((OOC/author's note: This isn't a usual story. This story was created by Ryn and I one morning when we discussed what our characters would be like in real life and somehow met each other. Before we knew it, a story appeared on the screen. Is it weird to write your own fanfiction? Probably. We agreed to write the story down, each our own version. Here is what I came up with! Enjoy, maybe. I hope!))
At some point in the diner's life, it was a 1950's themed. Nowadays, loneliness edged into the cracks and began eating it away. The only thing that seemed sort of authentic was the kitsch electric Coca-Cola clock in the corner and the jukebox that never worked.
It was never very busy, except early in the mornings when the truckers stopped in for their greasy coffee and short-stack of pancakes.
It seemed like there was never a time when Annie didn't work there. That was close to being true. She began working at the diner when she was still seventeen and it had only been open for a year. It was a lot busier then. However, she still managed to scratch out a fairly good living with tips.
Annie had been really pretty once. She was the kind of woman with Lucille Ball red lipstick and always smelt faintly of Shalimar perfume and menthol cigarettes. But like the diner she worked in, her age began to seep through.
But, she tried. She tried every day even when her feet hurt and her shoulders ached from carrying trays. She almost always had her chestnut hair in pin-curls and always made sure her waitress uniform was clean. Even if the diner wasn't really themed anymore, Annie had a sort of vintage beauty about her. She was really proud of the small, natural birthmark on her cheek that was reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe. (Never mind that she had a splattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose that detracted from it.)
That's because she was a pin-up girl, once. It was a good summer when she fell into that opportunity. But then, her ex-husband happened. He was the photographer. And her son came along. Later, her daughter. And then the dream ended.
The diner had a set of regulars that Annie knew by name. She never called them that, though, because to her, everyone was "honey" and "sweet-heart." It earned her good tips. She had been doing it for years, now, and it made everyone she crossed immediately feel as warm as the food she served.
There was one regular, however, whose name she didn't know. He never failed to come in, not even on the holidays. He'd never order anything but coffee, and sometimes, wheat toast and scrambled eggs.
But, she didn't need to know his name to know his story.
She had gotten pretty good at reading people.
He was an older man. She pinned him to be in his fifties, judged by his long, salt-and-pepper hair-- usually tied in a tight ponytail, and the age lines on his brow.
He was something, too. She couldn't quite place it. Maybe he had a hint of Latino or Native American blood, not that she judged. Annie never judged anyone, really. Not by their race or what they were like on the inside.
Even the brooding, silent, sort of scary ones like him. People were just people, and everyone wanted the same things. They wanted to be cared for and loved.
She could tell he was an ex-con. He had to be. He had that steel look in his eyes and had apparently learned to keep quiet, because he never said a word. She also saw some faded old tattoos on his thick, large, hairy fingers. She never could quite read what they said.
He was just the stranger that she called 'honey'. He didn't have a real name, as far as she was aware. She never asked and he never volunteered. He was polite, and tipped good. He always came in wearing a worn out, black leather jacket--which was probably just as old as he was. It went with his vehicle. He drove a silver and black Harley, even when it was cold and rainy, like it was now. She knew the motor like an old song every time he came up. She always got his coffee ready for his usual booth before he entered. Black.
That's because it was December and the holidays were right around the corner. Annie used to love Christmas. It was harder now, since she was alone. Her daughter was away at college--and she was so proud of her--and her son was married and lived up in Colorado.
Now, she was alone.
They decorated the diner in ugly, faded, holiday window-clings. Annie loved to help. She brought in some decorations from home. A small, plastic Christmas tree that lit up and rotated when it was plugged in, and a fat, flaked Santa that danced and sang when you stepped too close.
Christmas usually lent itself to bigger tips, but slower business. So, it tend to even out. She often wore her festive light-up pins and sometimes even her reindeer antler headband. Christmas eve, however, was always dead quiet. This year was no different.
The manager, Tony, never closed. Even on holidays. He was a oily, fat man who always carried a stale scent of fish. His Greek accent was thick and he was a good cook. But, he always barked at everyone even when he was in a good mood. He liked Annie, however. Everyone did. He trusted her with the diner many times and allowed her to lock up for the night. He was spending Christmas with his step-kids and complained about the price of electronic gadgets that they had asked Santa for.
It had been three hours since a customer came in. She shut the grill down and decided that she would only serve pie and soup until closing. Outside, it was dark. The weather was somewhere between rain and snow. The brown water-stain on the ceiling was growing. She heard the incandescent hum of the lighting fixtures, and the buzz of the Coke wall-clock.
It was all shattered by the puffing, noisy purr of the familiar Harley motorcycle.
Immediately, she slid from the booth and went to fetch his coffee. She wasn't bothered, per say, that he would be keeping her company. Except she was bothered. He was no company at all because he never said a word, and truthfully...? he spooked her a little. Since there were no other customers, they would stand around in awkward silence until closing.
He came in, soaked from the rain. He sat down at the counter, in front of his steaming cup of coffee. Annie smiled at him, as she always did. Sweet as syrup and warm as fresh milk, she winked at him before she spoke.
"Quite a night out there, eh, honey? So much for a white Christmas. Raining cats and dogs."
The ex-convict merely lifted his dark eyes and looked at her. They weren't so much brown, as they were chips of flint. He said nothing, just as she expected he would.
But, she still smiled and chatted on. She was really good at that. She talked about absolutely nothing for about fifteen minutes before she decided she really wanted a cigarette.
She needed to kick the habit, badly. It was raining outside, and the price of a carton was not getting any cheaper. She already moved to the cheapest, and they tasted terrible and she knew it wasn't improving what she had left of her looks. She was noticing fine lines near her lips and her fingers seemed slightly stained. She coughed, too, every once in a while, even when she wasn't sick.
She sighed longingly, and glanced to the pack that she had smiled at her from the opening of her beaded purse on the counter. She began fiddling with the box, counting the death-sticks she had left. She had five.
"I don't care." He said finally in a voice that was all dirt and gravel. He probably smoked, too. But something more harsh, like cigars.
She turned to him with a raised, penciled-in brow.
"I don't care," he repeated. "If you smoke inside."
What a relief. She hesitated, but then lit up. She'd never smoked inside before, against the rules. She looked at him. True to his word, he didn't seem to mind. She used an dirty coffee mug to ash in.
The stranger finished his coffee. She refilled it twice before offering him pie.
"On the house," She said, "It's Christmas." She smiled her pin-up girl smile. She thought she saw a smile in his eyes, but wasn't entirely sure. It might earn her a few extra dollars in tip.... and for a moment, she felt cheap.
He accepted the piece of cold cherry pie, and it opened the door to conversation.
She sat down next to him and finished the five cigarettes. She told him about her son and daughter, Stacy and Ben. Stacy was a journalist major. She went to community college before she transferred to Arizona State. She was the first person in her family to go to college. She was so smart and talented. Stacy could be anything she wanted. Sure, she has her problems. Her car always needed fixing, she is always asking for money, and don't get her started on her boyfriend. But, Annie was proud of her.
It made her glow inside.
Ben was always busy. He drifted to office job to office job. He could never hold anything down for long. He worked as an insurance claims adjuster, but then got fired. Afterwards, he was a secretary for a small heating and cooling, locally owned business. That didn't work out, either. So, he worked as a propane salesman and then for a call center. She never understood what made him so angry all the time. Like his father, she guessed.
But, Ben's wife was a sweetheart.
She never got to see either of them as much as she wanted to. Stacy at least called to wish her a merry Christmas. Except, she couldn't talk for long.
The stranger listened until it was closing time. She learned his name was Rick and he lived really close by, but that was about all she learned about him.
Annie sighed and took his cup and used plate. She wiped the counter down and decided she wasn't going to do much more than that. The dishes and the register could wait until after Christmas.
It stopped raining at least, she noted. Her truck often didn't like to start when it was damp.
She asked the stranger if there was anywhere he needed to be.
"No." He replied. "No where I need to be." He said as he slid from the bar-stool.
"Then, want to come home with me tonight?" Annie's mouth seemed dry and a flutter was in her stomach. Her lipstick had worn off, she couldn't taste it anymore. The way he paused and looked at her made her suddenly question her impulsive decision.
She never really asked men to come home with her. It wasn't about sex. In fact, the last time she got laid two years ago was when her friend dragged her to the bar and she got too drunk on whiskey. She got about six phone numbers, but only one of them called her back. He was too young for her, but he liked her cowboy hat and the way she knotted her shirt up under her bust. She never saw him again after that.
She just... knew she didn't want to be alone for the holiday. All the talk about her family made her realize just how big a hole she had in her tired heart.
"Sure." He said after some deliberation. It made her sigh that he didn't seem too eager. Maybe he wasn't a rapist, serial killer, or thief. Maybe she even judged him too quickly. Maybe he wasn't an ex-con. Just looked like one. Maybe he was just once in a motorcycle gang or a construction worker of some kind. Something as tough and hard as his old leather face.
She drove. Her blue truck coughed, but started up on the first try. He stared out the window the entire drive home, and didn't say a word.
She tried pressing him for conversation. It was like squeezing blood from a stone. His answers were always short. It didn't seem like he was avoiding talking, it was just that he wasn't a talker-- like she was. That didn't bother her. She had enough words for the both of them.
The air was cold and the heat didn't work properly in her truck. The scraggly, taped leather seats carried the stale smell of her cigarettes.
She was glad the ride home was short.
She lived in a trailer with her two cats. One was old, fat, and gray. The other was orange and just out of kittenhood. The home smelt of cigarettes, damp mold, and uncleaned catbox.
Her home was small and filled with cheap knickknacks she had gathered over the years. There was a painting of Jesus smiling in the corner that above a hulagirl lamp.
Her TV was an old tube in a wooden box that dated from the 70's and the knitted afghan on her sofa was extraordinarily ugly. Despite all this, her home had a sense of warmth in it. There was a lot of love and affection waited to be given, stashed away in the small plastic smiles of her dated tastes.
She invited Rick to sit down. He did. And then he offered her a beer, which he accepted. He didn't take off his coat until he was invited and only used the bathroom after he politely asked.
She asked him a few more questions and learned that his father was a Saudi Arabian and his mother was Canadian. It explained his dark hair and black eyes. He grew up in Montreal, and only moved to Flagstaff, Arizona when his mother found someone new with a stable job. He had duel-citizenship, which Annie thought was exotic and interesting. The only thing he knew about his father was his name, and what he looked like back in 1945 when the picture was taken. His step-father was a used car salesman, and a good man.
And he had no kids and had never married. The rest of his family was still in Quebec, He was alone for Christmas, too.
He was honest with her in her follow up questions. Yes, he had spent time in prison. It was fifteen years. She felt more comfortable after he explained the circumstances.
Like all convicts, he was innocent. Except he wasn't. But, she believed him. He used to have very young, loud neighbors that lived in the trailer across from his. They would drink until dawn and fight. On a sticky summer July evening, one fight was particularly bad. It was out in the open. Several cars passed by and no one was doing anything. He heard a girl screaming. She wasn't angry, she was scared. He looked out the window and saw four men on her.
"How," he thought out loud, "Could someone not DO anything?" he asked rhetorically. He went on to explain that her shirt was ripped open. He went out into the back of his trailer and grabbed a heavy lead pipe.
He didn't kill anyone, but one of the men was now permanently attached to a feeding tube and not expected to wake up. Because of his prior, smaller, convictions, he was sent away because of the brutality. No one missed him.
He spent the time in prison learning about everything. From theoretical physics to learning to speak fluent Arabic. He spoke three languages, now.
After he was done talking, Annie leaned over. The two and a half beers were getting to her already. Annie wasn't a big thing, after all.
"Do you mind if I..." She paused and gave a sloppy smile. "Kiss you?" Her eyes were heavy lidded and for a moment she looked exactly like the pin-up girl she used to be. A lick of chestnut hair curled across her forehead.
He didn't say anything. He didn't say yes, because he was already kissing her and tugging her cardigan off. One of the pearl buttons fell off and rolled under the couch.
She was wearing old fashioned hose and black garter belt under her uniform. She just liked them, and thought they were sexy. She didn't wear them every day, but she was glad she did this time.
He made love to her on her couch. They knocked over the hulagirl lamp, and it broke in two. They were reckless and laughing as she ground into his hips. She liked the way that the crows feet pulled in the corner of his eyes and the way that his too-long gray hair framed his face.They both felt like teenagers in the cold backseat of a hatchback car. She rode him on the floor, which gave her rug-burn on her knees. They made love again in the pale-blue dawn of Christmas morning on the kitchen tile.
Annie felt alive again. It was the best gift she had ever received in decades. Her cheeks were tinsel red and every step she took she felt just a little younger.
He made her eggs in the morning and brewed her coffee. He put cream and sugar in her's without asking how she took it. He got it right.
She took him back to the diner and gave him free coffee and pie. He left a larger than usual tip. She smiled and winked and blushed when she walked away from his table. He watched her while he ate, like a schoolboy with a crush on a girl in the lunchroom. They passed flirtatious smiles and glances. Everything seemed just a little bit brighter.
It even snowed that day, washing the world into a clean white.
He took his motorcycle and went home.
A few days passed, and he didn't come around. Then it was weeks. Before she knew it, it was February and she hadn't seen him.
