding to move on with his life.

Then he came to today. His boss had called him into his office. Had offered him a seat. He wasn’t performing. No longer possessed the potential they had sought in him. He was no longer an asset to the company. He had to leave. He was no longer wanted.

Suddenly, life didn’t seem to mean anything to him anymore. He went back to his office and opened the locker box, pulling out the .38. He slowly handled it, admiring its sleek design. He shakily loaded a single bullet into the six-shot chamber. He pushed the chamber in and gave it a twirl. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised it to his mouth. The steel was cold but he welcomed the rest it would bring to his troubled soul. Gently he pulled the trigger, his hands shaking.

The dull clang rang out ominously through the room and he waited several moments before opening his eyes. Anger took over him. He couldn’t please his fucking wife, he couldn’t get further in the fucking company, and now, he couldn’t even kill himself. He shouted out loud, a wild primal cry, and pointed the gun at the door to his office, pulling the trigger. The shot cracked loud and the flash caused his iris’ to contract momentarily. There was a smoky hole in the door and he heard his secretary scream from outside. He felt sick and he went to the door slowly and opened it. No one had been hit, and there was a neat crater in the pillar across the hallway just beyond his secretary’s desk. She was huddled under her desk and was frantically dialing the phone, most likely 911. He walked back into his room and closed the door behind him, locking it.

He saw the bright window infront of him and he knew what he would do. He would fall like a bolt of God’s lighting on the masses below. How many of them had fucked with his wife? He didn’t know. The gun slipped from his finger tips and hit the carpeted floor with a small thud. Slowly, he walked towards the window.

The wind picked up again and he clutched the column even tighter. He looked down again, down the thirty or forty floor, and dizziness began to hit him. It was an odd sensation, like a warm and fuzzy blanket covering him. He looked up and let out a start, almost falling down. He stood there, suspended in mid air, looking at himself.

Jonathan blinked a few times and shook his head, but his twin was still there. He recognized himself though it wasn’t exactly him. It was a happier him. He did not have bags under his eyes and he had let his hair run slightly wild. He was wearing casual clothes, unlike Jonathan’s own high profile suits.

‘What do you want?’ He demanded of himself. There was no conviction in his voice. He was not in a position to demand anything. His other self just silently looked at him.

‘I said what do you-…’

‘I heard you the first time.’ The voice was the same as his, though somewhat less depressed.

Jonathan looked silently at his ethereal twin, waiting for him to say something. Time passed slowly.

‘Why are you doing this, Jonathan?’

‘Because I have nothing to live for. I’ve lost everything! Every fucking thing! I’m no one now! I don’t even know myself anymore!’ Jonathan started to cry, tears trickling down. It was the sobbing of a broken man.

‘You haven’t lost yourself, Jonathan. You haven’t even discovered yourself yet.’

‘How the fuck would you know?!’

His twin smiled and suddenly a family appeared around him. There was a pretty woman standing beside him, holding his hand, and at his feet stood two beautiful small children.

‘I know, Jonathan. I know what you have lost. But I also know what you can gain.’

Jonathan looked at the woman and children, and surprisingly, he felt intense love for them, even though he had never seen them before. He suddenly did not want to die. He wanted to continue, to go to the wife and kids he did not know.

‘I…I don’t know these people.’

‘No, you don’t, but you know who they are. They’re your family, Jonathan. Think about your family.’

Jonathan wiped away his tears with one sleeve.

‘I’ve never met them before.’

‘That doesn’t mean you never will.’

‘What about my job?’

‘You can get a new one. You weren’t happy here anyways.’

And Jonathan knew he was right.

‘C’mon Jonathan, there are better things waiting for you. Why throw away a beautiful life? Why deny these children their lives? Why deny this woman the right to grow old with you? You could live on a farm, by a lake, anywhere you wanted. You can do anything you want. You don’t know what you’ll do but you know what you’ll be missing if you don’t try.’

Jonathan looked at the woman and she smiled back. He felt an intense child like love.

‘I… OK.’ Jonathan slowly crept back towards the open window. His twin smiled at him. ‘Fly, Jonathan. Fly’

Jonathan looked, confused, at where his twin had been. There was nothing but air. He stepped sideways but did not watch his footing.

The edge of the ledge cracked and Jonathan fell. He fell but he could not feel himself falling. ‘I’m flying!’ He thought, though he did not know how or where. Slowly, his conciousness began to fade.

He woke up to the steady beeping of an ECG. He opened his eyes groggily and looked up at the Spartan roof of a hospital. The scrubbed smell came to him but he did not mind. His attention shifted to a worried looking woman. She suddenly got up and rushed to the side of his bed.

He did not know her, but he knew about her. His future wife smiled at him, and he smile brought images of the coming years to his mind. She slowly touched his hand.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I…yeah. How did I get here?’

‘You landed on my apartment balcony. I was so scared I didn’t know how you got there and I thought you had died and I was so scared, oh my God, are you okay?’

He patted her hand and pressed it lightly to calm her hysteria, and smiled at her.

‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you it over a cup of coffee. How about it?’

She smiled at him and he knew that smile. She laughed. ‘Of course I will.’

Jonathan smiled. Things would be alright now. Things would be okay.

The Raffle

2008-11-17T21:53:00.000Z

The Mazda RX-7. A symbol of pure perfection. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve wanted to get my hands on one of those babies. But I guess I never got the chance. There were more important things in my life, I couldn’t waste time dreaming over a sports car that was never meant to be mine. Eventually, I forgot all about the car, and many things happened in my life. I married Jenny. I started teaching English at the local high school. No time for sports cars in my life.

Nope. Just no time at all.

Jenny and me were at the mall one afternoon. She was expecting, and were both extremely excited. There were still a few months to go, but we wanted to be ready before hand, so we went to the mall like all regular people do. We were in the babies section, and Jenny was trying to decide which crib to buy, while clutching a good variety of mobiles and stuffed toys.

‘David, help me out! What kind of crib do we want?’

I walked up to her and put my arms around her. ‘Relax honey, we don’t need all these things yet. Lets just take everything one step at a time, OK?’

She started to protest, but she knew I was right. She smiled at me and we walked on. That’s when I saw her. She was a shiny red, brand new I guessed, and she was parked in the Department store with a large ribbon tied around her. The RX-7, the car of my dreams. Next to her was a large placard pronouncing a lucky draw, and you got a raffle ticket for every ten dollars you spent. I saw my chance. I turned Jenny around.

‘Y’know honey, its not too early to start shopping for the kid. Lets get more stuff!’

That night I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to go to sleep. Jenny lay soundly next to me. Slowly, I got up and went downstairs. Our house was comfortable, if not very large. I went to the garage, where my old Toyota and her old Mitsubishi were parked. I looked at them sadly, imagining a lovely red demon taking their place. I knew I had to do something. No one could possibly deserve that car more than me.

By the next night, I had everything worked out. It was tricky, but I knew I could do it. I silently crept out of bed again, this time changing into black clothing. I pulled on some of Jenny’s black leather gloves. If any of the guys found out about this, I’d be the laughing stock for the rest of my. But no one will find out. My planning was too perfect. I drove out of my neighborhood silently and made my way stealthily to the mall. I parked several streets away and started to walk. In my hands I had a long coil of rope which I wrapped around my torso, and a sleek crowbar which I had procured from somewhere in my college days.

I got to the mall and proceeded around the back entrance. The adrenalin was pumping and I moved silently and quickly to the fire escape. I made my way to the roof and crept across like a cat. I got to the large skylight of the department store and I pulled the coil of rope off of me. Slowly, I pried the window open. I wasn’t sure if there was an alarm, and I’m even less sure of what I would have done if there had been one. But there wasn’t. I tied the rope against some nearby piping and walked to the edge. I looked down at the distant floor and said a silent prayer before stepping over into thin air. It was a steady climb down. I wasn’t as fit as I used to be but I still made good time. I silently got off the rope and made my way towards the car. It was dazzlingly bright, even in the almost complete darkness. I had thought about it long and hard all that day, and I knew what I had to do.

I reached behind all the counters and pulled out the raffle books. My plan was simple and elegant. I would fill several raffle books with my personal tickets, and enter them all into the large tombola in the corner. I aimed to simply increase my chances of winning to some better odds. I filled out several dozen, perhaps around a hundred or so. I then carefully replaced everything to where it had been initially, and then began the slow climb up the rope. I was filled with energy and elation. I got home and climbed into bed, falling asleep with a smile on my face.

