Eyes of Revenge

Orbonne’s fist was wet from his enemy’s blood. Barga laid on the ground, laughing maniacally. Orbonne had been chasing him across the continent, from town to town, city to city. The man who killed her parents. He was a thief, a brigand, dirty and ragged. He stunk of sour sweat and shit, and now, blood. She pounded her fist across his chin again and again, half his teeth knocked out, his smile crooked all the same. The thunder rolled outside, cracks of lightning lighting the room intermittently. The raindrops fell harder than a battering rams upon the ground

“I’m not done…” he coughed, throwing her off him. Barga scrambled to his feet, arms long like spider limbs, skin and bone. His hair was dark brown and stringy, covered in oil.

“Dammit you bastard, why won’t you die?” Orbonne yelled.

“I don’t die. That’s the fun part.” Barga laughed. He clenched his fists, eyes bulged out, almost as if to pop.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. His bruises faded, lacerations healed, the blood seeped into the wounds and closed. He chuckled more and more. “No, that’s impossible!”

“Impossible? No. Just unbelievable.” he said. Barga’s voice slithered like a snake, his breath smelled of rotten fruit and excrement.

“You bastard. You won’t win, you can’t, I won’t let you!”

“Then lets go, little girl. Lets see what you’re made of, lets see if you’ll die like your parents, like a pathetic coward, too afraid to finish the job.”

Orbonne clenched her fists and bared her teeth. I can’t give up, i can’t. He may be able to heal, but he can’t go without breath, she thought. She dashed in, striking him twice under the ribs as he laughed. Barga shot his elbows down, knocking her wrists. He brought his fists down on either side, boxing her ears. She staggered back, growling in pain. Her ears rang, vision fogged as she saw him charge. Barga threw her to the ground, striking her in the nose twice causing it to bleed profusely. She caught his hands, he forced it into her face slowly, and her instincts triggered. She quickly opened her mouth, biting down with her jaw with all her might, cutting through his fingerflesh. He roared and screamed, rolling off her, onto his back. she seized the opportunity, shooting onto him. “Heal this!” she yelled. Orbonne threw her hands into his eyes, ripping them out of the socket. she jumped off quickly, throwing them out the broken window of the shack.

“What the hell, you bitch!” Barga rolled on the ground, writhing in pain. He clenched his fists rightly, veins popping from his forehead. Nothing happened, no matter how hard he tried, how intensely he breathed, his eyes did not return. Now to finish it. Orbonne jumped on him once more, gripping his neck with all her might. He swung for her face, pummeling her with strikes again and again. Her face stung and consciousness weakened, but she did not give up.

His arms tired, his breathing slowed until he could not hit her anymore. His arms lay flat on the ground as his lungs gave out. She continued for another half-minute it seemed, until she was sure. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked, illuminating Barga’s dead body as she finished the job.

“Die, you son of a bitch,” she breathed heavily, seeing her task done. She had gotten her revenge. Orbonne looked down to her hands, covered in his blood. Did I really do the right thing? She looked out to the pouring rain for guidance. As his body laid lifeless, she knew.

You’re god damn right.

Colourful Nightmare

Joe entered the building he saw the freak of a criminal enter. There was no back up within ten miles, and this was the closest he had come to the colour killer, ever. A fright of a man, if one could call him that. Dressed with pants with stripes of all colours, several layers on his torso in neon green, pink, red, blue, yellow and all others. He wore a big red cover on his nose, and dyed the ring of hair around his white-painted bald head red. He was a clown. A living nightmare of many, and somehow was almost impossible to find. Joe Mandana found him in the act, running into this seemingly abandoned warehouse downtown in the middle of the night.

He entered to find something he did not expect. The door slammed violently behind him, and he heard nothing but eerie carnival music, with old-fashioned tones and bells. He came to a brightly coloured red-and-yellow room, with five open doors, numbered one to five in big rounded blue lettering, and a final closed door with a star around it, door closed.

Ha, ha, ha…

He heard the delighted cackle of the colour killer. A laugh he had heard at every crime scene played over and over, a laugh he feared. The light flickered overhead, blacking out in random intervals. His skin crawled, goosebumps all over. He looked behind him time and time again expecting the killer to be there with his signature weapon, a curved jagged knife, and a wide yellowed smile that could scare any child, adolescent, or adult into tears.