She took down the Christmas decorations after the New Year. She replaced the red and green bauble window-clings with over-sized candy hearts and cupids. She shut the irony out from her mind, because it made her ache. This year was no different from the ones before, she told herself. So, it didn't matter that she didn't have a Valentine. Didn't matter last year, wouldn't matter this year, either.
It was a lumpy gray day, and around six in the evening during dinner rush when Rick darkened the diner door. She heard his Harley grumble and thunder in the dirt parking lot Her heart jumped a little in her throat. It is someone else-- she chastised. Someone with a similar bike. Nothing more. Couldn't be him. She didn't get her hopes up because she didn't want to be disappointed. She didn't look up when the door opened. She was making her rounds with the coffee pot. Don't look up, she threatened herself.
But the smell of his leather jacket and the feeling of his presence was unmistakable. He sat down at his usual stool at the counter and put a small black box on the counter top. He didn't say anything.
She jumped at the chance to fetch him coffee. She felt scared for some reason. Adrenaline was shooting through her veins like a sugar rush.
She set his coffee down and slid it to him.
In return, he slid her the velvet box, like some sort of a hostage exchange.
She froze. She could hear her manager, Tony, say something to her in the background. She didn't hear. She stared at the black box as if it was a hole leading to a netherworld. He nodded to it. Open it, his face seemed to say.
So, she did.
She immediately knew it was old. It was an antique, white gold lace ring with a touch of age around the edges. It was small, and only fit on her finger with a squeeze. The black diamond in the center was both expensive and remarkable. It caught every color in the spectrum and caused them to dance in the light. She had never seen, let alone owned, anything so beautiful and nice in her life.
He told her it once belonged to his grandmother, on his father's side. The diamond had come from somewhere in the desert of the Middle-East. It was hand made, and very old.
If she wanted, she could be his wife. And he'd take her anywhere in the world she'd like. He'd never treat her poorly, he promised. He only wanted to see her smile. If she declined, he would take the ring and never see him again. But, he wouldn't be upset. He would understand. But he couldn't stick around. Inwardly, she knew, he would be heartbroken.
"Oh, honey," she whispered with tears swelling in her eyes. She tore her apron off and dashed around the counter. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was so tall, she could barely reach. She kissed him for her answer.
He swept her off her feet, and carried her as his bride out the door of the diner.
The stranger put her on the back of his motorcycle. Neither of them looked back.
They first rode to his trailer. It turned out he lived down the road. She had passed by his ramshackle home a dozen times without knowing. It was smaller than her's, and sadder. The overgrown lawn hid a dozen or so rusted out cars and trucks that had become houses to raccoon and opossums. They were greeted by a friendly German Sheppard. He made love to her a dozen times more.
And then they packed.
They drove to Vegas and married in a cheap, tacky chapel. But, they couldn't be happier or more perfect.
It was rumored that they traveled all through the mid-west, central, and south-west of the United States. Annie made her own postcards along the way. She wore Jackie-O sunglasses, polka-dotted scarf, and bright red lipstick in every shot. She posed on the back of his motorcycle.
She sent them to her friends and family, and signed them with a kiss mark.
A lot like a pin-up girl would do.
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Goldcrest
Goldcrest had asked me to tell a story about myself, a personal story this time.
While I have a lot of interesting tales to tell, the ones that are more personal are difficult.
My friends and I were sitting around a campfire one night. (These were the days where I was wandering and essentially homeless. I did anything for a copper. I stole, I gambled, I did small jobs and large jobs. I sometimes went hungry or ate from rubbish cans. I ran with a group of criminals who were much the same.)
And my friends and I were exchanging stories.
"What was the worst thing you ever lifted?" My burly friend asked. "As in, worthless. Couldn't squeeze a silver from it."
"That's easy," Said another. "There was once I broke into this old ladies house. I figured that an old woman would have something of value. I got in, and there was nothing but cats. Cats everywhere. So, I grabbed one."
"You stole a cat?" I asked in disbelief.
He nodded, and prodded the camp fire. It sparked and hissed back to life. "The stupid cat bit me about fifty times. I was never able to sell it."
"So, that's how you got your cat?" I laughed, and he nodded. We fell silent again, all of us amused about the origin story of our friend's feline companion.
"What about you?" I asked my other friend. He paused and scratched his ruddy, dirty beard and smiled. "What's the most worthless thing you ever stole?"
"Wasn't so much stole." He answered quietly. "As took. I took it. This girl's virginity! Was a year ago. The foreman's daughter, when I was working construction on the road running out from Booty Bay."
We all laughed at the lewd joke, although we knew he was completely serious.
"But, that isn't worthless." Another one of my criminal friend's pointed out. "Good, clean pussy. Always worth like, a million gold."
"Oh, it was worthless." He said gravely. "I now occasionally get bumps on my lips, because of her."
"...She probably wasn't a virgin, genius." I pointed out sagely. The entire group exploded into laughter. You could hear the joyous, loud, masculine peels across the entire beach, carrying through the night.
After the laughter slowly died down, my ruddy bearded friend looked at me. Another log was tossed onto the fire, and more liquor was passed around.
"What about you, Kia? What was the most worthless thing you ever stole?" He wondered.
I paused and thought and considered the question. "These." I said, removing two chiming stress balls from my pocket. "Yesterday, actually." I said darkly. One ball was black, and the other was white. There was no ornamentation, however they tinkled softly like little bells when rolled in the hand. "I thought they were made from ivory and could get a gold or two. I took them to an appraiser. And they're nothing. I went to a lot of trouble to get them. I listened to this old crone go on and on for hours. Babbling about shit. She was an employee from the Darkmoon Faire. She was just an elderly, lonely woman who wanted to bend someone's ear for a while. I swiped them on the way out. Payment for my troubles. Completely worthless." I complained with annoyance. Then, I tugged from the liquor bottle.
"Let me see them." My friend to my left said.
I offered them to him.
My friend examined the chiming stress balls, rolling them in his hand. They tolled like small silver bells as they moved and twirled in his palm. I watched in silence as he twisted and turned the stress balls in his hand. We were silent and watched the fire burn itself out. We drank and sat after the conversation came to a lull, merely enjoying one another's company to fend off the darkness of night and loneliness we felt. We continued to drink until every bottle was dry.
Someone mentioned something about the fire needing more wood as it was on the verge of death.
My friend then grunted and threw the white stress ball into the smoldering ashes.
The fire came to life, spurting like a small volcano. From the flames the vision of a bird rose. She was made of ornate orange and gold, every feather burned. The bird screeched and called out as she rose to the stars. We were all in a shock and panic. I was the only one who did not run.
I watched until the phoenix dissipated into the darkness. Ashes flowed from her magnificently long tail. After a while, she was gone and all that was left was a roaring fire and scattered embers that sparkled in the sand.
I found the black stress ball and tossed it in. I am not sure why, but I did. Perhaps it was because I was slightly drunk, or maybe I was curious and a little self-destructive. I did not know what to expect to happen. Yet, nothing did. I stood there, alone, and watched as silence consumed the night. There was no burst of light nor magic igniting from the fire.
I fell asleep on the beach shortly after.
When I awoke, the fire had burnt itself out. I shifted through the ashes. I found the remains of the white stress ball, cracked, broken, and nothing but cinders.
I also found the remains of the black stress ball, broken in two and not burnt. Like two pieces of obsidian they were cold to the touch. Whatever it was had hatched and escaped.
I swiftly left then. I was not sure what was the opposite of a phoenix, but I knew I did not want to stick around and find out. Whatever had escaped from the ashes was now free, black and undying and unleashed upon the world. Maybe in our hearts, but certainly smoldering in the fires of the soul.
The end
While I have a lot of interesting tales to tell, the ones that are more personal are difficult.
My friends and I were sitting around a campfire one night. (These were the days where I was wandering and essentially homeless. I did anything for a copper. I stole, I gambled, I did small jobs and large jobs. I sometimes went hungry or ate from rubbish cans. I ran with a group of criminals who were much the same.)
And my friends and I were exchanging stories.
"What was the worst thing you ever lifted?" My burly friend asked. "As in, worthless. Couldn't squeeze a silver from it."
"That's easy," Said another. "There was once I broke into this old ladies house. I figured that an old woman would have something of value. I got in, and there was nothing but cats. Cats everywhere. So, I grabbed one."
"You stole a cat?" I asked in disbelief.
He nodded, and prodded the camp fire. It sparked and hissed back to life. "The stupid cat bit me about fifty times. I was never able to sell it."
"So, that's how you got your cat?" I laughed, and he nodded. We fell silent again, all of us amused about the origin story of our friend's feline companion.
"What about you?" I asked my other friend. He paused and scratched his ruddy, dirty beard and smiled. "What's the most worthless thing you ever stole?"
"Wasn't so much stole." He answered quietly. "As took. I took it. This girl's virginity! Was a year ago. The foreman's daughter, when I was working construction on the road running out from Booty Bay."
We all laughed at the lewd joke, although we knew he was completely serious.
"But, that isn't worthless." Another one of my criminal friend's pointed out. "Good, clean pussy. Always worth like, a million gold."
"Oh, it was worthless." He said gravely. "I now occasionally get bumps on my lips, because of her."
"...She probably wasn't a virgin, genius." I pointed out sagely. The entire group exploded into laughter. You could hear the joyous, loud, masculine peels across the entire beach, carrying through the night.
After the laughter slowly died down, my ruddy bearded friend looked at me. Another log was tossed onto the fire, and more liquor was passed around.
"What about you, Kia? What was the most worthless thing you ever stole?" He wondered.
I paused and thought and considered the question. "These." I said, removing two chiming stress balls from my pocket. "Yesterday, actually." I said darkly. One ball was black, and the other was white. There was no ornamentation, however they tinkled softly like little bells when rolled in the hand. "I thought they were made from ivory and could get a gold or two. I took them to an appraiser. And they're nothing. I went to a lot of trouble to get them. I listened to this old crone go on and on for hours. Babbling about shit. She was an employee from the Darkmoon Faire. She was just an elderly, lonely woman who wanted to bend someone's ear for a while. I swiped them on the way out. Payment for my troubles. Completely worthless." I complained with annoyance. Then, I tugged from the liquor bottle.
"Let me see them." My friend to my left said.
I offered them to him.
My friend examined the chiming stress balls, rolling them in his hand. They tolled like small silver bells as they moved and twirled in his palm. I watched in silence as he twisted and turned the stress balls in his hand. We were silent and watched the fire burn itself out. We drank and sat after the conversation came to a lull, merely enjoying one another's company to fend off the darkness of night and loneliness we felt. We continued to drink until every bottle was dry.
Someone mentioned something about the fire needing more wood as it was on the verge of death.
My friend then grunted and threw the white stress ball into the smoldering ashes.
The fire came to life, spurting like a small volcano. From the flames the vision of a bird rose. She was made of ornate orange and gold, every feather burned. The bird screeched and called out as she rose to the stars. We were all in a shock and panic. I was the only one who did not run.
I watched until the phoenix dissipated into the darkness. Ashes flowed from her magnificently long tail. After a while, she was gone and all that was left was a roaring fire and scattered embers that sparkled in the sand.
I found the black stress ball and tossed it in. I am not sure why, but I did. Perhaps it was because I was slightly drunk, or maybe I was curious and a little self-destructive. I did not know what to expect to happen. Yet, nothing did. I stood there, alone, and watched as silence consumed the night. There was no burst of light nor magic igniting from the fire.
I fell asleep on the beach shortly after.
When I awoke, the fire had burnt itself out. I shifted through the ashes. I found the remains of the white stress ball, cracked, broken, and nothing but cinders.
I also found the remains of the black stress ball, broken in two and not burnt. Like two pieces of obsidian they were cold to the touch. Whatever it was had hatched and escaped.
I swiftly left then. I was not sure what was the opposite of a phoenix, but I knew I did not want to stick around and find out. Whatever had escaped from the ashes was now free, black and undying and unleashed upon the world. Maybe in our hearts, but certainly smoldering in the fires of the soul.
The end
Monday, November 12, 2012
To Nikklaus
It was grander than any comet, and far more beautiful than a shooting star. The bright streak sliced across the night sky as if it was to render the world in two. Nikk followed it, but then, so did everyone.
Everyone in town chased the white, glittering line that dazzled the evening. The crowd ran north, while he headed west. He was alone when he traveled through a grove of broken tress and scorched earth.
When he finally found it, all hope of gold had left his eyes. Nikk had assumed he would have stumbled across a piece of the heavens and would have been able to sell it to the highest bidder on the black market, or to perhaps a collector.
There was a small smoldering crater where it had landed.
He did not find a stone, but instead a small girl perched on a rock. She was crying.
She was so pale she was nearly translucent, with hair that was a pearl white. Each curl shimmered with every color of the rainbow. She was nude except for a small robe that seemed to have torn in several places from the branches. What was most startling about her was her magnificent wings. Each feather had a sheen that caused it difficult to focus his eyes upon. Like a mirage, sometimes it appeared as if she had a dozen wings, other times it was just the wilted two. Each wing was brighter than the moon and just as as large.
"Hey." He said as he stumbled across the warm crater to the winged girl on the rock. He spoke hesitantly, as if she were a frightened animal that needed to be calmed.
The girl sniffed and lifted her porcelain face.