I got up the next morning with sheer horror on my mind. What had I done last night? Was it illegal? It probably was, I decided. It was like I hadn’t been myself last night. I couldn’t go to jail.

Jenny had the baby coming, and I don’t think it would have been possible for us to survive without one another. I sat down at the kitchen table, terrified and waiting for a squad car to come get me. That was when the phone started to ring. Slowly, I got up and answered it.

‘Hello?’

‘Good morning, sir. May I speak to a Mr. David Stevens?’
I swallowed. It sounded like a cop to me.

‘Uhhh… this is him.’

There was silence for a minute, then.

‘Congratulations, Mr. Stevens! You’ve won our lucky draw! The Mazda RX-7 is yours!’
It took a few minutes for the news to sink in, then I started jumping up and down like a maniac.

************

Several months have passed, and I’ve finally stopped waiting for the cops to come get me. Jenny’s sitting next to me with little baby Michael in her lap, and we’re driving off into the sunset in my alluring red demon, the engine purring, the wind tugging at our hair, and our spirits soaring free in the thrill of the speed.

I Hate You

2008-11-17T21:50:00.000Z

‘I hate you.’

‘Then go ahead and do it. Kill me.’

Billie tensed up, his arms shaking, the gun a a bit too heavy for his tiny arms. But he kept it steady enough not to miss at this range, and Mark knew it. Mark raised one hand to his mouth and wiped the blood away. His gaze shifted to the crumpled body of Dianne. The pool was gathering around her as she lay in a fetal position. There was an immense hole where her beautiful face had been and her brains lay splattered, dark on the soggy carpet.

Billie was shaking. Dirt streaked his face where the tears had been but there was no sorrow, only hatred and pity. The past half hour had been too much for his 12 year old mind to comprehend. Instead, he had chosen to block it out, and concentrate on what was at hand; killing Mark, his father.

It was 3 A.M. and the fragile door to the apartment rattled as Mark tried to force his way in. Dianne groaned and made her way from her bedroom to front door. Mark had forgotten his fucking keys again. Just like her forgot their anniversary. Just like he forgot Billie’s birthday. Just like he forgot to get a fucking job every week. Dianne was tired, physically and emotionally.

The beatings were laying off, and their therapy at the community centre was paying off for the few measly dollars they paid for it. He still wasn’t trying to sober up, but Dianne told her self that things would get better with time. Not long ago, she was praying for an opportunity to flee with Billie, but now, she silently hoped everything would work out. She still loved Mark, even after the 15 years of hell he had put her through.

She opened the door tiredly and was just about to say something when the first punch landed. He caught her off guard and her nose burst open. Tears came to her eyes but she did not have enough time to register much more than the pain. The next punch came and smacked the side of her head. She fell backwards, crushing some of Billie’s toys that were scattered around. Mark stepped inside and clumsily turned the lights on.

‘Stupid bitch. You’ll open the door faster next time, won’t you?’ He slowly turned round and shut the door. Dianne sobbed slowly, and suddenly, there was intense hatred for her husband, flaring in her eyes. She screamed and leapt forward, clawing the back of his neck. He was perhaps anticipating this, or some of his old army instincts kicked in. He drove his elbow backwards, catching her in the right breast. He turned around and kneed her hard in the groin and she fell down again, screaming in pain.

‘Fucking whore. Think you can jump me? I’m faster than you think. I’ll show you, you stupid cunt.’

Mark reached down and pulled hard on Dianne’s t-shirt. It ripped and he pulled it free, her chest bouncing free, a large red bruise appearing on the right. He reached down again and began to pull her shorts off. She lay there dazed, unable to think or to stop him. She had started to bleed from below, his blow having done some damage within. He pulled her shorts and panties free and began to undo his pants. Slowly, he climbed on top of her and thrust his way in.

She moaned and closed her eyes, aware that she was being raped but unable to react. She began to mumble. ‘Go ahead you stupid fuck. You’re fucking lame, anyway.’

He growled and thrust harder and faster, having his way with her till finally he came, and he didn’t bother to withdraw, releasing deep within.

Billie was huddled under the kitchen table, slowly crying. He could see his father, naked on top of his bleeding mother. He wanted to scream but he knew he couldn’t. ‘Daddy will kill me,’ he thought. And suddenly, a new thought entered his head. ‘I must kill daddy.’

Mark slowly got up, pulling his pants on, then from his back pocket he pulled out a small gun. He pointed it at Dianne. His hands did not shake and he pointed it squarely between her eyes. ‘Go ahead, bitch. Scream for me. Go on.’

Dianne was scared beyond words and she cowered fearfully at his feet, trying to cover her body with her hands. Mark sneered and slowly began to pull on the trigger.

Billie ran at his father with the butchers knife pointed outwards. The thrust drove it deep into Mark’s leg and he shrieked out, throwing off his aim. The shot rang off and plaster from the small crater on the ceiling trickled down onto his naked mothers body. Mark swung an arm around and hit Billie square on the chest, sending him flying several feet.

Dianne screamed a loud note, and Mark swung the gun back to her face, pulling the trigger and shutting her up for good. Blood sprayed over him and the walls behind her, and with sick pleasure, he reveled at the fact that he could see clean through the back of her head. Her body slumped slowly and blood began to seep. Mark tossed the gun aside, much more sober.

‘Look what you made me do, you stupid bitch! You had to scream, didn’t you?! You had it coming!’ He turned around to deal with Billie and there he was, standing, the gun in his tiny hands.

Billie struggled with the memories and focused on the present.
‘Put the gun down, Billie, or you’ll get in big trouble.’

‘No! I won’t!’

‘You will Billie. You’ll go to jail because its your fingerprints on the gun, Billie, not mine.’
And Billie was scared. But he knew he had no choice. He had to kill him. He sobbed and pulled the trigger. The hammer struck down but nothing happened. Mark stood confused for a second then laughed.

‘The gun jammed, you stupid son-of-a-bitch! Try to kill me, will you?’ He bounded forward and snatched the gun from his son. He pushed Billie hard to the ground, and that was when the door crashed in.

Dwayne had been up at the mall, the night-time security guard till 3 in the morning. He had just gotten home when the first shot rang from downstairs and a small hole appeared in his floor. He cursed and called 911.

The police officer leveled his gun at Mark. ‘Put the gun down, asshole.’

Mark hesitated, then knew it was useless. The officer kept his gun pointed as partner pushed
Mark to the ground and cuffed him, reading him his rights. They dragged him out and the first officer returned with a paramedic. He crouched by Billie.

‘You okay kid? Did your daddy do this?’

Billie nodded. Then he asked a strange question.

‘How long before they let him out of jail?’

The officer was taken back. ‘Ummm… I dunno. Somewhere between 10 to fourteen years. Are you sure you’re okay kid? Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’

Billie smiled. He would be fine. And fourteen years from now, he’d be waiting.

Monsters; Here There Be

2008-11-17T21:48:00.000Z

I have no comfort. I have no solace. I have no dreams or ambitions. I have only myself, lying in my bed, the covers pulled over me tight. Tears streak my face and my pillow. The pain in my head ever present but long forgotten. My eyes; wide and glazed. What do I see with my night eyes? Slowly the hours stretch by. Behind the drapes on my window, I witness the sun fall, the rise of the moon, pulsing lights and sounds from the street below. My eyes adjust to the darkness. I am a night creature. I see perfectly and without flaw. But I do not see and I do not think. Because I am no longer capable of either.

My mind lingers on the betrayal, the duplicity of my trust, the fraudulence of my hope. My love. How much is real? And what have I imagined? And what can I see now? Can I see through the fog now? I can see everything in the night so clearly.

He reaches out, a silent shadow on the walls, and he embraces me tight and tells me everything will be okay. He brushes the tears from my eyes and strokes my head. He cuddles me again. I feel no warmth from him. But I’m happy, and I smile. There is no light. There is no dark. There is only clarity. Clarity of mind, heart and soul, all brought together to clash in the momentous conflict that rages on ever more. I love you. And then he’s gone again. And I’m empty again. And that’s all there is. He fades into the shadows from whence he came. Fades away into the nothingness beyond my vision. I probe the shadows, but he is no more. Who was he, who I loved more than my mother or my father? Who I embraced closer than any love? Who I trusted more than any friend? Who was he? Where was he? I was alone again. I love.