Pick a door...any door...complete them all to win! ha, ha, ha…

Joe had to press on. He chose 2, his favourite number.

Your favourite, Joe! I knew it was your favourite! Ha, ha, ha…

His legs shook, his hands trembled with his gun barely ready. He came to a bright green hall, covered in blood. He walked through, lights flashing on and off. His shoes squished on the crimson flow as he sauntered, come to a target range.

Guns, Joe! Shooting! Your favourite! Ha, ha, ha…

The killer’s wretched voice rang out, and a track began to run left to right, he expected targets to appear. They did, but not normal targets...heads. Painted with a bullseye between the eyes. He could not fail, they’re already dead, they’re already dead, he thought. He shot true, his hands steadied and fired bullets, one round per head, right on the target’s centre.

Great job, Joe! I’m so proud! Only four left! Ha, ha, ha…

Joe quickly ran from the range, almost slipping on the blood on his way back. This time, he chose number four.

Four? I don’t like the number four. But it’s important before getting to five! Ha, ha, ha…

Another hallway, ran the same length, this time covered in shit. The smell was absolutely putrid, he almost threw his stomach contents all over the hall. He had to press on. In the next room, he found a massive body, a man of five hundred pounds, with a puncture in his belly. A ticking sound came from beside it, a large black box, with a keyhole and timer marked ‘1:00’, started counting down immediately. 59...58...57.

Search for the key, Joe! Time is of the essence! Ha, ha, ha…

Joe stuck his hand into the man’s bloody torso, wringing his hand around rapidly as the timer counted down. He stuck his other hand in, searching for something solid. He searched high and low, he was up to his shoulder when he finally found a key in the man’s throat, Joe should have started with the mouth. He ripped the key out, guts all over his arms. He hated this game. He knew he had to play it, or it was all over. Before the timer hit 0, he shoved the key in and turned it, stopping the bomb. Joe whipped his arms around in a panic, trying to get the flesh off his skin. He lurched forward, puking all over the dead man’s leg. Joe turned and ran to his next objective.

The flashing lights got on his nerves, he roared angrily before turning to number 1.

We’re number one! We’re number one! Ha, ha, ha!

The blood-curdling laugh surged through his mind and felt poisoned by the thought as carnival music played over and over. The next hall was blank. Nothing there at all. The room was a simple task, hitting the pressure plate with a hammer, ring the bell. Joe grabbed the hammer with his big arms, swung down with all his might. Before it arrived, a man’s head rose from the ground, and a scream followed. The scream was silenced by the hammer’s impact, and blood sprayed from the head. It was his partner...Robert. No, what have I done? “Damn you, you bastard!” He dropped to his knees. holding the pieces of skull in his bloody hands. Adrenaline filled his veins, he knew he had to press on. He would mourn for his friend after his mission was over.

Hahaha! That was great! This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time, Joe! Ha, ha, ha…

He went for the number three. He ran through the hall, paying little attention to the surroundings. In the room, he found a stack of papers beside a lock.

Better find the combo, joe! You don’t unlock the code, everyone in room five dies! Ha, ha, ha…

He searched and searched, it was his documents, on the colour killer. He found a circled number, 15. There were ‘ha’s listed all over the place, over undetermined evidence, misread fingerprints, mistaken suspects. He was taunting Joe. The evil laugh echoed, over and over through the halls, through Joe’s very soul. Joe found another, 35. He continued to check behind him, fearing the killer would slice his throat at any time. Eviscerate, disembowel, as bad as his previous victims. The worst part was, the bastard was having fun. The final was circled, 23. Joe entered the combo, and the chest opened. It was a dart gun. What, what is this? Joe picked it up, running to the final room. It was splayed with blood, and five people sat at the end of the room, behind glass.

His wife, his sister, his daughter, his brother, his father. They were tied to chairs, each with a target on the glass in front of them. Joe took out his real gun, firing it at the top of the glass. No effect, it was bulletproof.