"What... what are you?" It may have seemed like an offensive question, but he was a blunt man and didn't know what else to ask. A part of him told him to flee.
"What's it look like?" She wept. He climbed upon the rock beside her as she answered him. She motioned with a fluid arm to the sky. "I'm a fallen angel."
He blinked at her, unsure what to say. "Why are you crying?" he asked.
She looked at him with a deadpan expression. Even in the milky light with a perfectly angelic face, he knew that she thought he was stupid.
"Because," She hissed. "I can't go back. Ever. I've fallen." She paused and buried her face in her hands. She sobbed a heart-wrenching, dreadful wail. He sat there stupidly until she was ready to speak again. With her face still buried in her palms she asked him, "Who're you?"
"I'm Nikk." He then pointed vaguely to the east, "I live in the city over there. I could take you, if you want. Get you some clothes. Something to eat."
"I don't wear your clothes and I don't eat your food." She snarled, "I'm an angel."
Silence sat between them for what could have been eternity. Nikk listened to the crickets sing, undisturbed, unknowing that a piece of the divine had fallen and walked among them. He too, felt small. How could one contemplate something so god-like, perfect and huge sit beside him? She was a sun in the darkness, emitting her own small, quiet light. She was an angel, he thought, and he knew it to be true.
"...Why did you fall?" he asked finally. She seemed to have been waiting for the question.
"You wouldn't understand." She replied softly, patiently, in a sigh. "And I can't go back."
"What if you redeem yourself?" He asked, clinging to a small bit of hope. Seeing a sad, weeping angel broke his heart a little every time he chanced a look at her. He kept his eyes forward and his feet swinging, as if they were two children sitting on the docks on a warm summer night.
"Redemption." She echoed. She then smeared away the last of her tears on her cheeks before she looked at him. He could feel the press of her stare from her molten silver eyes. "How do you redeem yourself, Nikk? Have you ever found redemption in your life?"
Nikk paused for a long time to consider the question. When he finally answered, he felt smaller. It was strange. Most of the time in his life he carried himself with a cocksure attitude and a half smile. Around her, he could hide nothing. With a mere stolen glance the angel could see through him.
"I tried." He croaked. "Once."
"And what happened?" the angel asked. Her wings brushed his side and he could feel an icy chill followed by a slow, soothing burn. The pain snapped through him with a coarse of pleasure, as if his muscles suddenly eased by the breath of her feathers.
"I... well. There was this girl," He said, feeling foolish. "And I loved her. But, I was with someone else. I cheated on her. I broke her heart. I apologized, but she didn't accept it. I did everything I could to make it up to her, to redeem myself. But, the damage was done." He said back on his palms and exhaled. "I even asked her if there was anything I could do to make up what I did. It was too late."
"Ah." The angel said. "See, there is no redemption. Only change. Redemption is for the selfish. People seek redemption only to make THEMSELVES feel better once they have wronged someone. When you do something, you can apologize, and even feel truly sorry. But, there is no turning back what you have done. You can't undo anything. Ever."
"So, there is no going back for you?" Nikk wondered as he continued swinging his legs off the edge of the stone.
She paused for a while, her wings gliding back and forth. At times, he thought the feathers were small eyes that slowly opened and closed. Other times, they were tongues of a thousand flames. When he blinked, they were white down feathers once more.
"...No." She said in a near whisper, "Once innocence is lost, it can never truly be regained. I can try repenting, I can smear ashes on my face and speak only honey on my lips. I can travel the seas of a burning cinder pit and purify myself."
"But...?" Nikk wondered.
She shook her head. "But, nothing. Our actions were known before they were done. He knew I was going to rebel. It was all part of His ineffable plan. Redemption will do nothing. It was meant. We change. We all change. Everything changes, nothing is lost. The same is to you, Nikk." She said as she looked at him meaningfully.
"So, what happens then?"
"The best redemption or salvation we can find is meaning." She said as she slid herself from the rock. He noticed that her feet never quite touched the clay.
He blinked at her as she began to walk away. The shadows of the forest consumed her. She glanced over her shoulder as she gradually began to fade away. The bars and pillars of the trees seemed to consume her.
"Wait." He said as he, too, climbed down from the rock. Patiently, she stood. He could see the darkness of the forest through her skin as she began to evaporate into the world.
"How do I find meaning in my life?" He asked as he stepped forward. But, even as he approached he could see that she was no longer tangible and was almost completely translucent. If he reached out and touched her, she would have been as intangible as a ghost.
"You fall." She said softly, her voice carrying in the mist of the air. "And then, you get up again. You may not fly, but you get up. Get up, Nikk."
When he opened his mouth to yell at her that he did not understand, she was gone.
Nikk looked around at the broken forest of trees and the crater that was left behind. He sat up on the rock, the same rock that he and the angel were perched. He sat there until dawn began to bleed from the sky.
A villager came, and then two, and then four. They searched the area for a stone. When they found nothing, they demanded that Nikk had stolen it. He denied it. Eventually, they left, bitter and empty handed.
Cold and tired, Nikk decided to return home himself. He slowly stood, stiff, hollow, and exhausted.
As he rose, a small feather drifted out from under him.
He caught it. It had the same soft, mother-of-pearl sheen to it as the angel's wing. He smiled to himself and pocketed it, leaving an oddly warm feeling against his leg.
At times, the feather would burn like a lash of fire, or blink at him like a third eye. It eased him, calmed him, and gave him a sense of understanding.
It would never bring him salvation, but he remembered to get up when he fell, even if he had tumbled far from the sparkled heavens of perfection.
Everyone in town chased the white, glittering line that dazzled the evening. The crowd ran north, while he headed west. He was alone when he traveled through a grove of broken tress and scorched earth.
When he finally found it, all hope of gold had left his eyes. Nikk had assumed he would have stumbled across a piece of the heavens and would have been able to sell it to the highest bidder on the black market, or to perhaps a collector.
There was a small smoldering crater where it had landed.
He did not find a stone, but instead a small girl perched on a rock. She was crying.
She was so pale she was nearly translucent, with hair that was a pearl white. Each curl shimmered with every color of the rainbow. She was nude except for a small robe that seemed to have torn in several places from the branches. What was most startling about her was her magnificent wings. Each feather had a sheen that caused it difficult to focus his eyes upon. Like a mirage, sometimes it appeared as if she had a dozen wings, other times it was just the wilted two. Each wing was brighter than the moon and just as as large.
"Hey." He said as he stumbled across the warm crater to the winged girl on the rock. He spoke hesitantly, as if she were a frightened animal that needed to be calmed.
The girl sniffed and lifted her porcelain face.
"What... what are you?" It may have seemed like an offensive question, but he was a blunt man and didn't know what else to ask. A part of him told him to flee.
"What's it look like?" She wept. He climbed upon the rock beside her as she answered him. She motioned with a fluid arm to the sky. "I'm a fallen angel."
He blinked at her, unsure what to say. "Why are you crying?" he asked.
She looked at him with a deadpan expression. Even in the milky light with a perfectly angelic face, he knew that she thought he was stupid.
"Because," She hissed. "I can't go back. Ever. I've fallen." She paused and buried her face in her hands. She sobbed a heart-wrenching, dreadful wail. He sat there stupidly until she was ready to speak again. With her face still buried in her palms she asked him, "Who're you?"
"I'm Nikk." He then pointed vaguely to the east, "I live in the city over there. I could take you, if you want. Get you some clothes. Something to eat."
"I don't wear your clothes and I don't eat your food." She snarled, "I'm an angel."
Silence sat between them for what could have been eternity. Nikk listened to the crickets sing, undisturbed, unknowing that a piece of the divine had fallen and walked among them. He too, felt small. How could one contemplate something so god-like, perfect and huge sit beside him? She was a sun in the darkness, emitting her own small, quiet light. She was an angel, he thought, and he knew it to be true.
"...Why did you fall?" he asked finally. She seemed to have been waiting for the question.
"You wouldn't understand." She replied softly, patiently, in a sigh. "And I can't go back."
"What if you redeem yourself?" He asked, clinging to a small bit of hope. Seeing a sad, weeping angel broke his heart a little every time he chanced a look at her. He kept his eyes forward and his feet swinging, as if they were two children sitting on the docks on a warm summer night.
"Redemption." She echoed. She then smeared away the last of her tears on her cheeks before she looked at him. He could feel the press of her stare from her molten silver eyes. "How do you redeem yourself, Nikk? Have you ever found redemption in your life?"
Nikk paused for a long time to consider the question. When he finally answered, he felt smaller. It was strange. Most of the time in his life he carried himself with a cocksure attitude and a half smile. Around her, he could hide nothing. With a mere stolen glance the angel could see through him.
"I tried." He croaked. "Once."
"And what happened?" the angel asked. Her wings brushed his side and he could feel an icy chill followed by a slow, soothing burn. The pain snapped through him with a coarse of pleasure, as if his muscles suddenly eased by the breath of her feathers.
"I... well. There was this girl," He said, feeling foolish. "And I loved her. But, I was with someone else. I cheated on her. I broke her heart. I apologized, but she didn't accept it. I did everything I could to make it up to her, to redeem myself. But, the damage was done." He said back on his palms and exhaled. "I even asked her if there was anything I could do to make up what I did. It was too late."
"Ah." The angel said. "See, there is no redemption. Only change. Redemption is for the selfish. People seek redemption only to make THEMSELVES feel better once they have wronged someone. When you do something, you can apologize, and even feel truly sorry. But, there is no turning back what you have done. You can't undo anything. Ever."
"So, there is no going back for you?" Nikk wondered as he continued swinging his legs off the edge of the stone.
She paused for a while, her wings gliding back and forth. At times, he thought the feathers were small eyes that slowly opened and closed. Other times, they were tongues of a thousand flames. When he blinked, they were white down feathers once more.
"...No." She said in a near whisper, "Once innocence is lost, it can never truly be regained. I can try repenting, I can smear ashes on my face and speak only honey on my lips. I can travel the seas of a burning cinder pit and purify myself."
"But...?" Nikk wondered.
She shook her head. "But, nothing. Our actions were known before they were done. He knew I was going to rebel. It was all part of His ineffable plan. Redemption will do nothing. It was meant. We change. We all change. Everything changes, nothing is lost. The same is to you, Nikk." She said as she looked at him meaningfully.
"So, what happens then?"
"The best redemption or salvation we can find is meaning." She said as she slid herself from the rock. He noticed that her feet never quite touched the clay.
He blinked at her as she began to walk away. The shadows of the forest consumed her. She glanced over her shoulder as she gradually began to fade away. The bars and pillars of the trees seemed to consume her.
"Wait." He said as he, too, climbed down from the rock. Patiently, she stood. He could see the darkness of the forest through her skin as she began to evaporate into the world.
"How do I find meaning in my life?" He asked as he stepped forward. But, even as he approached he could see that she was no longer tangible and was almost completely translucent. If he reached out and touched her, she would have been as intangible as a ghost.
"You fall." She said softly, her voice carrying in the mist of the air. "And then, you get up again. You may not fly, but you get up. Get up, Nikk."
When he opened his mouth to yell at her that he did not understand, she was gone.
Nikk looked around at the broken forest of trees and the crater that was left behind. He sat up on the rock, the same rock that he and the angel were perched. He sat there until dawn began to bleed from the sky.
A villager came, and then two, and then four. They searched the area for a stone. When they found nothing, they demanded that Nikk had stolen it. He denied it. Eventually, they left, bitter and empty handed.
Cold and tired, Nikk decided to return home himself. He slowly stood, stiff, hollow, and exhausted.
As he rose, a small feather drifted out from under him.
He caught it. It had the same soft, mother-of-pearl sheen to it as the angel's wing. He smiled to himself and pocketed it, leaving an oddly warm feeling against his leg.
At times, the feather would burn like a lash of fire, or blink at him like a third eye. It eased him, calmed him, and gave him a sense of understanding.
It would never bring him salvation, but he remembered to get up when he fell, even if he had tumbled far from the sparkled heavens of perfection.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Yet another story
So, I was asked the other day, "Whatever happened to the fire elemental princess, Kiaphus?" from Goldcrest, who heard my story.
The fire princess, who was the only truly free elemental in the world.
The short answer is, a lot of things. She had traveled and seen many adventures.
However, she was destined for a difficult life. Her powerful and cruel father, the Fire Lord, soon found out that the magician boy did not sacrifice her, and she had run away to be free.
She fled, and her father sent an army of other elementals to search for her and bring her home. But in the end, she knew she could not run forever. For no matter how far she went or how obscure a place she found, there was nowhere that she could live and where fire could not reach. She could not hide on land, for fire consumes all things on the ground and they could find her easily. She could not live comfortably in the air, for the winds cut through her flame-skin.and she certainly could not live in the sea, for the water could destroy her.
Lost to despair, the princess sought a more permanent and more drastic solution. To keep her freedom, she must become something other than what she was. She would need to trade the flame-skin of a fire elemental and become human.
So, she went to the old crone. She was a witch who lived near a lake of lava, and was said to be older than the stars and more powerful and wise than any mortal. The witch sat in front of her stone cottage home, turning a spit with a worg haunch for her dinner. The witch told her that if she retrieved a magical down feather, she would be able to cast a spell turning the flame-princess human.