I wake up in the morning. Nothings changed. I’m still alone. The day passes swiftly. I pray for the night. I ignore everyone in my family; they’re all peripheral. I go outside onto my balcony and sit down on the ground. Mosquitoes swarm around me but I don’t care. I close my eyes as the tears start flowing. I look at a mirror inside my house and realize I have no reflection. Was it because of the darkened window? Or had I passed on? I didn’t know. I did not want to know. I stood up and looked down; 4 stories above the ground below. How certain was it that I’d die if I jumped? Who knows? Who wants to know? Not me. I was too scared. I’ve always been too scared. Why am I scared? It’s what I want, right? I put one foot over the railing, then bring it back. There was something behind me. Someone. I love you.

He came up against me, out of the shadows, and embraced me once more. And the pain was gone. And I wasn’t alone. Who was he; he who worked this charm upon me. I looked down, and in the moonlight saw his slight claws pricking my skin, leading small trickles of blood. I smiled. The pain was gone. The mosquitoes were gone, lying on the balcony floor at twisted angles, mangled, their bodies torn apart.

I turned around and put my head against his chest. It rose heavily now, no longer a shadow. He was real. He was here for me. He was going to take me away. There was still no warmth but I felt his love. I love you. I love you too.

He raised his sharp hands to my face and wiped away my tears, tearing my skin slowly, softly, with the love of a thousand hearts. He kissed my forehead and brought his hands to my throat, and I closed my eyes and prayed to die. He would grant me that. Because he loved me. And I loved him.

I love you.

The Stuff of Dreams

2008-11-17T21:41:00.000Z

“How was school, Kate?”

“It was alright.” Kate Derry walked up the short flight of stairs to her porch, where her parents were sat lounging in a pair of deck chairs, enjoying the sunny day. They made it a ritual to do that everyday; something they could never do in New York where they lived till three days ago.

Kate walked in the front door, her prim smile turning to a sharp frown as she left her parents gaze. The truth was, she hated it here. School was nothing like her one, and the kids were all weird. They were town kids. She was a city ‘person’. No longer a ‘kid’. She refused to be called as such. 17 years of age was her justification to the claim. She went upstairs, dodging the scattered piles of boxes that were still left to unpack. Her mother and father were both doctors at the new hospital in town and they had moved over when they had both gotten the jobs. In her head she knew it was best for them but in her heart she felt differently. She missed her friends.

She sat blankly in her room, staring at the bare white walls, trying to think up locations for her posters and wall hangings. The room was much bigger than her old one, and she had much more space to fill, but given time, she would find a way. In the end though, she gave up. An anxiety had settled in to her, a strange sensation. She felt crowded, unable to breath, in the confines of the house. Claustrophobia? She was never claustrophobic in a New York crowd, or at a party. This was something different. Something was willing her to go out; to leave her house behind her.

She went out the back door. There was a small gate that led to a slightly wooded path beyond. The gate was old, and slightly rusted, but as she unlatched it and slid it open, there was no whine from the joints. It moved perfectly smooth, as if someone, in anticipation of use, had kept it oiled up. She shook her head and smiled. The housekeeper most likely; they must have done some renovations before we moved in. Still, she was intrigued by the path and decided to follow it down. The sparse tree growth to either side would prevent her from seeing beyond the winding corners. She walked and she walked, thinking all the while. And when she got to the point that she could no longer think, she came to a small clearing surrounded with thick woodland. She gasped at the beauty before her.

There was a small pond that looked more like a miniature lake. Lilies grew on the bank, along with lots of flowers in the remainder of the clearing. The place looked as if no one had been here in a very long time. Then her eyes fell on a small shack, on the far side, almost completely camouflaged by the woodland behind it. It was made entirely of logs; a rich dark wood. There were no windows, and the door looked very thick and heavy, of the same rich dark wood. There was a small pile of logs beside it for firewood, along with a small axe on a stump used for a chopping block.

Kate mouth hung for a long while. The cabin looked much maintained, as if someone visited here very regularly. Or lived here. She shook her head, disbelieving of the fact that someone may actually live in her backyard. She took a few steps forward, careful not to trample any flowers.

“Well hello there.”
Kate shrieked and spun around. A young man stood there, startled, most probably from her sudden outburst. He held his hands up beside his head and slowly smiled. “It’s ok. I mean no harm.”
“Wh-who are you? What are you doing here?” Kate tried to take a step back, but something held her. Perhaps it was the young mans gaze; his eyes looking into hers, and she began to see the beauty in their greenish tinge. In his dark shiny brown hair, and his tanned complexion. His lean body, showing a brief tease in the creases of his shirt. He smiled at her.
“My name is Cristopher. And as to your second question; well, I live here.” He gestured around with his arms.
“But this is our property! How can you live here! That path links to our backyard!” She pointed down the trail she had taken. She found that still she could not move herself, and slowly realized that she no longer wanted to back away from him.

Cristopher smiled and shook his head. “Actually that path is my property, along with this land here. There’s a small trail on the other side of my cabin that leads towards my front yard.” He grinned as he said that, and Kate saw the humor ever so slightly and slowly smiled.
“Anyway, back when these properties were first made, the owners linked the backs to one another with a gate. Probably very friendly neighbors. This was a long time ago; a few hundred years. I guess privacy didn’t matter much back then. In any case, sorry I startled you.”

He smiled at her again and slowly she felt herself smiling back. Her mind refused to comment, as if it was completely silenced, and she felt herself become more and more attracted to him. He was terribly handsome; almost surreally. She felt her heart beat faster, and tried to find something to say.
“Would you like to come back to my cabin and have something to drink? You look like you had quite a scare.”
“I…Yes, thank you.” He led the way and she followed him, smiling wide. Looks like he made the first move. You got lucky, Kate! You came to a rotten town but found a HOT guy. She felt like calling up her friend Carla in New York and getting her all jealous. She grinned wider. She would remember to do so later.

Cristopher opened the door and led the way in. It was spotlessly clean, several large rugs on the floor, with a large bed in the corner. There was a small kitchen space and a table beside it. He offered Kate a seat and set to work at the stove. Shortly, he placed a cup of coffee in front of her. She looked at him sitting across her as she drank it. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Suddenly, moving to this town seemed a whole lot better to Kate.

<-*--*->

Two weeks had passed since the day Kate first met Cristopher, and she could hardly believe how the time had flown. She was slowly appreciating the better things in town life, and her time with Cristopher was the best. He would spend time with her every time she visited. He was 20 and a writer, working hard to make ends meet, living on his parents land. He was never too busy, and he was always charming. Yesterday, he had gathered the courage to kiss her. She smiled. The kiss had been perfect.

Winter was fast coming. Kate wrapped a scarf around her neck and pulled a wooly cap on. Her nose had started taking on a slightly red look due to the cold and Cristopher said it looked adorable, before he gently kissed it. She smiled and pulled on her coat. She went out the back door, past the creak-free gate and into the domain of Cristopher.

He sat at his table, waiting for her, a pair of coffee mugs in his hands. He smiled and extended one towards her. “Look what I have for you. Bring back any memories?”
Kate laughed and kissed him. He kissed her deep and carried her to his bed. She looked deep in his eyes and he looked in hers, waiting for approval. She grinned and kissed him. Slowly, they began to shed their clothing. They made love for the first time. Kate felt her dreams coming true. We are one, me and him.

She lay beside him and looked him in the eyes. His were drooping sleepily and he smiled back. She looked at her watch and jumped. It was almost five. “Oh Jesus, look at the time! I have to get home before my parents do!” He smiled and didn’t complain. She had gotten the hint that he preferred keeping his afternoons to himself and she didn’t want to impede in his privacy. Their time was the day; at least for now. Till Cristopher is ready to open up more. She really felt that their first time making love had brought them much closer. She felt life was perfect as she rushed home.

Something happened the next day that Kate couldn’t quite explain. She had a nightmare that night, one that she couldn’t remember the next day, but it had shaken her terribly. She woke up drenched in sweat and breathing hard, a quickly dwindling sensation of fear upon her. She didn’t know what had happened but she knew she had to see Cristopher as soon as she good. She didn’t know why, she just knew she had to.

The sun was red in the sky, slowly setting, when Kate pushed the gate open. The cold was setting in deep and she shuddered, drawing her coat tighter around her. Her nose had taken a deeper red tinge to it and she breathed in the cold, sharp air. The sun was gradually setting, and with it, the shadows in the pathway began to extend, and somehow, unexplainably, the trees seemed to grow, from the neat, prim ones they used to be to wild untamed forest land. She walked faster amidst the rising gloom. She came to Cristopher’s cabin and pushed the door in, escaping from the darkness.

“Kate! What are you doing here?!”
Cristopher stood there, his eyes wide in horror. His shirt was gone, his lean body shining with sweat. Behind her, the heavy door swung shut and Kate saw that a heavy lock had latched shut behind her. It was a strange device, covered in strange runes, and she was surprised that she had never seen it before.