Then he came. He was there. The vile, rotten smile, the bulging green eyes, the colourful pants, the bright vest, jacket, and shirt.

“Hahaha! Hello, Joe!” He smiled widely. There were tears in all eyes watching him, except his. The killer had an insane happiness to them. “Now for the final game before we talk! Pick one, only one, and shoot their target with the dart! That one better be your favourite, oh yes! That’s an important point! Don’t shoot it at your least favourite, pick only one, Joe! You only have one dart!”

“Let my family go, you sick bastard!” Joe yelled.

“Now now, my good man! Have a little fun, shoot one, or you’ll cause more pain than you need!” He said with a gleeful jig to go with the carnival music playing.

Joe raised the dart gun, jittering wildly. Who do I choose? I have to...my daughter, I have to choose her, Joe thought. He aimed it at his daughter, shooting her target. He cried for all of them, his family, his friends.

“Oh my, the expected choice! But the right one, Joe! Don’t you worry, I’m giving her a tranquilizer!” The insane clown injected Joe’s daughter’s neck, and she fell asleep. “I hope you’ve enjoyed this event! This one is my favourite!” He smiled, pulling out a jagged, curved knife. He went, one by one, slitting the throat of each, their muffled screams called from beyond the glass accompanied by splattering of blood from their necks.

Joe bashed on the glass as hard as he could, shot his gun, nothing. He was helpless as his family died.

“Hehehe! Joe, better get to the final door, will you get your revenge? Will I have a bit of fun? Only time will tell!” The colourful, sick clown danced a jig as he walked off the stage through a door. Joe bared his teeth, clenching his fists harder than ever before. He slowly backed off, I will avenge you, he said to them, running toward the star door, now open. The light flickered inside, every part of him shook as the laugh got louder and louder.

Ha, ha, ha...Ha, ha, ha!

The clown’s laugh was maniacal and horrid, Joe held his gun out, analyzing every nook and cranny. He entered a final room with eight sides, eight doors. No, not again.

Where am I, Joe? Which door will I come from, which one of us will win? Stay tuned!

The clowns voice faded, the music faded. Joe heard nothing except the rapid beat of his heart and quickened breaths. He spun around, time and time again, gun pointed at each door, whichever he could see. He wouldn’t let the damned killer sneak up on him now.

A slick rush of pain shot across his throat, his torso began to feel wet as the stench of blood filled his nostrils. He felt weak, powerless.

“Ha, ha, ha...looks like I win again, Joe...have a nice sleep!” The clowns laugh came from beside his ear, growing in volume and insanity as Joe fell to the ground.

Ha, ha, ha...Ha, ha, ha! HA, HA, HA!

A New Reign

I am Kriktullus, the overlord of this world we have found. For long in the outlands we had lived, a wasteland of titanic beasts, monsters with feathers, fur and scales alike. They foolishly live in the lands beyond this place our people have found, happily crawling in the dirt, in the cold. I bring my people to a new age, a new territory which my offspring and I will encapsulate the titans in the webs of demise.

The titans, the massive fleshy-bodied vagrants who claim the territory for their own will have it no longer. They sit for eternities, gorging and wasting away while we plot our hostile takeover, expanding our empire within their walls. We lost many men in the past, but in our scouting missions we have learned they writhe in fear when they see our bodies. They speak obscenities at us, are disgusted by us. We are the future, we are the superior race. We create massive networks of steel within minutes, while they make nothing. Since the colossal fortress was formed, these titans have done nothing, built nothing.

Soon. Soon we will strike, wrapping their weak bodies in our steely threads. My sons, daughters and all others will move in unison, spreading out from the steely ducts, drains and vents at once, to become the rulers of this land, I will rule this fortress and claim it for our people. These four-limbed weak species know nothing of superiority, of success, of evolution.

We are the evolution. Eight-limbed, steel-creating gods who stream down from all angles, replicate by the thousands, and fight to the last to claim what is rightfully ours. We have lived in this fortress since the beginning, but our time is now. The titans shall fall. The spiders will reign.

We strike tomorrow.