The flame-princess did not delay and went to find the feather off of a giant thunder-bird that lived in the tallest peaks of the world. The thunder-birds were wise and ancient, and gods among the birds. They were magical and listened to her tale of fear and woe. And, were all too willing to help. They gave her the feather she desired.
She returned to the witch and presented her with the spell component to make her human. But, the witch betrayed her. All this time, the feather was the final ingredient the witch needed to turn the princess into a sheep so she could easily transport her back to her father. Using the thunder-bird's feather, the witched turned the princess into a small, helpless sheep. The Fire Lord promised the witch endless power for the cost of returning his daughter.
The witch and the princess-that-was-now-a-sheep traveled across huge stretching planes and across winding rivers to get to the Flame Kingdom. The princess saw her opportunity to escape when a shepherd was crossing the road with his massive flock of sheep. The princess leaped from the witch's wagon and lost herself in the crowd.
The princess lived among the sheep for several days, grazing and socializing with the flock. Yet, she was not happy as a sheep. Sheep tend to gossip and have nothing important to say or do. She wandered away from the shepherd.
Then, an eagle came and swept her up in his talons. She was alone, and sheep that wander from their flock were fair game to predators. The eagle took her back to his nest to shred her with his claws and feed her to his young. The princess cried out in fear. "I am not a sheep!" She implored. "I am a flame-princess!"
Not knowing what to do, the eagle took her to the thunder-birds to decide her fate.
Once more, the princess told the thunder-birds of the betrayal of the witch and how much further away she was from her goal to become human. She wanted only her freedom, and nothing else. Now, as a sheep, she was in even more danger than before and far less happy. The thunder-birds listened, and deliberated.
Although they did not have the power to make her human, they could give her the freedom she wanted in another way. She could soar in the air and taste the sky on her wings, and be free from her father forever. They took her among their people, turning her into a thunder-bird. She would remain powerful, like a fire-elemental. And nothing was more free than a bird.
She lived to be old and wise. The tribal humans of the planes prayed to her. When she sang, her voice cracked out in lightening. When she flew, her wings drummed in thunder. The air elementals bowed to her, and she was never troubled again.
The end
The fire princess, who was the only truly free elemental in the world.
The short answer is, a lot of things. She had traveled and seen many adventures.
However, she was destined for a difficult life. Her powerful and cruel father, the Fire Lord, soon found out that the magician boy did not sacrifice her, and she had run away to be free.
She fled, and her father sent an army of other elementals to search for her and bring her home. But in the end, she knew she could not run forever. For no matter how far she went or how obscure a place she found, there was nowhere that she could live and where fire could not reach. She could not hide on land, for fire consumes all things on the ground and they could find her easily. She could not live comfortably in the air, for the winds cut through her flame-skin.and she certainly could not live in the sea, for the water could destroy her.
Lost to despair, the princess sought a more permanent and more drastic solution. To keep her freedom, she must become something other than what she was. She would need to trade the flame-skin of a fire elemental and become human.
So, she went to the old crone. She was a witch who lived near a lake of lava, and was said to be older than the stars and more powerful and wise than any mortal. The witch sat in front of her stone cottage home, turning a spit with a worg haunch for her dinner. The witch told her that if she retrieved a magical down feather, she would be able to cast a spell turning the flame-princess human.
The flame-princess did not delay and went to find the feather off of a giant thunder-bird that lived in the tallest peaks of the world. The thunder-birds were wise and ancient, and gods among the birds. They were magical and listened to her tale of fear and woe. And, were all too willing to help. They gave her the feather she desired.
She returned to the witch and presented her with the spell component to make her human. But, the witch betrayed her. All this time, the feather was the final ingredient the witch needed to turn the princess into a sheep so she could easily transport her back to her father. Using the thunder-bird's feather, the witched turned the princess into a small, helpless sheep. The Fire Lord promised the witch endless power for the cost of returning his daughter.
The witch and the princess-that-was-now-a-sheep traveled across huge stretching planes and across winding rivers to get to the Flame Kingdom. The princess saw her opportunity to escape when a shepherd was crossing the road with his massive flock of sheep. The princess leaped from the witch's wagon and lost herself in the crowd.
The princess lived among the sheep for several days, grazing and socializing with the flock. Yet, she was not happy as a sheep. Sheep tend to gossip and have nothing important to say or do. She wandered away from the shepherd.
Then, an eagle came and swept her up in his talons. She was alone, and sheep that wander from their flock were fair game to predators. The eagle took her back to his nest to shred her with his claws and feed her to his young. The princess cried out in fear. "I am not a sheep!" She implored. "I am a flame-princess!"
Not knowing what to do, the eagle took her to the thunder-birds to decide her fate.
Once more, the princess told the thunder-birds of the betrayal of the witch and how much further away she was from her goal to become human. She wanted only her freedom, and nothing else. Now, as a sheep, she was in even more danger than before and far less happy. The thunder-birds listened, and deliberated.
Although they did not have the power to make her human, they could give her the freedom she wanted in another way. She could soar in the air and taste the sky on her wings, and be free from her father forever. They took her among their people, turning her into a thunder-bird. She would remain powerful, like a fire-elemental. And nothing was more free than a bird.
She lived to be old and wise. The tribal humans of the planes prayed to her. When she sang, her voice cracked out in lightening. When she flew, her wings drummed in thunder. The air elementals bowed to her, and she was never troubled again.
The end
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
A small story
Another story, you ask. Another encore. You exhaust me. But, fine. This one is a far more upbeat tale than the one before.
In the old days, boys had to woo the girls they loved through acts of bravery and heroics.
There was one such boy who was all but incapable of such things. He was small and skinny, and lacked any hair on his chin. But, he was a clever boy. He was interested in magic.
It was not the sort of magic of warlocks and mages. He actually had no talent there, either. He enjoyed tricks, slight-of-hand and optical illusions. He had his sights set on the fairest girl in the city.
She was tow-headed and fair skinned. She was a beautiful girl who had her choice of any male in town. When the boy came and asked for her hand in marriage-- she laughed at him.
She jokingly told him she would only marry him if he was able to bring her a vial of actual magic. But, not just any magic, she wanted a pure and volatile element, the essence of what makes up the World. She either wanted the Breath of the Wind, the Tears of the Water, the Core of the Earth, or the Embers of Fire.
Mockingly, she sneered and went away.
The boy was challenged, but willing to try. He left her a love note written on one of his trick playing cards-- the Ace of Rogues, to be exact. He told her he would find one of the elements to prove his love. He left it unsigned, but nailed it to her door knowing that she would know it was one of his cards.
The boy first traveled to the Palace of the Earth, far below. He spoke to the Prince of Stones and explained his plight. He asked for one of the Prince's elements to show his intent to his lady love. But, the Prince of Stones was a hard man and refused. He told the boy he was too soft and that love would not move his heart.
Then, the boy traveled to the Sky World to speak to the Princess of Clouds. He begged and pleaded her to relinquish an elemental into his custody to show his heart to the girl. The Princess of Clouds was sympathetic, and told the boy that his air was true. Yet, the elements of air always remain free.
Undeterred, he went to the Planes of the Ocean. He swam through great length and rode the sea creatures to speak to the Emperor of Water. With the use of an enchanted shell, he spoke through the depth of the sea and requested an elemental to accompany him to the dry lands above. He politely made his argument on why he needed the assistance to help him woo the most beautiful girl in the world. But, the Emperor was a logical man, and knew that none of his people would survive. He needed to protect his water elementals, and told the boy to be on his way.
Lastly, the boy went to the spiked, scorched volcano that was the Kingdom of Flame. It was a horrid place where everything was burned and ash. He addressed the Lord of Fire, who was known to be a cruel man. When the boy bravely told him what he wanted, the Lord of Fire laughed in his face. "Of course. I will relinquish one of my elementals to you. But, know this. Proving your true love will kill my daughter. Take her with you, and if you truly love this woman, capture my daughter in this magic vial in front of your woman. Your lady will see that you have proved yourself in blood and flame."
The boy escorted the Lord of Fire's daughter to his city with the magic vial in hand. Throughout the entire journey, he was torn. He did not wish to kill anyone. The Lord's daughter, too, did not wish to die-- but she was in no place to contest her father's wishes. Then, the boy had an idea.
He knocked on the door of his lady love. When the girl answered, he told her he had the Fire elemental she had requested. He would place her in the vial, too, in a great show of genuine magic.
With his cloak, he preformed the greatest and largest slight-of-hand trick. It was all illusion and grandeur; and with a flicker, the daughter of the Fire Lord was gone, and the vial was filled with smoke, ashes, and fire.
He handed the warm vial to his love. She was surprised and astonished by how he truly captured an element of the world and went through the trials and tribulations to prove himself a man. She agreed to marry him.
The elemental lived free from the torment of her father and was not sacrificed by the boy. To this day, it is said she is the only free elemental of the world, burning in passion with her own will.
In the old days, boys had to woo the girls they loved through acts of bravery and heroics.
There was one such boy who was all but incapable of such things. He was small and skinny, and lacked any hair on his chin. But, he was a clever boy. He was interested in magic.
It was not the sort of magic of warlocks and mages. He actually had no talent there, either. He enjoyed tricks, slight-of-hand and optical illusions. He had his sights set on the fairest girl in the city.
She was tow-headed and fair skinned. She was a beautiful girl who had her choice of any male in town. When the boy came and asked for her hand in marriage-- she laughed at him.
She jokingly told him she would only marry him if he was able to bring her a vial of actual magic. But, not just any magic, she wanted a pure and volatile element, the essence of what makes up the World. She either wanted the Breath of the Wind, the Tears of the Water, the Core of the Earth, or the Embers of Fire.
Mockingly, she sneered and went away.
The boy was challenged, but willing to try. He left her a love note written on one of his trick playing cards-- the Ace of Rogues, to be exact. He told her he would find one of the elements to prove his love. He left it unsigned, but nailed it to her door knowing that she would know it was one of his cards.
The boy first traveled to the Palace of the Earth, far below. He spoke to the Prince of Stones and explained his plight. He asked for one of the Prince's elements to show his intent to his lady love. But, the Prince of Stones was a hard man and refused. He told the boy he was too soft and that love would not move his heart.
Then, the boy traveled to the Sky World to speak to the Princess of Clouds. He begged and pleaded her to relinquish an elemental into his custody to show his heart to the girl. The Princess of Clouds was sympathetic, and told the boy that his air was true. Yet, the elements of air always remain free.
Undeterred, he went to the Planes of the Ocean. He swam through great length and rode the sea creatures to speak to the Emperor of Water. With the use of an enchanted shell, he spoke through the depth of the sea and requested an elemental to accompany him to the dry lands above. He politely made his argument on why he needed the assistance to help him woo the most beautiful girl in the world. But, the Emperor was a logical man, and knew that none of his people would survive. He needed to protect his water elementals, and told the boy to be on his way.
Lastly, the boy went to the spiked, scorched volcano that was the Kingdom of Flame. It was a horrid place where everything was burned and ash. He addressed the Lord of Fire, who was known to be a cruel man. When the boy bravely told him what he wanted, the Lord of Fire laughed in his face. "Of course. I will relinquish one of my elementals to you. But, know this. Proving your true love will kill my daughter. Take her with you, and if you truly love this woman, capture my daughter in this magic vial in front of your woman. Your lady will see that you have proved yourself in blood and flame."
The boy escorted the Lord of Fire's daughter to his city with the magic vial in hand. Throughout the entire journey, he was torn. He did not wish to kill anyone. The Lord's daughter, too, did not wish to die-- but she was in no place to contest her father's wishes. Then, the boy had an idea.
He knocked on the door of his lady love. When the girl answered, he told her he had the Fire elemental she had requested. He would place her in the vial, too, in a great show of genuine magic.
With his cloak, he preformed the greatest and largest slight-of-hand trick. It was all illusion and grandeur; and with a flicker, the daughter of the Fire Lord was gone, and the vial was filled with smoke, ashes, and fire.
He handed the warm vial to his love. She was surprised and astonished by how he truly captured an element of the world and went through the trials and tribulations to prove himself a man. She agreed to marry him.
The elemental lived free from the torment of her father and was not sacrificed by the boy. To this day, it is said she is the only free elemental of the world, burning in passion with her own will.
A short tale
((Wyrmrest Accord))
Another story?
Well. There is one other. A tragedy, really. Not... a comedy. A very sad story, but. I hear it is a true story. Sometimes the saddest things in life are the true things.
There once was a gnomish couple. The man was elderly, and lived his life with a love of all things mechanical. He was like most gnomes in that way, except he was brilliant. His machines never blew up or malfunctioned. They were beautiful gems of art and function.
What he was most passionate about was recreating life. Improving it, perhaps, as machines did not make mistakes or do things they were not programmed to do. And, if they broke, they were easily fixed-- unlike people.
What he made most often were automatons. They were creatures, like spiders and cats. What he wanted to do most was make a perfect humanoid automaton. He began to do exactly that. He worked day and night on it. Months. Years. He worked alone and in his workshop behind the small cottage he and his wife shared creating the perfect humanoid automaton.
His wife was becoming lonely and isolated from him. She came to him crying, saying he ought to give up the machines and spend what little life they had left together. They argued all though the night. When, finally, she broke and accused him of loving the machines more than her.
To hurt her, he agreed. Even though it wasn't true.