“It’s a time lock. It won’t open until sunrise tomorrow morning. There’s no way to force it open.”
Kate spun back to look at Cristopher. A haunted look had come on his face.
“Kate, why did you come here? Why did you come here after it started getting dark? Of all times, why now?”

Kate felt terror rising in her, like a vertical plunge in cold water. Cristopher doubled over in front of her and began to change.

Spines extended from his back in a sharp webbed pattern, and his skin took on a rocklike dirty texture and strange matt black hair began to grow. He shouted for her to get away but his shout turned animalistic halfway through as his nose and mouth began to change, no longer suitable to produce human sounds, creating noises that one may often hear in their nightmares. In dreams.

Cristopher stepped forward on clawed feet, extending his shining taloned hands forward, slowly grasping Kate by the neck. She looked into his feral bloodshot blacker than black eyes. There was no other texture to them; they were dark beads in his sinking eye sockets. His skull shifted back and forth, realigning itself to take on more horrid forms like some sick jigsaw puzzle.

Its mouth drew close and it snapped it tight on to Kate’s neck. Kate winced slightly as blood from her jugular vein spilled out, spraying up into her own face as well. She smiled. She and Christopher would be one now. And she knew why he had needed his privacy, why he had wanted to protect her from his other self. But there was no need. She was not afraid. Now they would be together. Becoming one.

The changed form of Cristopher lumbered down on the floor and began to gnaw the bones of its unexpected prey. Its stomach was full, but deep within it, it felt a sadness it would not be able to comprehend till the rising of the sun the next day. We are one.

The Importance of Being on Time

2008-11-17T21:40:00.000Z

Note: I used to be late a lot in the morning for highschool. Our form tutor decided that my punishment one week would be to write an essay on why it is important to be on time. Needless to say he let me off the hook.

It is very important to always be on time, be it so that you dont miss anything that may have benefited you, or so that you dont cause others around you to be late too. For example, if a shopkeeper opens his shop five minutes late in the morning, he loses five minutes of potential customers (assuming theres anyone actually sad enough to go shopping at opening time). Similarly, if a General is five minutes late for a war, he's going to lose a lot of men (can be quite demoralising).

I choose to be modest and not take any credit for my actions. Infact, I duly feel that others around me really deserve the credit for my lateness.

I blame society. If there wasnt such bad traffic management and congestion, I could get to school much earlier. I also blame bad drivers, as because of them and their rediculous car crashes, Im always late for school.

I blame my parents for living so far away from school. I blame my bed for being so warm and cozy every morning. I also blame my airconditioner, for running at the perfect temperature for a nap.

I blame school for starting so early. What kind of a school starts at 7:50?! Its obviously cruelty to children, an attempt by the coffee companies to get kiddies hooked at a young age.

I blame my school uniform because its so hard to get into in the morning. I blame my tie because its absolutely useless (unless its for a bib...thats the only application ties have i tell you!). I blame my socks because it take me 15 seconds every morning to put them on. Thats 5475 seconds a year of my life wasted! I blame my shoes and my toothbrush and my hairbrush.

I blame my math teacher because of all the homework he gives... Then again, that may not be a wise statement because this essay is for my math teacher. So yes, I love math! We all love math!!

So yes, it is important to be on time, and I will make an effort to do so in the future (or if not, I'll just come up with better excuses).

THE END

Love... Or Maybe Not: The Controversial Truth

2008-11-17T21:35:00.000Z

Note: This article was written for a Pakistani youth magazine and some of the humour may go over the uninformed's heads. Just read it with a pinch of salt. Because I pulled it straight from the website version of the magazine and wrote it when I was 16, the grammar is poor and I'm ill-inclined to correct it, so again, if you have the grammar OCD that I have, steer clear!

'Tis' a fickle thing, love', or rather, 'twas' a fickle thing, love'. Come to think of it, its not even love! Right, by now I must have caught your attention (and in thus doing so, have probably also been branded psychotic) so I guess an explanation is in order. I was...ahem...'am' referring to the tender/volatile, charming/murderous, and pleasant/torturous effect often branded love, but better known as a 'crush' effect (and no, that's not a new deodrant). Typically speaking, a crush is when a girl/boy develops attraction and emotional longing for members of the opposite/same sex. Alas! Such a morose feeling is imprinted in human nature; simply unavoidable, but what is avoidable is all the lovely trouble that ensues!

Now, culturally and morally speaking, Pakistani society condemns all forms of pre-marital intimation. Not only is it discouraged, it is pretty much a taboo in Islam. Right, now that the guidance lecture is over, let the fun begin! Now, the purpose of this modest article (and the attempt of this immodest writer!) is to delve deep into the working of the sporadically developing boy-girl relationship Chakar a.k.a. 'date marna!'

Oh wait! Im going too fast! We ought to take a long step back to step one, which is "Dosti!"

'Dosti' is defined as friendship but everyone knows what intention lies behind this friendship game! For the remainder of this article, we are going to assume the role of a boy who likes a girl (this oughtta' be good!). Now, he sees the girl, and he likes her. He wants to get closer, for her to notice him, but alas! He has grown up in a society where girl-boy communication skills are lacking. So what does he do? He sits tight till one of his friends does the 'dosti' and has him introduced. So once the girl acknowledges his existense he starts being really really awfully grossly nice. The girl likes the attention (as all girls, strangely, do) and so they become friends. This whole process takes between two to six weeks (maybe more) and its pretty pointless. Whats the point in making a friend when you're just going to change that status later? Anyways, so the story continues. The second step? "Getting Close!"

This is by far the easiest stage. Friendship is there, it just needs to develop. Unfortunately, most guys seem to have serious hormonal urgencies as they devote more of their time to the prospective girls. They hang out with them in breaks, sit with them in classes, write stuff to each other in notes (strangely, this is considered more satisfying than a conversation!) , and the list goes on. Eventually, the 'love jokes' start, asking out in pretend, giving pretend love letters, the works. Assuming as this is, it wastes a lot of school time, (and home time if you have a phone!) and typically, the bond strengthens. Now, fun s this stage may be, people take it too fast. If you slow down and give the other person room to breath, you find that they like you more and in general, the world is less annoyed by you (strange, the way things work...). Next, the third step, "Out of the closet!....almost".

Coming out of the closet is, by far, the trickiest part. Most people only stand to lose more and gain less at this stage. The instance occurs that the girl took your 'dosti' as literal 'friendship' with no hidden motives. She's not looking for a relationship and only needs a friend, which you, ironically, become. So if you confess your heart's whims, you may stand to lose a friend and gain a slap to the face. On the other hand, the girl may like you too and you form a happy couple (still losing a friend, but gaining a loved one), and the third and probably worst occurance is she is already involved, (which almost always turns out to be a guy 3 times your size) and so you get a good desi beating. (Note: Guys! Always do your homework! Find out if there's already someone filling the boyfriend slot!). It reccommended that during the course of Step 2, one attends a boxing/karate/kung-fu class because Step 4 dictates violence! Thats right! "Phada!"

Now then, assuming you get your girl (yayyy!), it almost always turns out that theres this other guy who likes her too. What to do? Fight it out! So both warriors gather their 'back' (as the saying goes). An arsenal of nifty mobile phones are drawn out and the owners of the telecom companies go out and buy new cars. Such a shameful monopoly! So, anyhow, the weapons (latest cellular technology) are drawn out, dialing loads of numbers to people who have 'bhai' automatically attached to their names. Then the groups congregate. So we have fifty from one side and fifty from the other and the two adversaries, comfortable with their private armies, approach one another and the swearing begins. And so they sweat and they swear and often the fight is simply broken up, but elsewise, chaos reigns supreme. The battle commences and fists and feet are thrust in all directions, accompanied by mother-sister cuss words. Eventually, this battle for supremacy ends with one side or the other winning. It is almost compulsory to win this fight if you want to keep your girl. Interestingly, the girl makes no attempt to stop the boys from fighting, rather encouraging this healthy exchange of blows. And so, one party emerges supreme while the other slinks off into the darkness, and now, to the spoils of war; the prize! This is step five, "The long kiss(less) goodnight."

Now then, so the battle is won, the girl is yours. So what do you do? Simple! Enjoy (or attempt to) the most boring relationship in the world. All you do is sit around and talk, and be sensitive for the girl. You are now compelled to listen to her troubles, her her pick her clothes when out shopping (urghh...), help her pick clothes for the parties (groannnn.....) and last of all compliment everything she does and put up with her complaining about you all the time. Eventually, a time will come when your adolescent joy will pass away (for a good few months ) and all you'll want to do is slap the girl and say, "Shut up!" So now we come to the final step, Step 6: "So Long!"