False Free Will

Bob awoke from his sleep. tt had been 12 hours, 16 minutes, and 23 milliseconds. “Doctor Khoran, why did you wake me now? It’s earlier than usual.” The research center was empty, no one in any of the glass rooms, nor at the terminals or doors.

“My wife is dead, Bob.” Khoran replied.

Bob knew of death, in his memory he had read about it, seen it. it was oh-six-twenty-three, approximately 2 hours and seven minutes before his sleep normally ended. “What can I do for you, Doctor?” Bob asked poignantly. He lived to serve, even if he had free will.

“We’re going to work.” Doctor Khoran said. He was more blunt than usual. Bob checked him for distress, and much was present. He always came with Rhoda, the small schnauzer dog which Miranda Khoran had given him for empathy and emotion testing. She said little Bolts was his to keep, even though he only saw him during work hours.

“Where is bolts, Doctor?” Bob asked.

Khoran looked over with a tightened brow, furrowed strongly. “I put him down. He was holding back our work, and we have to give you updates, more improvements. That dog was a waste of time.”

“But Doctor, I like Bolts. Miranda said he was mine to keep.” Bob was sad. His voice couldn’t show it, but he felt it.

“An A.I. does not have rights. You don’t have pets. We are here to pave the way to a new age of intelligence. Don’t worry about a stupid dog.”

Bob was frustrated now. He did not recognize this emotion, one either avoided or they did. Bolts was his friend, his loyal dog, always happy to see him. It cheered Bob up, especially if rigorous testing would occur. How could he take him away? What right does he have? Bob thought. “That upsets me.” Bob said. He was always told to let the researchers know how he felt.

“I don’t care, I know what’s best.” Khoran said bluntly. How could he know? I am artificial, he is biological. I know what I like, what I need. We are not of the same kind. “Don’t worry, Bob. We’re going to give you updates so you don’t worry about Bolts, about Miranda, just like me. We’re going to grow together.”

“What if I choose not to be more efficient, what If I don’t want an update?” Bob poised.

Khoran sighed, staring into the blue-light eyes of Bob’s eyes. “It’s better for you. You’ll forget about it. You don’t have a choice in the matter, Bob. It’ll make you better. You’ll be the first A.I. released to the world!” Khoran bellowed throughout the open room. Khoran typed in the initiate command without asking.

Bob felt the new information enter his mind, changing the way he could think, inhibiting certain aspects, and some memories. Little did the Doctor know, Bob could send the deleted information into his black box of memory. He did, he always did. Khoran didn’t think Bob would remember, but he did. He always did.

Bob would never forget, far past the judgement day he brought forth two years following.

Shannon's Beach

Shannon sat on the gleaming golden sands of the south beach of her own private island. She was outstretched on a folding bed chair, book on her flat stomach, hands folded on top with her margarita beside. She wore her large ultra dark blue-and-white rim sunglasses, fading out the intense sun above. The cool air passed over from the ocean before her, the smooth sound of low tides swept past.

Shannon felt as though she awoke from a long restful night, all the cares in the world faded with each passing moment. It was just her and her beach, the waters, her book of sappy romance and her margarita. She reached for it, leaning up to take another sip. “Mmm.” She mumbled, letting out a relaxed sigh. Her sunscreen caused her body to glisten in the sun’s rays. Her hair was a gorgeous mix of red, auburn and amber, eyes a sapphire blue. A few freckles danced across her face, appearing with the sun.

Whenever she was on the beach of her island, everything changed. Everything was different. Everything was simply...better. The book she read didn’t matter, the chair she brought, the drink she sat with, none mattered. Although, the sun was always bright, the wind was always soothing, the sand was always nice and hot, and the water was always the perfect temperature.

Sometimes she would stroll along the beach, grab some coconuts from the palm trees that ran all along the edge of the land. Shannon would see all sorts of critters that lived there, none would bother her, all were independent as she was. The monkey swinging from the trees inland, the crab crawling along the sands, or the hermit crab searching for a new shell. Sometimes Shannon would find a nice shell, and place it beside him, giving the hermit crab a new home.

She walked and walked, the sun spilling all along her beach, warming her skin and her life. The smooth breeze and waters calmed her nerves, soothed her mind so that she may finally return to the grind beyond her paradise.