His wife sobbed in her chair in the living-room. She was inconsolable, and wept through the night. He tried to comfort her, but it was no use. Finally, he went to bed without her.
When he woke, his wife was stiff and cold in the chair. She had passed in the night. She had died of a broken heart.
Distraught, he sought comfort in his machine. He continued building the automaton, now alone in the world. The more he worked, the more the creation began to look like his love. He smoothed the lips into the perfect heart shape his wife had. He made the eyes the same sky blue and the slope of her nose just right.
When it was finally completed and perfected, he thought to take the creation before a panel of judges, as so they could see the magnificence of his machine. Before he left, he wanted to feel one last kiss from his wife. Perhaps it was to apologize, or perhaps it was to say goodbye. He felt compelled, drawn by the idea of her warmth and love.
He pulled in to kiss her, and tasted the copper and the cold steel. Then, suddenly, he felt a hard and painful crack against his chest. The machine had hit him, very hard, right in the center of his core where his heart thumped.
He was thrown across the room with a giant welt to his chest. The machine had killed him, broken his heart, just as he had broken his wife's.
They were together at least, together and bound. Two shattered hearts beating as one.
Another story?
Well. There is one other. A tragedy, really. Not... a comedy. A very sad story, but. I hear it is a true story. Sometimes the saddest things in life are the true things.
There once was a gnomish couple. The man was elderly, and lived his life with a love of all things mechanical. He was like most gnomes in that way, except he was brilliant. His machines never blew up or malfunctioned. They were beautiful gems of art and function.
What he was most passionate about was recreating life. Improving it, perhaps, as machines did not make mistakes or do things they were not programmed to do. And, if they broke, they were easily fixed-- unlike people.
What he made most often were automatons. They were creatures, like spiders and cats. What he wanted to do most was make a perfect humanoid automaton. He began to do exactly that. He worked day and night on it. Months. Years. He worked alone and in his workshop behind the small cottage he and his wife shared creating the perfect humanoid automaton.
His wife was becoming lonely and isolated from him. She came to him crying, saying he ought to give up the machines and spend what little life they had left together. They argued all though the night. When, finally, she broke and accused him of loving the machines more than her.
To hurt her, he agreed. Even though it wasn't true.
His wife sobbed in her chair in the living-room. She was inconsolable, and wept through the night. He tried to comfort her, but it was no use. Finally, he went to bed without her.
When he woke, his wife was stiff and cold in the chair. She had passed in the night. She had died of a broken heart.
Distraught, he sought comfort in his machine. He continued building the automaton, now alone in the world. The more he worked, the more the creation began to look like his love. He smoothed the lips into the perfect heart shape his wife had. He made the eyes the same sky blue and the slope of her nose just right.
When it was finally completed and perfected, he thought to take the creation before a panel of judges, as so they could see the magnificence of his machine. Before he left, he wanted to feel one last kiss from his wife. Perhaps it was to apologize, or perhaps it was to say goodbye. He felt compelled, drawn by the idea of her warmth and love.
He pulled in to kiss her, and tasted the copper and the cold steel. Then, suddenly, he felt a hard and painful crack against his chest. The machine had hit him, very hard, right in the center of his core where his heart thumped.
He was thrown across the room with a giant welt to his chest. The machine had killed him, broken his heart, just as he had broken his wife's.
They were together at least, together and bound. Two shattered hearts beating as one.
Monday, November 5, 2012
A story
((Wyrmrest Accord))
Allow me to tell you a story my father used to tell me as a boy.
It is a fairy-tale. But, it is not the sort of fairy-tell that they tell children now. It is a raw story, to teach a lesson through blood and pain.
If you're willing to listen, maybe you will even hear what it is that is meant to be learned.
There once was a cave. Within the cave, the Earth Mother gave birth. From her loins sprang all the gods and goddesses there ever were. From the cave and her womb was all the things that ever came to be in the world. From joy and happiness to death and change.
Centuries passed, and a large kingdom and small village was built near the Cave of the World. However, no citizens dared ventured near it. For the cave was a sacred and hallowed ground.
But, the kingdom and the village were in dire strife. A drought had killed the crops and threatened to destroy the people.
Within the kingdom was a large castle. The castle housed the king's massive army and noblemen and women. The king would not let his army starve. Even though the village was on the brink of collapse, he still had grain and water to feed the people closest to him.
The village would not stand for this. They demanded their king come and address the issues of the drought.
The night before the king arrived to speak to his people, a bold girl within the village traveled to the Cave of the World. She prayed to the Mother Goddess and all of her children.
The girl heard a voice. And the voice told her to take a rock from the cave and strike the king when he came to speak.
Only a fool ignores the voice of a god.
The king came. He was a greedy and wicked man, and when the people called out for food, he laughed at them and told them to make their bread with sawdust and ash.
Out of anger, the girl threw the rock from the Cave of the World. It soared through the air, above the villagers and soldiers alike. It struck the king in the temple, and he fell dead.
Days later, the king's son took the throne. He was a generous, kindly man. He took all the grain from the castle and distributed it to the villagers. And they were happy.
But, the soldiers and noblemen noticed their rations being depleted from what they once were. One soldier in particular found the rock that killed the king. Out of a sense of irony and justice, he struck the prince in the back of the skull and killed him with the stone Of the World.
Both the castle and the village were now facing disaster. Both were starved and leaderless. Both were set to collapse.
The bold girl of the village found the cursed rock from the Cave of the World. It was the same stone that had tasted the blood of the gods, the blood of the evil king, and the blood of the benevolent prince. Out of bitterness, she threw the unlucky stone off a steep ravine.
Then, the voice of the gods whispered to her. If she threw herself from the ravine and sacrificed more blood, all would be forgiven.
She had no choice. She could kill herself and follow the will of the gods, or she could starve. The girl threw herself off the cliff. Her heart was crushed against the stone, and her bones turned to seafoam. The stone devoured her blood as it promised.
The next day, rain began to fall. It was a hard, weeping rain that cleansed the world and swept the drought away. Crops began to flourish, and the seasons harvest was in abundance. Both the castle and the village was saved.
And that is the end.
Allow me to tell you a story my father used to tell me as a boy.
It is a fairy-tale. But, it is not the sort of fairy-tell that they tell children now. It is a raw story, to teach a lesson through blood and pain.
If you're willing to listen, maybe you will even hear what it is that is meant to be learned.
There once was a cave. Within the cave, the Earth Mother gave birth. From her loins sprang all the gods and goddesses there ever were. From the cave and her womb was all the things that ever came to be in the world. From joy and happiness to death and change.
Centuries passed, and a large kingdom and small village was built near the Cave of the World. However, no citizens dared ventured near it. For the cave was a sacred and hallowed ground.
But, the kingdom and the village were in dire strife. A drought had killed the crops and threatened to destroy the people.
Within the kingdom was a large castle. The castle housed the king's massive army and noblemen and women. The king would not let his army starve. Even though the village was on the brink of collapse, he still had grain and water to feed the people closest to him.
The village would not stand for this. They demanded their king come and address the issues of the drought.
The night before the king arrived to speak to his people, a bold girl within the village traveled to the Cave of the World. She prayed to the Mother Goddess and all of her children.
The girl heard a voice. And the voice told her to take a rock from the cave and strike the king when he came to speak.
Only a fool ignores the voice of a god.
The king came. He was a greedy and wicked man, and when the people called out for food, he laughed at them and told them to make their bread with sawdust and ash.
Out of anger, the girl threw the rock from the Cave of the World. It soared through the air, above the villagers and soldiers alike. It struck the king in the temple, and he fell dead.
Days later, the king's son took the throne. He was a generous, kindly man. He took all the grain from the castle and distributed it to the villagers. And they were happy.
But, the soldiers and noblemen noticed their rations being depleted from what they once were. One soldier in particular found the rock that killed the king. Out of a sense of irony and justice, he struck the prince in the back of the skull and killed him with the stone Of the World.
Both the castle and the village were now facing disaster. Both were starved and leaderless. Both were set to collapse.
The bold girl of the village found the cursed rock from the Cave of the World. It was the same stone that had tasted the blood of the gods, the blood of the evil king, and the blood of the benevolent prince. Out of bitterness, she threw the unlucky stone off a steep ravine.
Then, the voice of the gods whispered to her. If she threw herself from the ravine and sacrificed more blood, all would be forgiven.
She had no choice. She could kill herself and follow the will of the gods, or she could starve. The girl threw herself off the cliff. Her heart was crushed against the stone, and her bones turned to seafoam. The stone devoured her blood as it promised.
The next day, rain began to fall. It was a hard, weeping rain that cleansed the world and swept the drought away. Crops began to flourish, and the seasons harvest was in abundance. Both the castle and the village was saved.
And that is the end.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Journal page 16
The quiet slumber of a thought that does not come to fruition and only rests on the very tip of my tongue frustrates even the most proud man.
I felt this way as I took my journal down from my study. I wished to write. I wished to express my frustrations, my fear, and my resignation. But, no words blossomed their fruit. How can a person explain in mere words that their very bones are chilled by the thoughts of the dark unknown?
I was sent a death threat a week ago. It was signed with only a smear of blood. The letter was so ominous, so cold and clear like a winter's morning. Yet now it sits in front of me. Crumbled, water stained. Folded. It it like a broken bird or an old man. The blood stain is now a brown, dried crust. Such a simple, tired thing has brought me so much fear.
I have told a few that I trust about the letter in order to hear in places that I cannot hear, and to see in places I cannot see in order to find the source. The trail is as dry and empty as Tanaris.
And so I go about my day as if nothing as happened. My employees harvest the fields, their hands stained red from pigment of ripe bloothistle blossoms. I speak to my bookkeeper. I have several meetings with distributors, suppliers, and bulk-purchasing customers. Later, I made another anonymous donation of profits to some children in Orgimmar. They shall never know their benefactor, and I intend to keep it that way.
It has been a while since we spoken, my friend. And I am glad we have talked as so I can place my thoughts down on this page, deleting them from my brain. The weight of the worries will not be missed. I thank you for this.
Your friend,
Kiaphus
I felt this way as I took my journal down from my study. I wished to write. I wished to express my frustrations, my fear, and my resignation. But, no words blossomed their fruit. How can a person explain in mere words that their very bones are chilled by the thoughts of the dark unknown?
I was sent a death threat a week ago. It was signed with only a smear of blood. The letter was so ominous, so cold and clear like a winter's morning. Yet now it sits in front of me. Crumbled, water stained. Folded. It it like a broken bird or an old man. The blood stain is now a brown, dried crust. Such a simple, tired thing has brought me so much fear.
I have told a few that I trust about the letter in order to hear in places that I cannot hear, and to see in places I cannot see in order to find the source. The trail is as dry and empty as Tanaris.
And so I go about my day as if nothing as happened. My employees harvest the fields, their hands stained red from pigment of ripe bloothistle blossoms. I speak to my bookkeeper. I have several meetings with distributors, suppliers, and bulk-purchasing customers. Later, I made another anonymous donation of profits to some children in Orgimmar. They shall never know their benefactor, and I intend to keep it that way.
It has been a while since we spoken, my friend. And I am glad we have talked as so I can place my thoughts down on this page, deleting them from my brain. The weight of the worries will not be missed. I thank you for this.
Your friend,
Kiaphus
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Journal page 15
Redemption is not something I have openly sought. I do not wish to change, or be changed by someone else. Whether or not I am judged by the spirit healer upon my death for the indiscretions in my life is something I have learned to accept, regardless of the outcome.
If she whispers her secret words to damn me, then I am a damned creature indeed.
That being said, the actions that I have taken are entirely of my own choosing. But, yes, it was my love that had planted the idea in my head. I did not do them to make amends in my life. I only feel guilt to a certain point. As she had said once when I asked her if she had any moral or ethical qualms with what I do, her reply was this, "Does the lion feel guilt for sinking his teeth into the gazelle?" It is in my nature to do what I do, and I should not feel remorse.
We had discussed what would happen upon my death. As I do not have any family members listed with the Magistrate, if I die my money and estate would then belong to the Silvermoon government. I expressed to her that I do not wish to continue feeding into the bloated corruption of our city.
And then she suggested to me the actions that I have since taken.
It was a rainy afternoon, but I was wet with sweat. I had spent the entire day packing. I knew that this task could not be done with assistance. It was something that, for many reasons, I had to do by myself. I waited until it was dark to move. One does not realize how heavy, clumsy, and otherwise bulky hundreds of thousands of gold pieces are. It felt like I was loading massive tons of bricks into the cart. It took from sun up to sun down to count, organize, pack, and load all that money alone.
I am not a terribly religious man. While I understand that gods and goddesses exist, it always prompted the philosophical question of the existence of the soul. I have heard once from a thoughtful man that one is not born with a soul; it is something that is earned through suffering, reflection, and personal growth. I am a stubborn man, and have always wondered if I was one to be granted such a gift. Perhaps I now have one saving grace that would make that true.
Once I loaded the gold into the cart-- (packed tightly in bags that were locked into crates) I took with me several guns, knives, and weapons to keep me safe on the journey. My talbuk pulled myself and the cart with some reluctance, but, as one of my oldest and most loyal friends, he proceeded without complaint.