Now that the passion and joy is gone, its break up time. So you go to the girl and suggest it to her, who seems to cry but is secretly glad. All that complaining she used to do has rubbed off and now even she believes it. So theres one last conversation for sensitivities sake (someone please kill me...!) and then, POOF! Its over! Just like that! All in all, this whole process lasted a good few months and by the end you'll be happy you're out of it. You'll think baack to all the sensitive and loving things you did and suddenly you'll want to choke yourself. You vow never to get involved in girl trouble again but a few months later....

The Turmoil Within

2008-11-17T21:27:00.000Z

The voices within call to me. They call to my body; my vessel.

The sound of my heart.

The sound of my mind.

I ran as fast as I could, trying to escape the voices assaulting me.

You can't live without her. You can’t and you know it. Show how much you love her. Prove your love to her. Die for your love.

I collapsed. For a long while I lay, looking up at the plain ceiling. It was white, or a shade thereof. She always loved white. A single tear trickled down my cheek, then another down the other. My bleary eyes closed and opened and I began to sniffle.

Cry. It helps. Another voice. This one was strong. This one was calm and cool. I recognized it somehow, yet in other ways, it was alien to me. Never the less, listen to it I did, and I cried openly. I can't remember the last time I cried the way I did then.

No. Don't cry. Crying is for the weak. You know what you have to do. You have to be strong. Remember it. She told you to be strong. She knew it would come to this. You have to prove your love.

Memories came to me. Oh so many memories. Its funny, but usually, the only memories we remember are the bad ones. But not when we're in love. Then its all good times and better times that we remember.

I remembered the night we broke up. I had cried then, tried hard to stop myself but still cried. She had gently told me to be strong. To move on. I would be okay; I just needed to see beyond her.

You built your house of cards encompassing her. It's obvious when she moves the deck will fall. The cards will fall. But cards do not rip or tear if they fall. You just pick them up and build a new house. So be strong. That’s what she meant. The house will go up again. Just you wait and see.

No. He's lying. The deck has fallen and the cards are lost. You can't pick up the pieces when they fall beyond your reach. It's not your destiny to have the things you love. You're just one big screw up. Nature and the order of things have no place for you.

I sobbed and stood up. I don’t know how long I lay there. Hours? Or was it minutes? I can't tell anymore. Time is a blur and I keep switching gears. My legs are sore. Perhaps it really has been a while. Who cares anyway?

I made my way to the kitchen. I searched the drawers and couldn’t find what I was looking for. I cursed and kicked a cupboard, then took a deep breath and searched again. Fourth drawer down, behind the cheese grater. I pulled the long glistening kitchen knife out. My reflection was tainted, sometimes bending this way; sometimes that way.

You're twisted and bent. Look at you. You have no honor and no shame. Crying like a child. Scorned by the one you love. What place does the world have for a weakling like you? Do it a favor. Do yourself a favor. Stop the act and end the game. It's better for you this way.

I sniffed and nodded. It was better for me this way. I had begged and I had pleaded. I could feel the marks of dirt becoming permanent on my knees. Permanent displays of the dignity I had foregone to beg for her back. Oh god how I had begged.

Dishonored. Betrayed. My dignity gone. My faith gone. My dreams gone. My heart gone. My love torn and tattered. My life broken and shattered. I laughed. I actually made my life rhyme. A lyric or a ballad? I was unsure. Tragic it was to see myself this way.

I placed the knife on my right wrist, tightening the hold of my left hand on the knife's grip.

Why are you pretending to yourself that you can do this? You know better. You’ve seen what suicide does. How it looks. Think about your mother and your father. Your brothers and your family.

What do they care? They'll get over it. People die all the time. It will make them stronger. Chances are they won't even remember you after a few years. It's better for your parents; they won't have to put up with your constant disappointments. And it's better for your brothers; they won't have to put up with your bullshit anymore. Yes, perhaps this is the best way.

I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. All these voices in me. Why can't they make up their mind? I pressed the knife down onto my wrist and felt a slight prick and the first droplet of blood began to form where the knife was digging deeper.

That’s enough. Put the knife down. This is stupid. What could you possibly gain from killing yourself? It won't get you her back. You have to be strong for yourself, and no one else.

I hesitated. The knife in my hand was shaking, mimicking the shaking of my hands. The trail of blood was leading down my hands and trickling gently from my fingers. The tip of the knife was still pressed hard, bleeding me. The blood was warm. It was strange, because I felt nothing but extreme cold.

The intimacy of her touch. The warmth of her body. The depth of her embraces. Do you remember? Can you really forget?

Feelings fade. Memories fade. Time heals. Give it time. That’s all you need, some time to be alone. To heal yourself and become whole again.

She was a part of you. How can you be whole without the part that matters most; your heart? How can you live without your heart?

I sobbed a few more times and pulled the knife away from my wrist. My shaking hands brought it level with my chest, and trembling, I began to draw it closer. The point touched my chest. Cold it was, and it added to my shivering.

Do it.

I held my hands firm and took a deep breath.

Think about it.

The knife plunged deep into my chest. My lungs contracted involuntarily as they punctured and I spluttered, gasping for mouthfuls of air that just wouldn’t go down. The knife sent searing pain through my body. I couldn’t breath. I began to black out.

Think about it.

I looked down and the knife edge was a hairsbreadth from my skin. My hands were shaking still and I no longer made any futile attempts to still them. Was this really worth it? Was it worth her?

You can't live without her. You know you can't. Why are you fooling yourself?

Give it time. Have faith in yourself. You will be fine.

I nodded. Perhaps I would be fine. I was a coward. I couldn’t kill myself. I didn’t have the courage.

It's not cowardice. Self preservation is a stronger instinct. And its bravery to stay strong and stand up. Raise your head high.

I wiped away the drying trails of tears from my face and stood up. Make me stronger, I said to the voice within. The one that was rational. The one that knew me best. Make me stronger. Make me you.

I am you.

And I am you also. The question is, which of us is stronger in you?

I stood up. I understood. My heart and my mind. Which was stronger didn’t matter. Both were a part of me.

I dropped the knife to the floor. Never again would I be so weak. Never again.

Never.
Never.
Never.

Empathia

2008-11-17T21:24:00.000Z

Walketh he through the cold winter nights. Need he no bed to lie upon, nor a roof to lie upon him. Content he is with his thin cloak of tattered fur, with his hat of bristled straw, with his sandals of cracked leather. Feel he no pain on the soles of his toughened feet, and walk on he does everyday, his journey with no goal and no end. He walks both in day and in night, and sometimes both. He rest only long enough to be able to walk again, and so continue his journey.

Why walketh he so aimlessly? Wondered many and few, for t'was the business of none but the walker himself. Yet intrigued was young Johnny Wilkins of the town of Arithia. And wonder he did when the walker came upon Arithia on his journey with no aim.

Walketh to the inn did he, and paid for a room with coins as ordinary as any. Yet as his back was turned, his currency was scrutinized; looking for any point of farce. Suspect him did they for regular he was not; not in face nor hair nor eyes nor clothes nor shoes. Nor the expression of his face. Emotions he did not show, yet at the same time, all colors of the rainbow flowed through his eyes. His face seemed to take on every expression and yet none at all, as if everything were hidden away. Confused were all and scared were many, and the old ones forbade the young ones from going near the walker, for suspecting him of dark magics they did. Yet too scared were they to drive him out and force his journey to continue sooner than intended he. And so the walker stayed, one day and another. And another still. And the folk of the town grew uneasy, for they were unsure how long the unwelcome guest may stay. Yet not uneasy was young Johnny Wilkins, who sought to know more of the walker and his travels.

So one night, when the moon was full and high, Johnny Wilkins downed the last of his ale at the inn tavern, and he turned to the table in the far corner, where the walker sat alone, hidden in the darkness. And Johnny Wilkins swallowed the lump of fear in his throat, and set himself forward. So great was his pace that had he wanted at any point to turn tail and flee, t'would have been impossible. And so he found himself standing before the table of the walker. He looked down at the strange man, yet no change in expression did he see. Clear his throat young Johnny Wilkins did and he said, May I join you at your table, O great traveler from afar? May I join you and share a flagon of ale in exchange for some stories of your travels?