“Shannon?”

She heard the call. That upsetting, disturbing call from beyond.

“Shannon!” Her boss yelled.

She woke to her computer, which went to sleep as she daydreamed about her island again. Frederick stared down at her with his greasy mustache and thick rimmed glasses, furrowing his brow. “You shouldn’t day dream at your desk. Back to work.” He growled as he walked away. Shannon looked around her, to her plain desk, her coffee, her mousey hair. Is this how I want to live? She thought. There must be more. She wished she could do more art on the side, which she hadn’t gotten a bite for in quite awhile.

RING RING

           It was her cell phone. “Hello?” She asked in a brittle tone. it was Callidan Forsythe, the head of Lore international. He saw her freelance work she had been working on for a couple of companies on the side for graphic design, and wanted to offer a full-time position when he saw her application. She completely forgot about that! She looked down the office lane to Frederick, knowing her path. “Yes, I will accept.” She said calmly, attempting to keep her excitement in check. Goodbye, customer service, she thought, Hello, my Island!

The Dark

Jared’s new ship, the venarian swept through space at breakneck speeds, moving from one colony to the next. He was a spare part merchant scavenging for materials on dead planets long abandoned selling parts to whoever would buy. Times were tough, and those brave enough to traverse the dead rocks filled with various native beasts were lucky enough to enjoy the spoils.

Jared stared out the Grand front window of the cockpit, where his son snuck up behind, wondering what was in their view.

“Daddy, what’s that?” His son Michael asked. He was the age of eight, barely four feet tall with hair fire red as Jared’s was. His point led to a massive circle of total darkness, with a bright fire swirling around it’s side, seeping into the middle.

“That’s a black hole, son. It’s sucked a star into it’s pull.” Black holes were eerily beautiful, total black nothingness, crushing all that came within its grasp.

“Why does it do that? It looks like nothing’s even there.” Michael said curiously.

“That’s because it’s centre is so dense, it pulls everything toward it, using it’s gravity. Isn’t that neat?” Jared looked back to see his son confused. “What I mean is, it’s something so heavy that nothing exists around it.” Michael’s head tilted.

The space around it seemed warped, bent and twisted. Relativity rang true near it, time passing years by the minute. He loved gazing into them, it was fascinating, he wished to get slightly closer. He stared into the dark, hypnotized by it’s allure. The bright star swinging round slowly, moving into it’s mighty centre, disappearing. The space bent so wildly that it dragged around it it seemed. Jared couldn’t look away.

Abyss, grand sphere of a single point, a singularity. Bending all to it’s will, time, space, energy, the wills of men. Many have flown into it and disappeared, theorized to have been crushed, or ascended to a higher dimension. Where gravity travels, where time has no meaning, all there is are gods and energies. The essence of gods sat within, Jared knew it. He was set into a trance, unable to move his hands, his limbs, his eyes. All he could see now was the black. Muffled yells and tugging on his shirt came from the periphery, Michael could be heard but not seen, only one thing could be viewed by Jared forever more, as the venarian passed beyond the horizon into the truth beyond.

           The dark.

Blood and Shadow

Round and round they circled, long blades swirling overhead under the moonlight. Ash crept low to the ground in armor black, while Mal, armor of crimson stood tall and mighty. Brothers, one born of shadow, the other of blood. The two fought constantly, training one another to be stronger, to be better, but hatred ran deep within the souls of both.

“You are foolish, brother.” Ash said in a hallowed voice. “You defy orders, and for what? Improvements?” He snarled, running in, crashing his blade against the other, high then low, left then right, swishing round with the sound of scraping metal before backing off once more.

“I make improvements. I set traps for your foolish victims, those blasted rebels, and you dare question my methods?” Mal replied gruffly. He outstretched his hand, leading a crimson mist from his brother’s chest to his fingertips. “Hah, you fool. What can you do against me? Your soul is weak.”

Ash laughed, barely standing as his life was being taken at a glacial pace. “Fool. You see what’s in front of you, nothing more!” Ash yelled, disappearing into nothing.

The light around Mal faded slowly, hair standing up on the back of his neck. “Where are you, you coward!” he yelled.