We journeyed to the lower city of Shattrath. It was an uneventful tale, as I was only stopped once by the Dark Portal checkpoint. They did not search and check me, as I explained that it was merely an unexciting supply cart of food and medical supplies. With my haggard appearance, I think that I was easily believable.
I stopped the cart in front of the Shattrath orphanage. I paid someone a small sum to a random passerby to explain to the matron that it was the first of many like it to come. She did not ask nor look into the cart to see what it was, though I am sure she will soon find out once she begins to unload the gold. It was a very large anonymous donation.
When I saw the state of the orphanage, my heart sank. I did not feel good about what I had done, I only realized how much more they need. The carpeting was threadbare. The matron's desk was being propped up by a book. The children looked underfed and their clothes were rags. There were few toys, and many of the ones they had were broken. There was a putrid, stale scent that I could not shake from my clothes, even as I left.
I intend to continue spilling my gold into causes like this. It isn't to make myself feel good, but perhaps I will have earned a small reason to justify my existence. And, perhaps when I die, I will have earned a eternal spirit.
Yours truly,
Kiaphus
If she whispers her secret words to damn me, then I am a damned creature indeed.
That being said, the actions that I have taken are entirely of my own choosing. But, yes, it was my love that had planted the idea in my head. I did not do them to make amends in my life. I only feel guilt to a certain point. As she had said once when I asked her if she had any moral or ethical qualms with what I do, her reply was this, "Does the lion feel guilt for sinking his teeth into the gazelle?" It is in my nature to do what I do, and I should not feel remorse.
We had discussed what would happen upon my death. As I do not have any family members listed with the Magistrate, if I die my money and estate would then belong to the Silvermoon government. I expressed to her that I do not wish to continue feeding into the bloated corruption of our city.
And then she suggested to me the actions that I have since taken.
It was a rainy afternoon, but I was wet with sweat. I had spent the entire day packing. I knew that this task could not be done with assistance. It was something that, for many reasons, I had to do by myself. I waited until it was dark to move. One does not realize how heavy, clumsy, and otherwise bulky hundreds of thousands of gold pieces are. It felt like I was loading massive tons of bricks into the cart. It took from sun up to sun down to count, organize, pack, and load all that money alone.
I am not a terribly religious man. While I understand that gods and goddesses exist, it always prompted the philosophical question of the existence of the soul. I have heard once from a thoughtful man that one is not born with a soul; it is something that is earned through suffering, reflection, and personal growth. I am a stubborn man, and have always wondered if I was one to be granted such a gift. Perhaps I now have one saving grace that would make that true.
Once I loaded the gold into the cart-- (packed tightly in bags that were locked into crates) I took with me several guns, knives, and weapons to keep me safe on the journey. My talbuk pulled myself and the cart with some reluctance, but, as one of my oldest and most loyal friends, he proceeded without complaint.
We journeyed to the lower city of Shattrath. It was an uneventful tale, as I was only stopped once by the Dark Portal checkpoint. They did not search and check me, as I explained that it was merely an unexciting supply cart of food and medical supplies. With my haggard appearance, I think that I was easily believable.
I stopped the cart in front of the Shattrath orphanage. I paid someone a small sum to a random passerby to explain to the matron that it was the first of many like it to come. She did not ask nor look into the cart to see what it was, though I am sure she will soon find out once she begins to unload the gold. It was a very large anonymous donation.
When I saw the state of the orphanage, my heart sank. I did not feel good about what I had done, I only realized how much more they need. The carpeting was threadbare. The matron's desk was being propped up by a book. The children looked underfed and their clothes were rags. There were few toys, and many of the ones they had were broken. There was a putrid, stale scent that I could not shake from my clothes, even as I left.
I intend to continue spilling my gold into causes like this. It isn't to make myself feel good, but perhaps I will have earned a small reason to justify my existence. And, perhaps when I die, I will have earned a eternal spirit.
Yours truly,
Kiaphus
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Journal page 14
Today I went to the hawkstrider races. I had to meet a larger client, and he has a soft spot for gambling.
He was a round man with an incredible estate towards the south of Silvermoon. He has a massive appetite for food, women, money, and bloodthistle. Truthfully, my mind was not on the races. I am too cautious of a man to have a lot of interest in gambling. Thus, when my bird lost, I didn't lose a lot of gold.
My client, however, did. He had been drinking and this sent him into a rage. It irked him even further that I didn't appear bothered by my losses. As a result, he impulsively decided to cease doing business with me.
I was bothered as I returned home. My clothes stank of the stables and alcohol from the race track.
The events of yesterday were still fresh and beautiful images in my mind, like a new bouquet of roses. Had I been more focused on the races instead of the party yesterday I probably wouldn't have lost that client.
I am still not entirely sure how I received an invitation to the noble ball, held by Lord D'lanastian. It was meant for those lords and ladies of Silvermoon of higher estate. I asked my love to accompany me, and she did. Had she not been there I would not have stayed long, or perhaps even attended.
Like the sun itself, she lit up the room. The sight of her is forever burned into my memory. Her hair was the sheen of a raven's feather. Her cerulean gown had the same blue of midnight, and offset the soft color of her eyes. She was perfect, and I was enamored.
With her at my side I felt more confident to make my rounds and rub shoulders with the upper escalations of society. I made off-handed insults and introduced myself to everyone. The night was not a complete loss as I originally assumed.
All in all, it was a good night. Despite my losses, I am still ahead.
Your friend,
--Kiaphus
He was a round man with an incredible estate towards the south of Silvermoon. He has a massive appetite for food, women, money, and bloodthistle. Truthfully, my mind was not on the races. I am too cautious of a man to have a lot of interest in gambling. Thus, when my bird lost, I didn't lose a lot of gold.
My client, however, did. He had been drinking and this sent him into a rage. It irked him even further that I didn't appear bothered by my losses. As a result, he impulsively decided to cease doing business with me.
I was bothered as I returned home. My clothes stank of the stables and alcohol from the race track.
The events of yesterday were still fresh and beautiful images in my mind, like a new bouquet of roses. Had I been more focused on the races instead of the party yesterday I probably wouldn't have lost that client.
I am still not entirely sure how I received an invitation to the noble ball, held by Lord D'lanastian. It was meant for those lords and ladies of Silvermoon of higher estate. I asked my love to accompany me, and she did. Had she not been there I would not have stayed long, or perhaps even attended.
Like the sun itself, she lit up the room. The sight of her is forever burned into my memory. Her hair was the sheen of a raven's feather. Her cerulean gown had the same blue of midnight, and offset the soft color of her eyes. She was perfect, and I was enamored.
With her at my side I felt more confident to make my rounds and rub shoulders with the upper escalations of society. I made off-handed insults and introduced myself to everyone. The night was not a complete loss as I originally assumed.
All in all, it was a good night. Despite my losses, I am still ahead.
Your friend,
--Kiaphus
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Journal page 13
"You will not be punished for your anger. You will be punished by your anger."
I only think of this now because of the lecture I endured by my nemesis and friend, Opalette. She does not believe that I am capable of changing my issues with rage.
I believe that saying to be true. The suffering I have caused others is likely as equal to the suffering I caused myself. That is not to say that I do not deserve some recompense for the harm that I have done. I do deserve to be punished for my sins and for others to seek justice.
And if that day never comes, I will not be at peace. I torment myself as much as I've tormented others. It is not an excuse, but a mere fact. I am a man fueled by anger, and anger is as equally destructive inside of me as it is on the out.
She does not believe that I am capable of love. I do not deserve to love, or in turn, be loved. This truly caused me a moment of pause. What if she is right? What sort of piece of shit am I to bring this woman into my life only to harm her in the end?
But, after some reflection, I do not believe this to be true. Already I have changed slightly. I am not becoming someone else. Rather, I am growing.
Everything changes, even if nothing is truly lost.
I doubt I will ever be without my wrath. Though, the little things have come to bother me less since I have had this woman in my life. With time, I wonder if even the larger things will come to irk me.
Which brings me to several notes I mean to discuss, but have not had the time to do so.
Yes, I told my friends and the women I had been sleeping with about my new girlfriend. I broke it off with them completely. I was forthright and honest. But, for her sake and safety, I never disclosed her name. There are many people looking to harm me and what I hold dear.... and they aren't merely spurned women.
And yes, the number of people looking to run me out of town grows. The Blood Knights have become particularly interested in me, and have been questioning my woman. I do trust her. She has told them nothing.
One Blood Knight in particular has become interested in the shipments of thistle running in and out of Booty Bay. I always keep my employees armed, but if he manages to shine light on my business to higher authorities, I may have to think about relocating the central hub. This could cost me a fortune. My problems continue to increase, despite the beautiful silver lining I have found in my life. Normally, this would send me into a blind rage. Thanks to her, I have been restrained.
I have no desire to kill Blood Knights. Generally speaking, they are good, honest, and true men. But, they see me as some sort of monster. I've been told that people have come to see me as the mob boss of the entire Row. I'm flattered, but this is not remotely true. For one thing, I have nothing to do with the people trafficking that occurs within the Dark Market. I have one niche, that is it.
The Blood Knights seek a villain that they can all agree upon to hate and waste their energies. Apparently, I have become that man. While many of the things that I do are morally questionable, I am a necessary evil, and far better than the alternative. Additionally, the corruption within their ranks is as just as vile as my own wickedness. Actually, if you wanted my opinion, I think it is worse. They are hypocrites. I at least make no qualms about openly stating that what I do isn't entirely 'good.'
My blood is just as red as theirs.
Your friend always,
Kiaphus
Monday, July 23, 2012
Journal page 12
A lot has happened, and I have not the time to even sleep or eat let alone speak with you, my dear friend.
But as my darling love rests beside me, I can spare a moment.
It was an unexpected, but no less delightful occurrence. Through the darkness and bleak troubles, a flower has bloomed. I was asked to attend a formal held by one of my best customers. I thought of no one else to accompany me than the woman I love. I fully expected her to decline.
She did not.
We decided to discuss the matter further, and I spirited her away to Feralas. It was there we spoke at great length, and I confessed to the emotional burden I had been carrying. I betrayed the promise to myself, knowing that I was very likely destroying our friendship.
But, this was not new, I have a tendency to turn to shit everything I care for.
But, she smiled at me.
I declared that I desired no one else but her. I reached into my chest and pulled out my heart, warm, barely alive, and gasping for air. She took it into her hands gently.
We decided we were to be together, and at least see what happens. I am... terrified.
I realize that my life is a jumble of chaos. She may become overwhelmed and leave me. I would not blame her.
I have yet to touch her or kiss her. I do not wish to ruin this, as I have done to everything else.
I hear her breath, rising and falling as she quietly sleeps. I write with one arm as one is hooked around her waist. Her head rests on my shoulder. I know heaven.
Yours truly,
--Kiaphus
But as my darling love rests beside me, I can spare a moment.
It was an unexpected, but no less delightful occurrence. Through the darkness and bleak troubles, a flower has bloomed. I was asked to attend a formal held by one of my best customers. I thought of no one else to accompany me than the woman I love. I fully expected her to decline.
She did not.
We decided to discuss the matter further, and I spirited her away to Feralas. It was there we spoke at great length, and I confessed to the emotional burden I had been carrying. I betrayed the promise to myself, knowing that I was very likely destroying our friendship.
But, this was not new, I have a tendency to turn to shit everything I care for.
But, she smiled at me.
I declared that I desired no one else but her. I reached into my chest and pulled out my heart, warm, barely alive, and gasping for air. She took it into her hands gently.
We decided we were to be together, and at least see what happens. I am... terrified.
I realize that my life is a jumble of chaos. She may become overwhelmed and leave me. I would not blame her.
I have yet to touch her or kiss her. I do not wish to ruin this, as I have done to everything else.
I hear her breath, rising and falling as she quietly sleeps. I write with one arm as one is hooked around her waist. Her head rests on my shoulder. I know heaven.
Yours truly,
--Kiaphus
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Journal page 11
I once heard someone say that an increase in Light is also an increase in darkness.
I believe this to be true.
Without going into exhausting detail, Opalette and I had come into an understanding. I realized that I was only enraged by her because she had the guts to speak the truth to me. She held up the mirror to me metaphorically speaking, and I simply hated what I saw. I was not angry at her this entire time, I learned that I was angry and hated myself. She was merely the messenger.
She told me many other things, of which I do not wish to divulge, even here.
Due to her insightful words, I learned a lot about myself. There are some things that I wish to change, and others I know I cannot.
A day after this occurred, I felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. I went about my day-to-day things reflecting on what she said. I filed paperwork. I completed inventory on my thistle. I went over the budget and saw to my employee's concerns.
Then, I returned to the Row to resume my sales.
I was jumped.
It was five or six people. I was with Selysong at the time and with us two-- we were no match for them. They dislocated my jaw and stole my day's worth of thistle. I noticed the little things.
They were all masked, yet used one another's names. When they abducted Selysong, they did not make a kidnapper's demands. They asked for nothing.
Through the help of a friend, I was able to locate Selysong. They had beaten her brutally for the sake of cruelty. They wanted nothing but to inflict pain on someone else. They had removed her tongue and broken many bones.
One of them, strangely, returned my stolen belongings. After some cajoling, they released my priestess friend.
I am familiar with the darkness in someone's soul. I am aware of my own. Even though I had become committed to bettering myself, a certain black rage still lingers. An increase in Light is also an increase in darkness.