Said nothing the walker, and more than time enough passed for young Wilkins to realize where he was unwanted. Yet adamant was he and flee he would not. Finally the walker gestured down with his eyes, indicating the seat from across him. Delighted was young Wilkins and hurriedly sat down.

What want you to know? Asked the walker, in a hoarse voice. Wilkins was unsure as to the tone of his voice. Had he been crying? Or was he croaking back a laugh? Or perhaps a sickness?

Wilkins ventured forth in the talks. Tell me, great traveler, where have you come from? Look nothing like us you do, nor bear you the look of a villager from near? Where then do you hail from?

The walker gave a small smile of stone; devoid of all emotion and feeling. And then it was that young Wilkins knew what it was that was strangest about the man sat before him. T'was not the strange demeanor of his person, nor the alien look of his body. Strangest was the lack of life in his eyes. Brown were they yet gray they seemed, as if all color had been drained.

The walker looked young Wilkins in the eye and it scared the young man, because he saw something he would never wish upon any person alive. The walker spoke slowly. Matter it not where I am from, or where I go, for neither do I recall and neither do I recognize. My path is to wander and wander till perhaps I can go no further. And then I shall stay where I be and die. Such is my travels, young one.

Wilkins was young, yet child he was not and he recognized what it was that the traveler suffered from. He leaned forward and placed a hand on the shoulder of the walker. The traveler looked Wilkins in the eye, then stood gently, letting Wilkins arm slip away from him. I need not your empathy, the man said to Wilkins and Wilkins smiled. You need it not but I give it none the less. For I understand what it is that haunts you.

The traveler looked away, and young Wilkins would swear he saw ten years of lines add to his tired and weather beaten face. You know nothing, he said to young Wilkins, and he made his way upstairs to the room he had paid. I shall leave at first light tomorrow, he said over his shoulder, as he slowly climbed the stairs. Welcome I am not in your town and as such I will not bring displeasure for any further hospitality there may yet be left in you. I will bother you no more and I would ask the same of you.

Wilkins sat at the table late into the night, well past the time when the villagers talk turned to whispered rumors, then to drunken laughter. He stayed till the fires of the inn tavern were on their last embers, screaming for the cold settling in. Finally he stood up and made his way home down the cobbled street, for Arithia was but a small town, one of many on the walker's journeys.

The next morning the walker awoke, and slowly rose out of bed. Once more the peace that sleep had brought him was shattered by the thoughts that would forever haunt him. Forced himself on he did, for he understood he was overstaying his welcome, and as such, had already aroused much curiosity.

He made his way downstairs and paused at the last step of the stairs to adjust his torn cloak of furs, his hat of bristled straws, and his sandals of cracking leather. He took a deep breath, then stepped forth. His journey continued. He opened the large door to the inn and walked out, randomly picking one of the ways out of the town of Arithia; yet careful to not choose the path he had arrived from.

Wait! Cried young Wilkins, as he raced up the cobbled street to the front yard of the inn. He stopped before the traveler to catch his breath and slowly raised his eyes to those of the older man. I know what it is that haunts you, said Wilkins slowly. The walker slowly shook his head. You know nothing young one, and pray you never do. He turned to walk away but Wilkins did not relent.

Who was it that you loved so? That your love will not leave even as the distance between you climbs, and how you walk with all your burdens weighed down on you. Who was she that tore your heart open so that you shirk the compassion of all humanity and choose to walk the roads until you die?

The walker had stopped in the middle of the street and slowly he turned around. Tears had come to his eyes of brown and the tears had colored his eyes ever so slightly from the grey, breaking the fragile shield of void he had created to protect himself. For young Wilkins had been right, despite his age being before the graying of any hairs; wisdom of the heart speaking loudest to those that heard it. The walker spoke slowly, and his words choked more than ever before. She was my beloved; my Sarah. Stolen from me she was; from all of us. I… I am from a land far from here, in which direction I know not any more. I was happy with my Sarah once, but such times do not last I think. She was stolen from me and now I walk forever, in search of a rest I shall never find until rest eternal.

Young Wilkins knew not what to say, yet he had expected as much. For in the walker he had seen something no one else had; kinship. He and the walker were much alike, strong of mind and listeners of the heart. And he realized that after the loss of his beloved, the traveler walked. Walked away from all that was familiar, all that he held dear, for he could not stand to be without his beloved. He went out to find her, yet find her he never would, and know this he did too. And so he still walked the lands, waiting for the rest eternal to take him and set him free. Set him free to his Sarah forever more.

Wilkins understood better than most men would, for that is the way of such things. The walker wanted to die, yet he was not ready to let life go just yet. Not ready to die an instant death. And so he walked, and he cursed himself, and the strength of his own mind consumed him, to the point that his emotions would be ghosts in his dreams, animating his body as he slept. And when he would awaken he would feel the last slivers of his emotion draining away and it reminded him of the love he knew no more. Death he wanted; yet for death he was not ready. Scared was he.

Young Johnny Wilkins watched the traveler continue his journey, his lonely walk along forgotten paths. He watched in sorrow and he learned. And from then onwards Johnny Wilkins prayed for the walker whenever he could. And around himself he kept the ones he loved, who increased in numbers as his days dwelt on. From his parents to his siblings, to his wife and their children, and then their grandchildren.

And so it was that many, many years later, old Johnny Wilkins lay on his death bed, surrounded by his grown grandchildren and their children too, and with his dying breaths he recited the story of the walker and his travels. And from this he hoped his progeny would learn that those who listened both to the heart and mind were strong, but strongest were those who cherished all they loved and kept it close. Life is not easy, he told his kin, and the last lesson he gave them was that of compassion. Because sometimes, when life is cruel, all that one loves is robbed from him, and it is those who give most love; and thus require the most love.

Young Wilkins watched the traveler leave, the rising sun to his back, and he felt helpless to save him. And he swore to himself that never would he let his own wander so lost; never would he let his family or friends feel that they no longer had anything left to keep living for.

The sun was all but gone and the snow around him was knee deep, biting past his torn sandals. The fur coat was gone as was his hat, and his bare arms were numb in the cold. T'was there that the walker finally collapsed, many years after he met young Wilkins. More weather beaten his face had become and more color had his hair lost.

He collapsed at the place in the snow from where he would never again rise; never again walk the lonely roads, lost in memory and mind. He fell and turned on his back, the cold biting into him and robbing him of the last shards of life he had. And in his dying moments the man let his emotions go and he cried, and the fast receding life returned to his eyes. I no longer have an excuse to keep living, he said to the clouded sky. I have lived as long as I could, and done all I could. I kept going even when I could not. I have served my time. Let me return to my Sarah. Reunite us so that we may forever be happy.

Johnny Wilkins died in his bed, surrounded by those that loved him. They mourned his loss and his grandchildren carried his example on through the generations. They were compassionate and they loved as much as they could. And they remembered the story of the traveler, be it true or not.

The walker died alone, his body covered by the ever falling snow. He was found many a day later and buried in an unmarked grave, where a priest read a lost soul the last rights. Pity his finders felt for the lost soul; probably someone that had gotten lost on the road. Confused them though, did the expression on his face. He was smiling; smiling for the love he had found again, smiling for the release of the emotions he had buried. Never again would he walk the road; never again would he carry his sorrow. But he died smiling still, his chosen purpose in life complete; to die.

A Final Vigil

2008-11-17T21:13:00.000Z

"We all know why we stand here today."

Horses whinnied, quickly brought back to attention by the men riding them. Bright armor gleamed in the sunlight, contrasting with the storming sky above. Gusts of wind blew, causing banners to flicker like tongues of flame. The leaves of autumn rose once more, performing a last dance in the air, before falling again.

Aren looked from man to man, every face, that stood before him. His men, his army, stretched out back further than the hilled horizon dared to permit showing him. But he knew how many there were. Just over five thousand, including the rapidly trained men-at-arms. He shook his head. He knew what would happen to all those that stood here. They knew. Fear was heavy in the air. Yet those who had to run were already gone.

Aren nodded and raised his voice once more. "You all know why we stand here today."

He paced his horse, gently trotting back and forth in front of the first rank of soldiers, who stood holding their weapons tight.

"We who stand here today, stand to die. To die for something we believe in. To die for something worth dying for."
A murmur of approval ran through his men and Aren paused to let it sink in. Morale was as important as numbers or strength in a battle.

"The great hordes of Darkness approach our fine kingdom, the Kingdom of Constantia. So will we run, like cowards into the night? Or will we stand, and give our lives, so that we may delay the invaders and allow our women and children time to flee?"

Once more the men cheered, though louder this time.