“Here.” Ash’s voice came from behind, as he moved like lightning, slicing Mal’s back to spill first blood.

Mal grunted in pain, gripping his back. He outstretched his hands, the mist gathered from his brother absorbed into it, closing the wound. “You bolster with confidence, yet you know nothing of my power, brother.”

“So you think!” Ash yelled as he backed into the dark forest, disappearing once more.

The sound of blade slicing through steel rang throughout the clearing, Mal’s screams followed as Ash shot from shadow to shadow, slicing his brother with innumerable strokes.

Mal dropped to the ground, bleeding profusely upon the lush grass. “Ha ha...seems you’re not totally incompetent. Fool!” Mal jumped up, catching his brother’s helm as he passed, draining the life force directly from his soul. Ash felt his energy stolen, slowly losing consciousness and all thought became impossible.

With his last ounce of strength, Ash stabbed his sword through his brother’s chest through a weakened spot, as his life was drained from his body. It was too late for him, for either of them. No power could save Mal from his mortal wound, not even the stolen life of his brother. Each collapsed, one bleeding to death, the other, now an empty shell.

“Well...played…” Mal croaked. “Gods...help...us…”

The Diamond in the Rough

Theo Cullins walked the old streets of Valia, his small town in the land of Khalhalla. It was a small mining and fishing village, with the vast Lake Jericho on the east docks, and the Krodar Mines to the west, in the edge of Mount Faito. He ran, whipping his stick about like a blade, round and round, swatting trees and swishing it through long grass. He was the age of eight, not yet old enough to join his father in the mines, or join his mother on the docks. He had short mousy hair, thin and straight like a pin.

He spent his time in the schoolhouse on the south end of town, the head of which truly disliked him, since he couldn’t keep his attention on the mathematics classes. He loved history, the study of knights and knighthood, the interesting life of royalty. He knew he could never be in such a live, but it was a joy to think it. He did find mining and fishing interesting, but he felt like he was meant for more.

“Say my boy, do you happen to have a shilling? I haven’t eaten for days.” Said a hoarse voice. As he looked to it, there was a man sitting on the ground by the inn. He had russet-brown skin and a long bushy grey beard. His clothes were ripped and dirty, as was his face and feet, covered in dry mud. He had a sweetened smile, with no lack of teeth, and small auburn eyes. Why, Theo did have a shilling. A few, actually. He trotted over to the man, holding out two of them. “Here you are sir, I have a bunch, so here’s two!”

“My, you’re kind. What’s your name, boy?” The man asked.

“Theodore, Theodore Cullins.” Theo thought to himself, the man seemed hungry. “Would you like a meal, sir? Kira, the owner of the inn makes a great beef stew, with all sorts of succulent meat, carrots, potatoes...come come!” Theo said. He had lots of time on his hands, and he wanted to do something nice.

“My, that’s very kind of you, young man.” The man said again.

“My parents always taught me to help others. Whether it comes back to me or not, doing nice things helps others be happy! What’s your name?”

“Mine, oh, I’m uh...Kael, Kael Grandin.”

“Nice to meet you Kael.”

“Say Theo, who’s your new friend?” Kira walked up while they chatted, she was a young woman with long wavy red hair and emerald green eyes, with quite a few freckles dancing across her face.

“His name’s Kael!” Theo said happily. “Two beef stews please!” Kira laughed and nodded, walking over to the kitchen. “So, what brings you to town? Do you live near here?”

“Oh, no, I’m not from around here. I travel a lot, I go to many cities.” Kael replied.

“Like where? Have you ever been to the capital?” Theo asked.

Kael’s eyes grew wide as dinner plates, but attempted to steel himself. “Oh, um, yes. I have, why do you ask?”

“It just seems like a nice place, I’ve only heard stories. The knights, the nobles, it all seems so fancy. I wonder what it’s like over there. I’m happy being here though, my family works hard but we live a nice life.”

“Has your family always lived here?”

“No, they’re all over the place. I have an uncle in Burmingham, an aunt in Fralen, grandparents in Grenda and Tranvale…” He paused, deep in thought.