I caught one of the attackers alone. I beat her mercilessly in the way they had beaten Selysong. I removed her tongue. I broke many of her ribs.
Although I have decided to perhaps change my perspective and the way I relate to women, I feel no remorse in finding revenge. I am not a sadist, and found no pleasure in what I have done. But at the same time, I made it clear that actions have consequences. It was a difficult lesson I learned myself. Without her tongue, I could not hear her pleas for mercy.
Selysong has not been made aware of the actions I took on her behalf. I am unsure if I will tell her, either. It was something I had done for myself, moreso than her, perhaps.
I do not regret my actions.
Your friend,
--Kiaphus
I believe this to be true.
Without going into exhausting detail, Opalette and I had come into an understanding. I realized that I was only enraged by her because she had the guts to speak the truth to me. She held up the mirror to me metaphorically speaking, and I simply hated what I saw. I was not angry at her this entire time, I learned that I was angry and hated myself. She was merely the messenger.
She told me many other things, of which I do not wish to divulge, even here.
Due to her insightful words, I learned a lot about myself. There are some things that I wish to change, and others I know I cannot.
A day after this occurred, I felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. I went about my day-to-day things reflecting on what she said. I filed paperwork. I completed inventory on my thistle. I went over the budget and saw to my employee's concerns.
Then, I returned to the Row to resume my sales.
I was jumped.
It was five or six people. I was with Selysong at the time and with us two-- we were no match for them. They dislocated my jaw and stole my day's worth of thistle. I noticed the little things.
They were all masked, yet used one another's names. When they abducted Selysong, they did not make a kidnapper's demands. They asked for nothing.
Through the help of a friend, I was able to locate Selysong. They had beaten her brutally for the sake of cruelty. They wanted nothing but to inflict pain on someone else. They had removed her tongue and broken many bones.
One of them, strangely, returned my stolen belongings. After some cajoling, they released my priestess friend.
I am familiar with the darkness in someone's soul. I am aware of my own. Even though I had become committed to bettering myself, a certain black rage still lingers. An increase in Light is also an increase in darkness.
I caught one of the attackers alone. I beat her mercilessly in the way they had beaten Selysong. I removed her tongue. I broke many of her ribs.
Although I have decided to perhaps change my perspective and the way I relate to women, I feel no remorse in finding revenge. I am not a sadist, and found no pleasure in what I have done. But at the same time, I made it clear that actions have consequences. It was a difficult lesson I learned myself. Without her tongue, I could not hear her pleas for mercy.
Selysong has not been made aware of the actions I took on her behalf. I am unsure if I will tell her, either. It was something I had done for myself, moreso than her, perhaps.
I do not regret my actions.
Your friend,
--Kiaphus
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Journal page 10
I had a curiously uneventful evening. Though, it was no less interesting.
There were no Blood Knights sniffing around. Nor were there half-hearted attempts on my life.
I did cross Opalette, however. She instigated an argument.
I cannot recall the exact words that were said, though the truth that spilled from her lips were insightful enough that they struck a cord. I became enraged with her, and once again wished to strike her down. She said something to the effect of me not truly having the desire to kill someone, but rather I had a desire to kill my anger.
Honestly, truer words were never spoken. Once broken down she implies that I do not wish to kill others-- but myself, at least, a part of myself.
I did not realize this, but at the time, we were being watched.
There was a female there. A young one, who saw the whole argument. After I walked away and cooled off, she approached me. Timidly.
We spoke for hours. She brought up the situation with Opalette, and admitted she saw the whole thing. It lead to a philosophical discussion. I told her many things about my life that I rarely tell others.
It wasn't that she drew it from me, as if she had fingers that desired to open a shell to seek the pearl inside; rather it was that I gave the gem to her freely.
We wound up discussing the matters between nature and nurture. We questioned if we were the product of our own making or that of our environment. I ended up having her question herself. I felt as if I had given her a part of my soul, only to take away a little bit of her own. A trade, in a sense. Afterwards, I had questioned the morality of what I had done. I had murdered a little bit of her innocence.
So in a way, I did end up destroying a life tonight, merely not the one I intended. It was not Opal, nor myself.
Sometimes I wonder if it is my nature to be a monster, or if it was something that had happened to me.
Thoughtfully yours,
--Kiaphus
There were no Blood Knights sniffing around. Nor were there half-hearted attempts on my life.
I did cross Opalette, however. She instigated an argument.
I cannot recall the exact words that were said, though the truth that spilled from her lips were insightful enough that they struck a cord. I became enraged with her, and once again wished to strike her down. She said something to the effect of me not truly having the desire to kill someone, but rather I had a desire to kill my anger.
Honestly, truer words were never spoken. Once broken down she implies that I do not wish to kill others-- but myself, at least, a part of myself.
I did not realize this, but at the time, we were being watched.
There was a female there. A young one, who saw the whole argument. After I walked away and cooled off, she approached me. Timidly.
We spoke for hours. She brought up the situation with Opalette, and admitted she saw the whole thing. It lead to a philosophical discussion. I told her many things about my life that I rarely tell others.
It wasn't that she drew it from me, as if she had fingers that desired to open a shell to seek the pearl inside; rather it was that I gave the gem to her freely.
We wound up discussing the matters between nature and nurture. We questioned if we were the product of our own making or that of our environment. I ended up having her question herself. I felt as if I had given her a part of my soul, only to take away a little bit of her own. A trade, in a sense. Afterwards, I had questioned the morality of what I had done. I had murdered a little bit of her innocence.
So in a way, I did end up destroying a life tonight, merely not the one I intended. It was not Opal, nor myself.
Sometimes I wonder if it is my nature to be a monster, or if it was something that had happened to me.
Thoughtfully yours,
--Kiaphus
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Journal page 9
I have a problem.
That statement is entirely vague. I have many problems. But, nevertheless, this one is deeply pertinent.
Last night a Blood Knight came sniffing around. Not just any tin can, but one that wields some power and influence. He was completely cordial. But, I could hear between the words he was speaking. His eyes were cold and searching, and his grip in the handshake was far too strong. Our unspoken conversation was a warning. He is looking to destroy my business.
The wheels had to be set in motion immediately. I suspected his girlfriend.
His girlfriend and I have had intimate relations. It was a mistake allowing her to be part of my life, considering who she is and is with. She too, is a follower of the Light. I believe her to have betrayed my trust. I am a complete and utter fool and am following my own path to destruction. It couldn't have been a coincidence that now, while she and I have been spending time together, that he comes around.
I confronted her, and she denied it completely. I threatened her. I demanded that she find out what he knows and what he intends to do. I now wish to use her against him. If she does not comply, I shall kill her.
I have no intention of allowing my business to become ruined due to some righteous follower of so called, 'higher moral value.' I may have instigated this investigation due to my own weaknesses, but I have come out on top on far more troubling issues.
It will take me a while to sleep tonight.
--Kiaphus
That statement is entirely vague. I have many problems. But, nevertheless, this one is deeply pertinent.
Last night a Blood Knight came sniffing around. Not just any tin can, but one that wields some power and influence. He was completely cordial. But, I could hear between the words he was speaking. His eyes were cold and searching, and his grip in the handshake was far too strong. Our unspoken conversation was a warning. He is looking to destroy my business.
The wheels had to be set in motion immediately. I suspected his girlfriend.
His girlfriend and I have had intimate relations. It was a mistake allowing her to be part of my life, considering who she is and is with. She too, is a follower of the Light. I believe her to have betrayed my trust. I am a complete and utter fool and am following my own path to destruction. It couldn't have been a coincidence that now, while she and I have been spending time together, that he comes around.
I confronted her, and she denied it completely. I threatened her. I demanded that she find out what he knows and what he intends to do. I now wish to use her against him. If she does not comply, I shall kill her.
I have no intention of allowing my business to become ruined due to some righteous follower of so called, 'higher moral value.' I may have instigated this investigation due to my own weaknesses, but I have come out on top on far more troubling issues.
It will take me a while to sleep tonight.
--Kiaphus
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Journal page 8
I woke late this afternoon to one of my employees pounding on my front door.
I answered it, and let him in for coffee. He proceeded to inform me about a pestilence that has struck one of my larger crops. It destroyed a thousand gold worth of profit in several days. They attempted to get control of the situation, and could not. Thus, he came to me.
To be honest, I hardly heard a word he said. I could only stare at the steam rising from the cup. Curls of silver drifted from the black liquid and dissipated into the stale afternoon air.
He wondered what was on my mind. I could tell that he worried about my temper due to the situation of the thistle crops. He seemed startled that I hardly had any reaction at all. I think he expected me to hurt him when he came to my front door.
I could not tell him the true reason for my lack of interest.
I had spent last night with the woman I loved.
And when I say that, I do not mean physically intimately. Though, the thoughts had crossed my mind dozens of times.
She took me to a place of her's late in the evening. We spoke until the sun cracked through the sky in shades of violet, pink, and gold.
Every moment I was with her caused all the twitches and aches in my body to disintegrate. I was young again, and my heart was filled with a tranquility and joy that is beyond expression.
I promised myself to not explain to her how I felt. Such a thing would only lead to further misery.
Yet I did not fully keep that promise. I decided that since I intend to leave again (though without prison bars this time) that this feeling was important enough that she needed to know. To hide it forever would only cheapen it. I did not expect her to reciprocate. I expected her disgust. Or an awkwardness between us that would dissolve the friendship.
I told her very plainly, 'I like you.' It was blunt and straight forward.
She stared at me. I could not read her expression.
As we spoke further I learned that she had already known how I felt. I was, in her words, not the sort of man to invest so much time into her without having some sort of ulterior motive. I felt obtuse. Was I so obvious? Or was she merely that insightful? I was careful of myself around her. I never touched her. I made no advances.
She admitted that her feelings were similar; and that if we lived in a different circumstances and time that she would not spurn me. I was oddly satisfied with this. We both seemed to not be saddened by our situation, rather, we were happy to have met one another at all. We laughed after the conversation closed.
As it is, we both knew even before the subject was brought up that no romantic involvement can happen. I lead a complicated and dangerous life. I am emotionally fragile and she is cautious. Additionally, I plan on leaving the city come the 31st of July for an extended period of time.
We both agreed that it was the little things in life that mattered. I told her a story about a woman I dated once, long ago.
The woman and I had met for coffee every morning for a week. I enjoyed our morning routine we had developed. We sat in silence at a small white table just as dawn was breaking. Silver blue sunlight would slip through the open window and breathe across the tendrils of steam from the coffee. We were silent. I often read a book, and she would stare out the window as she brought herself into the waking world. Those moments were precious to me.
When I asked the woman that I was seeing about those mornings, she had forgotten. Suddenly, I was the carrier of a memory for the both of us. I was angry and frustrated at her, and snapped. I called her names, and many other unkind things.
My friend was sad for me. We agreed it was such little, beautiful things that carry all meaning. She said she could relate to the beauty in life, and told me a similar story of when her ex-love used to brush her hair. I only wished that I could share something like that mutually with her.
I longed to kiss her. I wished to express to her that when I told her that I "liked" her... I truly meant that I loved her. Words could not convey the thought that a way a kiss could.
When I say that I love her, it is not because I want her. It has nothing to do with me. I love her for what she is. I love her brilliance and her strength. I love her flaws and her humor. I love how she sees the world, and how she looks at me.
But, I did not. Nor did I make the attempt.
She gave me a green stone pendant on a silver cord before we left. She told me the stone was from her shale-stone spider. As long as the spider lived, the stone would glow in the dark. To me, it almost seemed like a beacon or a lantern to light my way in the shadows. I appreciated the gift very deeply.
A strange feeling came over me as I half-listened to my employee. I decided that I had no desire for anyone else. Not physically, not emotionally. And even though I can not have this woman in my life as a lover, my heart is sated just knowing she exists.
In an unusual display of patience, I gave my employee more than enough gold to take care of the issue. I told him we shall destroy the rotten, bug infested plants and we shall start anew.
It was a symbolic, yet practical gesture.
Yours truly,
Kiaphus
I answered it, and let him in for coffee. He proceeded to inform me about a pestilence that has struck one of my larger crops. It destroyed a thousand gold worth of profit in several days. They attempted to get control of the situation, and could not. Thus, he came to me.
To be honest, I hardly heard a word he said. I could only stare at the steam rising from the cup. Curls of silver drifted from the black liquid and dissipated into the stale afternoon air.
He wondered what was on my mind. I could tell that he worried about my temper due to the situation of the thistle crops. He seemed startled that I hardly had any reaction at all. I think he expected me to hurt him when he came to my front door.
I could not tell him the true reason for my lack of interest.
I had spent last night with the woman I loved.
And when I say that, I do not mean physically intimately. Though, the thoughts had crossed my mind dozens of times.
She took me to a place of her's late in the evening. We spoke until the sun cracked through the sky in shades of violet, pink, and gold.
Every moment I was with her caused all the twitches and aches in my body to disintegrate. I was young again, and my heart was filled with a tranquility and joy that is beyond expression.
I promised myself to not explain to her how I felt. Such a thing would only lead to further misery.
Yet I did not fully keep that promise. I decided that since I intend to leave again (though without prison bars this time) that this feeling was important enough that she needed to know. To hide it forever would only cheapen it. I did not expect her to reciprocate. I expected her disgust. Or an awkwardness between us that would dissolve the friendship.