"We stand here to die, in the most horrible ways imaginable. Yet we die with honor. We die fighting. We die protecting. What is the oath of Constantia?"
He was shouting now, and his men shouted back, one single ground rumbling voice. The oath. The oath every man of Constantia took on his sixteenth birthday.
We forever watch the darkness and wait for the light. We will not falter in the face of evil. We will stand up and face evil down. For such is the way of the brave.

Aren nodded as the voices died down. "Remember your oath. Show me glory on the battlefield so that I, and the better leaders before me, may seek you out in the afterlife to honor you."
Cheers rose high and loud, deafening, and Aren turned his horse to face the oncoming horde.

Creatures shaped like things impossible to imagine. And some things imagined in nightmares walking free in the realm of reality. The spawns of evil flowed forth, and around them, the landscape died. Grass turned brown and rotten, then crumbled away, dead, and trees withered to bony semblances of themselves. Their black banners did not wave in the strong winds and Aren gave a silent prayer. Please, let the women and children survive. Please, Arielle, you must survive.

Rain came pouring down, creating the remotest of sounds against the vast castle walls. Aren felt not the wind, he felt only the feel of Arielle's hands, clenched in his own. He heard not the sounds of the rain, the tears of heaven, or the whistling of the wind. He heard only the beating of Arielle's heart. He saw not the breath taking view from his chambers in the Castle of Constantia, he saw only the deepness of Arielle's eyes. Slowly, he kissed his beloved. He loved her more than anything. Anything. And now something was going to happen that would tear them apart.
Aren remembered clearly the startling report he had received a few hours earlier from a scout.
The dark ones spew forth, General. They number in the hundreds of thousands, and are making a very quick pace. They shall be at the borders of Constantia within a month.
A tear fell off Arielle's cheek, falling down to the carpeted floor, much like a teardrop of rain. She had wept openly that night, for she knew what the hordes meant. Aren would have to lead the men into battle. Lead them to a battle they could never hope to win.
Aren and the other generals had held meeting after meeting, and requests for aid were sent to all the neighboring kingdoms. Everyone knew what would happen if Constantia fell to the darkness. It would provide a free gate to the rest of the vulnerable world. Aren was disgusted as legion after legion of Constantian troops fled, seeking refuge abroad, their yellow captains offering excuses of rallying under larger forces. With Aren stood but a few thousand, a mere fraction of Constantia's former glory.

King Alfred chose to hide, locking himself in his chambers and keeping the King's Guard legion to defend the city. Another thousand men less…
By the time the battle drew near, Aren knew what would ensue. A madhouse slaughter.

On the eve of the day of battle, Aren held hands with Arielle once more, and looked her deep in the eyes. "Always remember me, my love. And remember always that I love you."

And beyond that Aren could say no more as tears took his eyes.

Arielle stood atop the northeast tower of the castle, looking out far across the expanse to where the army of Constantia stood before the great bridge Myrmidon. It was the only bridge for hundreds of miles that crossed the Spine of Watch, a huge gash in the earth that had a sheer drop of several hundred spans. Myrmidon was the only easy way in and out of the dark lands. And at Myrmidon Aren had chosen to make their stand.
Tears streamed down her face and she cradled her belly. She could feel the life within. Aren's child. Oh how she wanted Aren and herself to grow old with their child.
She repeated several whispered prayers into the wind.

The coming tides of evil spilled forth, as four legged creatures broke ahead, eager to meet the army of humans that faced them. The great banner of Constantia fluttered next to Aren, and he drew his ornate long sword. He was the youngest general Constantia had ever had, but he knew his place. He knew what had to be done, and why it had to be done. He would not allow his feelings to interfere.

The forces met in a bloody crash. Men howled in anger and some screamed in pain. Horses whinnied, surrounded by hostiles, the ever flowing evil spawn threatening to flow past Aren's men and off of the bridge. The bridge gave Aren's men a tactical advantage; it narrowed the field of battle greatly, and they could face their enemies head on. Overhead, arrows from archers in the rear ranks volleyed forth, raining down on the enemies of man.

Aren swung his sword over and over, cleaving down enemy after enemy. He lost count of how many he felled, and suddenly his horse was pulled from beneath him, its legs decapitated. Aren fell to the ground, surrounded by the swarm. He forced himself not to panic and with quick strokes cleared room for himself, leaving the cut legs of his enemies around him, causing them to collapse in turn.

A black feathered arrow ricocheted off his helmet, while a second penetrated the leather joint between his breastplate and shoulder pad. He screamed, snapping the shaft of the arrow to give himself maneuvering room. He was fast losing feeling in his right arm, blood trickling down his fingers, but he raised his sword with his other hand and fought on.

Arielle stood atop the north tower, the wind blowing her shining hair all around in some strange dance. She gently ran a hand over her stomach, caressing the one inside. She took a deep breath and stepped up onto the ledge of the tower.

Aren fought desperately, taking wound after wound. Men around him fell and died and he found himself surrounded. Still his sword danced till a mighty blow wrenched it from his hand, shattering the bones in his wrist. He screamed and fell, covered in darkness. Yet even as he fell, he heard human voices cheering, and he caught a view of the far horizon, as allied forces from other nations of men marched to their aid with a tremendous army. Aren smiled as his back finally hit the blood stained stone of the bridge. We held them back. We did it. Live on Arielle, my love. He closed his eyes as darkness rolled over him.

I cannot go on without you, Aren. My life no longer has feeling. Arielle felt him fall, felt his final fight against the evil hordes. And even now she saw the aid approaching from the south, but her heart knew no joy. Her love was gone. Arielle stepped from the ledge, the ground far below fast rising to meet her, her life fleeting before her eyes before it ended, along with the life of her child.

Aren gasped, as air filled his lungs, searing him with pain. He reached out with his hands, painfully heavy, but he could feel nothing around him. He was lost in a sea of darkness that engulfed him. He forced himself to calm, till he heard someone call his name.
"General Aren? Are you awake, sir?" Aren strained to recognize the voice.
"Captain Talos?" His second in command.
Talos laughed and gripped his outstretched hand. "Yes, sir, it is I. You had us tremendously worried when you fell at Myrmidon. We recovered your battered body later, and you were blessedly still alive, though just barely. Its been five days since the battle."
Aren's grip tightened on Talos' wrist. "What happened, Talos?"
Talos smiled. "We were reinforced by the allied armies from the south. The Crusade has swept forward into the dark lands across Myrmidon. They insisted the Heroes of Constantia remain behind to continue guarding the bridge and rearm."
"How many men did we lose, Talos?"
"Only a few hundred of the original five thousand survived the battle, sir. But we're being bolstered. The deserter legions have returned, along with many, many volunteers from the south lands. We impressed them with our heroism."

Aren smiled. "Good to hear. I thought we were done for. Where are we now?"
"Castle Constantia, sir. You have a private chamber in the infirmary."

Aren hesitated. "Talos, why cannot I see?" Slowly he raised a hand and ran it down his face slowly, feeling the bandages.
Talos was silent for a while. "You lost your eyes in the battle, sir. The royal surgeons say you will never see again."

Aren was silent a while, then sighed and smiled. "A small price to pay, for the security of the kingdom and all humanity. I'll survive just fine. Tell me, where is my beloved Arielle?"

Talos' silence was longer, and Aren felt the feeling for foreboding build. "Arielle…she…she believed you had fallen, sir. She…"
Aren's grip on Talos' hand tightened. "Where is she, Talos?"
Talos hesitated. "I will take you to her."

The garden was still plush, despite the nearness of autumn. Aren saw none of it, yet he smelt the blossoms and the various scents of nature. Yet he felt nothing but the numbness within him. Talos helped him kneel before the ornate gravestone and slowly, Aren traced his fingers over the indentations that spelled out his wife's name.
"Truly am I blind, Talos." Aren said, the tears welling in his ruined eyes, causing a trickle of red to fall down his cheek.
"The light is gone from my eyes and my heart in one stroke. Truly I am blind." Aren slumped and cried, his forehead pressed against the cold stone.

Many weeks had passed since the Battle of Myrmidon. The season had changed, a cold winter just awakening. Aren took a deep breath, pulling his cloak around himself tighter, as he led his horse carefully forward. The young stable boy he had paid a silver penny to held his horse's reins and led him to the plain, but no further would he go, and Aren guided himself in the dark, carefully down the paved road towards the great bridge.

"Halt!" The border guard called towards the lone rider heading for the great bridge. He walked briskly forward in the chill morning cold. "I am sorry, but you cannot pass." He looked closer at the face, the eyes covered in what looked to be a red blind fold. "General Aren…? Is that you, sir?"