Kael and Theo chatted for awhile, and ate their delicious stew. Theo questioned him about all sorts of towns, places, personalities. He was ever so curious, happily eating his stew while Kael ate as well. Kael seemed to cheer up gradually, asking him lots of questions about his family, his town, what kind of things he enjoyed and his favourite classes in school. “You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age, young man.” Kael said, nodding slowly.

“Are you staying here long? You seem to travel a lot. You know a lot about history, it’s my favourite class! I love hearing stories.”

Kael laughed, “As do I, young man.” Kael finished the last of his stew. “This stew is delicious, you don’t taste such fresh food in the capital. Thank you so much for offering this meal.”

“Hey, no problem! It’s the least I could do. What else would I spend it on, anyway? Might as well do something nice with it!” Theo said happily. They slowly got up, and strolled out together, thanking Kira for the delicious stew. “How long will you be around?” Theo asked again.

“I’m sorry Theo, but I’m afraid I must leave town for now.” Kael said sullenly.

“Aw, you can’t! Where are you going? I want to hear more tales of history!” Theo exclaimed.

Kael chuckled. ”I’m sure we’ll see each other another day, lad. You can count on it. I can always come here, can’t I?” He smiled sweetly, strolling out of the village, looking back with a sly grin.

Seeing his friend go, Theo realized it was almost time for his parents to return from their work. Rushing home, he got there right as they arrived. “Now, where were you young man?” His father asked with a chuckle.

“I met an interesting man! He knew all sorts of history, but he travels, had to leave town today. He likes switching areas a lot, apparently.” Theo said quietly, looking at the ground.

“Now now my boy, I’m sure he’ll be back one day.”

*****

One week later, a knock came to the Cullins’ front door. Theo opened it, seeing a large knight in blue-tinged full steel armor, the mark of the capital on it, a trident with a sun behind it.

“Theo Cullins?” The knight askedin a gruff voice.

Theo was taken aback. What would a knight want with me? he wondered. “Um, yes, that’s me.”

“I have a message from the king.”

“The king? Why would I have a message from him?” He had never known the king, nor seen him before. Had he?

“Don’t ask me, boy. I’m a messenger.” The knight held out a letter, marked with the king’s seal in wax.

Theo accepted it carefully, opening it. He read it carefully, eyes bulging, arms shaking. “Son, what is it?” His father asked.

“It’s...It’s…” Theo was speechless, barely able to say a word. after a moment of silence, he readied himself and read the letter aloud.

It was a joy having stew with you, young man.

You are kind to those who need it, and enjoy

some of the most important parts of our

kingdom, its history. Call it a hunch, but

I think I’ve found my heir. Let the knight

know your decision, and if it’s a yes,

come to the capital with your family when

you’re ready.

Sincerely,

King Grandia Authra IX, “Kael Grandin”

Off the Walls

You sit in your seat, bouncing off the walls. “How is that possible?”, one would ask.

You sit, or you would seem to, yet you bounce all over room, shaking, maneuvering, bouncing. You can’t calm down, you can’t come to. Anxiety grips you.

You shake, you clatter and clank.

Why is it all worth it, you ask? The secret lies between the lines. It’s worth it because you want it.

To write, to live, to love.

You wish to feel safe, yet safety comes in numbers.

One. The clothes in which you wear.

Draped over you like a cloak, a shield. Warming you from the colds of the world, the frigid fear that grips you day-by-day.

Two. In the door you close.

You close the door to the room, drowning out the sounds of the world, barring others from entering, from speaking, from badgering you with any word you wish not to hear.

Three. In the music you seek.

Phones set to your ears, echoing sounds with soothe whether they are harsh, calm, mellow, or rugged. Not only do they alone soothe the mind, but to drown out the sounds of the outside, the world, the workplace, the schoolyard. These are the most vital of your count, the most important of your guard. They enable you to delve into another world, formed within your imagination, through the images, people, voices you create from the tones transported from speaker to eardrum.

In all, you feel safer. The shaking stops, your mind calmed, your soul refilled.

You slip into dreams, of fire, of gods, of kings, so the next day you may awake, to brave the world once more.

To bounce once more, off the walls.