I told her very plainly, 'I like you.' It was blunt and straight forward.
She stared at me. I could not read her expression.
As we spoke further I learned that she had already known how I felt. I was, in her words, not the sort of man to invest so much time into her without having some sort of ulterior motive. I felt obtuse. Was I so obvious? Or was she merely that insightful? I was careful of myself around her. I never touched her. I made no advances.
She admitted that her feelings were similar; and that if we lived in a different circumstances and time that she would not spurn me. I was oddly satisfied with this. We both seemed to not be saddened by our situation, rather, we were happy to have met one another at all. We laughed after the conversation closed.
As it is, we both knew even before the subject was brought up that no romantic involvement can happen. I lead a complicated and dangerous life. I am emotionally fragile and she is cautious. Additionally, I plan on leaving the city come the 31st of July for an extended period of time.
We both agreed that it was the little things in life that mattered. I told her a story about a woman I dated once, long ago.
The woman and I had met for coffee every morning for a week. I enjoyed our morning routine we had developed. We sat in silence at a small white table just as dawn was breaking. Silver blue sunlight would slip through the open window and breathe across the tendrils of steam from the coffee. We were silent. I often read a book, and she would stare out the window as she brought herself into the waking world. Those moments were precious to me.
When I asked the woman that I was seeing about those mornings, she had forgotten. Suddenly, I was the carrier of a memory for the both of us. I was angry and frustrated at her, and snapped. I called her names, and many other unkind things.
My friend was sad for me. We agreed it was such little, beautiful things that carry all meaning. She said she could relate to the beauty in life, and told me a similar story of when her ex-love used to brush her hair. I only wished that I could share something like that mutually with her.
I longed to kiss her. I wished to express to her that when I told her that I "liked" her... I truly meant that I loved her. Words could not convey the thought that a way a kiss could.
When I say that I love her, it is not because I want her. It has nothing to do with me. I love her for what she is. I love her brilliance and her strength. I love her flaws and her humor. I love how she sees the world, and how she looks at me.
But, I did not. Nor did I make the attempt.
She gave me a green stone pendant on a silver cord before we left. She told me the stone was from her shale-stone spider. As long as the spider lived, the stone would glow in the dark. To me, it almost seemed like a beacon or a lantern to light my way in the shadows. I appreciated the gift very deeply.
A strange feeling came over me as I half-listened to my employee. I decided that I had no desire for anyone else. Not physically, not emotionally. And even though I can not have this woman in my life as a lover, my heart is sated just knowing she exists.
In an unusual display of patience, I gave my employee more than enough gold to take care of the issue. I told him we shall destroy the rotten, bug infested plants and we shall start anew.
It was a symbolic, yet practical gesture.
Yours truly,
Kiaphus
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Journal page 7
It is funny. I think. Perhaps my sense of humor is drier than most. If, that is, one finds irony funny.
At the very least, I am not upset. I am able to find the bright on the edges of dark.
Upon deciding that I am committed to non-commitment, I met a woman.
Which in and of itself is nothing to announce. I meet many woman in any given day. But, this one is different.
I have no intention of courting her, physically or emotionally. I still believe that being alone is the wisest course of action. To stray from this would only harm myself. I need to reflect in solitude for a good deal of time.
Still, speaking to her makes me happy. I look forward to meeting her when I can. I feel she is oblivious to this. Additionally, she has shown no interest in me beyond friendship.
I shall love her as certain dark things are meant to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I am satisfied that she may never know.
Your friend,
--Kiaphus
At the very least, I am not upset. I am able to find the bright on the edges of dark.
Upon deciding that I am committed to non-commitment, I met a woman.
Which in and of itself is nothing to announce. I meet many woman in any given day. But, this one is different.
I have no intention of courting her, physically or emotionally. I still believe that being alone is the wisest course of action. To stray from this would only harm myself. I need to reflect in solitude for a good deal of time.
Still, speaking to her makes me happy. I look forward to meeting her when I can. I feel she is oblivious to this. Additionally, she has shown no interest in me beyond friendship.
I shall love her as certain dark things are meant to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I am satisfied that she may never know.
Your friend,
--Kiaphus
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Journal page 6
My dearest friend,
I am by no means a perfect man. My flaws run deep, and as I age, the crevasses only run deeper and darker as each drop wears them down. By far the largest of my flaws is my temper. It takes little to blind my judgement completely.
Afterwards, I try to cradle myself in substances. Alcohol, and felweed being the main sources of comfort.
But it takes a special person to send me into such a rage that each time I see them, I feel like a mad kodo on a rampage. The woman has such an intricate way in which she can manipulate my emotion that I felt as if she were some sort of demon sent to torment me. Like a phantom, she haunts my steps and dreams. I attempted to understand her in order to gain some control. But, demons cannot be reasoned with. They simply exist to cause chaos and destruction in their wake.
Weeks had passed and I endured her taunting and constant searching. I would see her from the corner of my eye, studying me like a predator. She knew my comings and goings. She took notes and watched my steps to memorize their patterns. She knew the faces of my acquaintances and business associates. Every day I tried to understand her purpose and intent. I would ask her. I would threaten her. I even went so far as to attempt to kill her just to be rid of this pest. Yet, she continued to resist, and she continued to gnaw through the walls of my carefully constructed facade. She always returned, just as strong and irritating as an infestation.
Her eyes began to torment me. At night, I would dream of them except they were morphed into the black eyes of some sort of pestilence. In my dreams, she stared at me from the darkness. Two wet, black, beady eyes of a rat, a raven, or an insect. However, I knew it to be her. She would wait patiently and keep silence. It was maddening. She would stare, watch, and wait. Each time I went into the inky blackness to destroy her, she would morph into the shadows. It was as if she were incorporeal and had become darkness herself. I could never reach her. Touching her would be like touching water, and she slipped through my fingers. She was hell and I had to endure her for eternity.
I had enough of this madness and sought to kill her once and for all. Her blood was as red as my own, and I was determined to prove it. I learned through the confrontation that her name was merely an ironic nom de plume. For some reason, this irked me more than it should. The demon once called herself, 'Sunny.' It would like be naming the devil 'Happiness,' or 'Joy.' Instead, her true name (if that is not another lie) is the far more apt, 'Opalette,' derived from the stone, the opal. The opal is a symbol of discontent, curses, and bad omens. Their multifaceted sides reflect many colors, as if they were a stone of a thousand faces and have no one true nature. I found this entirely appropriate for her.
The confrontation ended in a standoff. While I managed to connect several heavy blows to her small frame, she was quick and agile and had the ability to vanish. Towards the end, it almost seemed as if I had gained the upperhand and she was afraid of me. It was as if she had realized that there were limits to her torture. We had come to an agreement, and I was to not see or hear for her for some period of time. I promised to kill her if she broke this truce.
While I found the confrontation to be anti-climatic and deeply unsatisfying, I slept well last night. For the first time in weeks, the raven's glossy, obsidian eyes did not follow me. I did not hear the loud flapping of wings at a distance. I was not haunted, and perhaps I will soon be rid of her nevermore.
Yours truly,
--Kiaphus
I am by no means a perfect man. My flaws run deep, and as I age, the crevasses only run deeper and darker as each drop wears them down. By far the largest of my flaws is my temper. It takes little to blind my judgement completely.
Afterwards, I try to cradle myself in substances. Alcohol, and felweed being the main sources of comfort.
But it takes a special person to send me into such a rage that each time I see them, I feel like a mad kodo on a rampage. The woman has such an intricate way in which she can manipulate my emotion that I felt as if she were some sort of demon sent to torment me. Like a phantom, she haunts my steps and dreams. I attempted to understand her in order to gain some control. But, demons cannot be reasoned with. They simply exist to cause chaos and destruction in their wake.
Weeks had passed and I endured her taunting and constant searching. I would see her from the corner of my eye, studying me like a predator. She knew my comings and goings. She took notes and watched my steps to memorize their patterns. She knew the faces of my acquaintances and business associates. Every day I tried to understand her purpose and intent. I would ask her. I would threaten her. I even went so far as to attempt to kill her just to be rid of this pest. Yet, she continued to resist, and she continued to gnaw through the walls of my carefully constructed facade. She always returned, just as strong and irritating as an infestation.
Her eyes began to torment me. At night, I would dream of them except they were morphed into the black eyes of some sort of pestilence. In my dreams, she stared at me from the darkness. Two wet, black, beady eyes of a rat, a raven, or an insect. However, I knew it to be her. She would wait patiently and keep silence. It was maddening. She would stare, watch, and wait. Each time I went into the inky blackness to destroy her, she would morph into the shadows. It was as if she were incorporeal and had become darkness herself. I could never reach her. Touching her would be like touching water, and she slipped through my fingers. She was hell and I had to endure her for eternity.
I had enough of this madness and sought to kill her once and for all. Her blood was as red as my own, and I was determined to prove it. I learned through the confrontation that her name was merely an ironic nom de plume. For some reason, this irked me more than it should. The demon once called herself, 'Sunny.' It would like be naming the devil 'Happiness,' or 'Joy.' Instead, her true name (if that is not another lie) is the far more apt, 'Opalette,' derived from the stone, the opal. The opal is a symbol of discontent, curses, and bad omens. Their multifaceted sides reflect many colors, as if they were a stone of a thousand faces and have no one true nature. I found this entirely appropriate for her.
The confrontation ended in a standoff. While I managed to connect several heavy blows to her small frame, she was quick and agile and had the ability to vanish. Towards the end, it almost seemed as if I had gained the upperhand and she was afraid of me. It was as if she had realized that there were limits to her torture. We had come to an agreement, and I was to not see or hear for her for some period of time. I promised to kill her if she broke this truce.
While I found the confrontation to be anti-climatic and deeply unsatisfying, I slept well last night. For the first time in weeks, the raven's glossy, obsidian eyes did not follow me. I did not hear the loud flapping of wings at a distance. I was not haunted, and perhaps I will soon be rid of her nevermore.
Yours truly,
--Kiaphus
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Journal page 5
It has been ages, old friend, since you and I last spoke.
There is so much to tell that I fear that attempting to even scratch the surface would result in my hand becoming broken and arthritic.
In short, I had a daughter. And, quickly afterwards, days perhaps, she was taken from me as I was captured and sent to prison. It has been only a week since my release, and already everything that was once familiar has morphed and changed before my very eye. It was as if time had stood still for me while the world continues to grow and change. My wife, now ex-wife, has found herself a new lover.
I wish them all the best, and to assist them in moving on--we divorced. There is little sense in forcing her to hold onto the past that I am still stuck in.
My business has exploded exponentially since my release. Apparently the criminal ties I have made in prison have paid off tenfold. Within the first few days of my release I had to scramble to fill a massive order of bloodthistle for a party the Bloodsworn are holding this Friday. But, my business has suffered with cracks and dents due to my absence.
I have been struggling with new entrepreneurs and other competition that seek to fill the void my presence has caused. As my business is much larger in size and stretches outside Silvermoon, I do not yet see them as a threat, but have intention of watching their progress before they become such.
And you, my friend, are the only one I feel at liberty to discuss with my inner most thoughts and feelings. As you are without judgement or thought. It has occurred to me by example of my ex-wife that I should allow heart to move on. The subject has been broached multiple times by well-meaning friends. Yet, I cannot. It is not because I am lingering for someone that I can no longer have, but because I am much too exhausted to even begin to toy with the idea. I am an old man climbing the steps to an unknown destination, only to find that the steps to not have an ending. For what purpose should I love again? To procreate? To find happiness? Surely there are other ways to lead a fulfilling life. Until the answer to this question is solved, I shall remain in solitude.
With all the wishes and desires of my heart,
--Kiaphus
In short, I had a daughter. And, quickly afterwards, days perhaps, she was taken from me as I was captured and sent to prison. It has been only a week since my release, and already everything that was once familiar has morphed and changed before my very eye. It was as if time had stood still for me while the world continues to grow and change. My wife, now ex-wife, has found herself a new lover.
I wish them all the best, and to assist them in moving on--we divorced. There is little sense in forcing her to hold onto the past that I am still stuck in.
My business has exploded exponentially since my release. Apparently the criminal ties I have made in prison have paid off tenfold. Within the first few days of my release I had to scramble to fill a massive order of bloodthistle for a party the Bloodsworn are holding this Friday. But, my business has suffered with cracks and dents due to my absence.
I have been struggling with new entrepreneurs and other competition that seek to fill the void my presence has caused. As my business is much larger in size and stretches outside Silvermoon, I do not yet see them as a threat, but have intention of watching their progress before they become such.
And you, my friend, are the only one I feel at liberty to discuss with my inner most thoughts and feelings. As you are without judgement or thought. It has occurred to me by example of my ex-wife that I should allow heart to move on. The subject has been broached multiple times by well-meaning friends. Yet, I cannot. It is not because I am lingering for someone that I can no longer have, but because I am much too exhausted to even begin to toy with the idea. I am an old man climbing the steps to an unknown destination, only to find that the steps to not have an ending. For what purpose should I love again? To procreate? To find happiness? Surely there are other ways to lead a fulfilling life. Until the answer to this question is solved, I shall remain in solitude.
With all the wishes and desires of my heart,
--Kiaphus
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