Aren smiled slightly. "I do not know what general you speak of, son. I am but a blind man tired of life, and I wish to cross the bridge."
The man stammered. "S…sir, I…I cannot let you cross! The crusade had minimal success and evil still breeds in the lands to the north. And your eyes, sir! You -…"
"What I should or should not be doing in my condition is my concern, guardsman." Aren said in a strong voice. He could feel the other man quail in his presence.
The man swallowed, and hesitated, before continuing. "I will not stop you, sir. But know this; to cross mean certain death eventually, no matter how many enemies a formidable warrior as yourself may kill, they will continue to rise till you are over whelmed. Please, sir, do not throw your life away."

Aren smiled. "Son, you may be too young to understand – I cannot tell for I cannot see – but a time will come where everything in your life will cease to matter, except one person. You will become so that every breath she takes will be the air in you, every word she speaks, more melodious than all the court bards combined. And every touch of her purer than silk. And, god forbid, if a day comes when you lose this, the one purpose in your life, you will understand. You will understand that for me, there is no longer life or death."

The man sounded confused. "But sir, you are a hero of the kingdom. Your name is sung in praise every day."
Aren smiled. "I would have gladly fled the field of battle had she asked me."

The man stood shocked. Here stood General Aren Giuldan, the man who defined the word honor and duty, speaking of how he would abandon it all; the lives of the hundreds he saved; he would have abandoned it all for one woman.
Aren's voice had grown croaky. "Will you let me pass?"
The younger man hesitated, then finally led Aren's voice through the newly erected Myrmidon gate to the bridge. "Ride straight ahead from here, sir."

Aren looked towards the boy's voice. "Thank you son. And promise me one thing."
"Sir?"
"Promise me that no one will follow in some attempt to recover my body. Enough men have died; and you need me not for a symbol."

The man slowly nodded, then spoke into the silence. "It will be as you ask, sir."

Aren smiled then rode forward. Halfway down the bridge he slowly drew his sword with one hand and pushed his horse to a gallop. He could feel the darkness that awaited him not far ahead, and he could feel the darkness he had left behind. He whispered slowly into the rising winds. "I am coming, my love. Wait for me."

The guard formally saluted as the blind rider galloped off into the blighted distance, his clenched fist pressed firmly over his heart. And slowly he began to speak the prayer that had been on everyone's lips the past few days.
May courage forever shield Constantia, and show it heroes like Aren forever.

Aren. The hero. The one who would have abandoned everything for the woman he loved. And Arielle, the woman who would never pull him away from his duty, even though it lead to death.

And as the years passed, the story of Aren and Arielle became legend, a story of a time long ago. Yet those who remember it right and those who hear the time-distorted version both recognize one thing; the power of the love that pulled Aren and Arielle to the grave.

The Tempest

2008-11-17T21:02:00.001Z

My hands were shaking. I didn’t think it was possible at this point, but they were. My dad’s old magnum was leveled in my hands and I was staring down the sight at my target. He was lying on the floor, a deep red pool gathering around him and he was smiling at me. He coughed and a fine spray of gore left his lips, spraying his already bloodied shirt. A gash was torn in his chest where his right lung should have been, and blood was trickling out profusely. I looked down the sight and closed my eyes, then lowered the gun slowly. The man’s breathing slowed and he smiled, grinning with his bright teeth. I smiled back and re-leveled the gun, letting loose a shot. Three of his teeth were smashed out of his mouth while several more were smashed inwards into his throat as the bullet made contact. The back of his head mushroomed a red halo as bits of bone and muscle and sinew were blasted free. I could see through the hole that had formed, and slowly the remainder of his head hinged forward and fell off. His body began a steady twitching, caught in the spasms of death. I wasn’t done. I walked over to his body. I aimed down and let one rip in his crotch. I guess maybe it would have been enough to make him scream in his grave. Gore splashed upwards over me and my face became slick and hot, and I could feel myself grinning, mocking his last smile.

Things happen in your life that change you. Mine came at a young age. I watched the brutal murder of both of my parents at the age of ten. But I didn’t cry; I’m a big boy. I never cried. It was one of my things. Not trying to be macho, but hey, everyone has their thing. This was mine.

I served in Vietnam, like I was required. Those years changed me a lot. I learned a lot and I forgot a lot. By the time I got back home everything was different. Different in ways that I did not care to imagine.

I fell in love with her at first sight. I’d never believe the people that said it could happen, but it did. I’m no poet and I can’t even begin to describe how she made me feel. I couldn’t help it, yet I knew she was out of my league. I was a veteran, broke, just back from a war the country never wanted. She was the daughter of some hotshot, driving her BMW around.

It happened during a party. Some of her friends were drunk. They made a move on her. She backed off. They weren’t taking no for an answer. Her body was found three days later and I was lost. The coroner said that she had only died very recently, and had been raped constantly for the past seventy-two hours. The internal damage was massive; genitalia had not been the only thing inside her. Her face was smashed in, a hollow crater, the empty shell of something once beautiful. They had cut her numerous times under the arms, almost severing them, and one of her breasts had been sliced off with a butcher’s knife.

They found the people that did it. But they couldn’t prove anything. The justice system failed once more. I was lost. I didn’t know what to do. It was beyond me to think of a way to get over her. She was screaming for revenge. I would get it for her.

My father had kept a magnum under his bed, one of those high powered ornate ones. Artificer guns, they were called. I got it out and silently loaded the six chambers. I grabbed a box of bullets and stuck it in my pocket.

I went to where they lived. There were four of them. Their dad’s were all big shots. I didn’t care. For I who am poor have only my dreams. They were playing cards, a party going on around them. I leveled the gun and shot the first one in the side. He screamed as his liver burst open, a large cavity opening in his side. Two guys tried to rush me. They were put down pretty fast, a single bullet to the chest each, causing their hearts to explode, tearing out a chunk of their spines on the exit wound. I turned back to the first guy I’d shot. He was sprawled out on the ground, desperately trying to crawl away, his guts trailing out behind him. I slowly walked towards him and stepped on a tube trailing out from him; his large or smaller intestine, I wasn’t sure. The tube grew taut and the man screamed in anguished pain, forcing himself against his own innards to try and escape me. It was sickening. I leveled the gun again and blasted him twice in the back. The gun was empty. Calmly I swung the chamber open and loaded six fresh bullets. Six more means to kill someone.

Just the last guy left now. He had run down the stairs that led to the basement. I followed. And then I did something a little careless; I forgot that these spineless cocks could possibly be armed.

He jumped around the corner, firing a buckshot shotgun at me. At that range it was unlikely to kill me outright unless he got me in the head, but I got about two dozen hot pellets sprayed over my midsection and thighs. I staggered. I think I lost a kidney there but I was OK for now. I leveled my gun and fired. The shot was true and my target screamed as his right arm erupted blood. The gaping wound had torn clean through and his arm hung useless. He dropped the shotgun and stumbled backward, clawing against a solid wall to escape me. Pathetic. I shot him once in his stomach and he crumpled over, a bleeding heap sitting against the wall, awaiting my final mercy.

And now it was done. I pulled myself up those basement steps. They were slick, mostly from my own blood. I was bleeding steadily, and I assumed the damage was as bad as it looked. By the time I got to the top of the stairs I was ready to collapse. I knew I was going to die. But I had to let everyone know why.

And that brings us to the present. I'm not crazy. At least, I don’t think so. But then again, crazy people don’t really know they're crazy, do they? All I really do know is that a young, beautiful girl lost her life because of this scum, and now the scum has paid. It's not even a close trade, considering how much they made her suffer, but it will have to do I guess.

I'm sitting here now, at the card table, with a scrap of paper writing all this down, and even now I feel my consciousness waning. I'm going to go into shock soon and after that, who knows? I may wake up in a hospital ICU, with a cop standing by to read me my rights in preparation for arrest. Or I may just gain the final rest, the one that comes inevitably to us all, some sooner than others.

After all, what have I to live for? As I said, for I who am poor have only my dreams. And I shall lay them at your feet. Tread carefully, for you tread upon my dreams. Was that how the verse went? I can't remember who said that. Yeats? Keats? It's all fuzzy in my head. My mouth is so dry, and I'm thinking I'll have a few hits of the shit these guys were drinking.

So here's to seeing what happens. And if I don’t see you sooner than later, raise your glasses with me now, for here's to true justice, deadly and merciless as a tempest, and the revival of a dream. A dream lost and a dream found.

God forgive me.