Author's note: I want to turn this into a short film. Just saying.
*****
The clash of steel echoed through the Valley of Souls. In the blazing afternoon sunlight a battle of two champions was being waged. A battle that would settle a feud between two ancient, royal houses. A feud so old that no one even remembered what it was about. And yet, still they battled.
Sir Alrec hammered another blow into the shield of his nemesis, Sir Kale. It jolted his arm but splintered the tower shield. His arm, numbed by the impact, gave his foe time to recover from the staggering strike.
Kale cast aside the pieces of his now useless shield. He gripped his bastard sword firmly with both hands. Swinging with all of the might he could summon he swept his blade horizontally toward his enemy's sword arm.
The blade tore through Sir Alrec's armor. It bit into his arm, slicing flesh and tendons. It smashed into the bone and...stopped.
Alrec threw down his sword and screamed in agony as Kale yanked on the stuck blade. The blade would not move.
"In the name of all holy things, man," yelled Alrec. "Pull the cursed thing out!"
Kale pulled again, but to no effect. "I'm trying," he shouted.
He braced his foot onto Alrec's leg, gripped the sword with both hands and pulled. His teeth clenched, muscles strained. Finally he went flying and crashed to the ground.
"Ah ha! I..." Sir Kale looked at the empty gauntlets, then looked to Sir Alrec. He stood there still, the sword lodged firmly in his arm.
Alrec flipped up his visor with his good hand. He stood, hands on hips, the sword following his movements like it was part of him. He looked quite angry.
"Get this blade out of my arm, Kale," he growled.
Kale shrugged his shoulders. "I'm trying," he whined. "This has never happened before."
"Well it would take an idiot like you to manage it," said Alrec. He swung the arm up and down. "I mean, just look at this! I'd rather lose the whole arm than have your stupid blade lodged in it! I mean honestly, who taught you how to fight?"
"It was Sir..."
"Sir Swings Like a Sissy," Alrec interrupted.
Kale fumed. "Don't talk about my teacher like that. Sir Tristan was a great man."
"Ha," spat Alrec. "Great at teaching you how to be an awful knight. If I'd have known you were so inept I would never have agreed to this duel. I can't afford to walk around with a sword stuck in my arm! What will the ladies say?"
"I'm sorry." Kale held up his hands in a gesture of calm. He stepped back toward Alrec. "Here, let me try again," he said, reaching for the sword.
"Curse it, man," said Alrec. "Your gauntlets and chain gloves."
"What of them," asked Kale, looking them over.
Alrec rolled his eyes. "Take them off, you dolt. So you can get a proper grip!"
"Oh," said Kale sheepishly. With hanging head, he slowly pulled off the gauntlets and gloves. He felt like a scolded child.
He braced his foot onto Alrec's thigh once again. Alrec firmed his footing. "Pull, you pansy!"
Pushing with his leg, Kale once again tried to extract the sword. He groaned with the exertion. Sweat beaded upon his brow. Still, the sword would not move.
"You're pathetic," spat Alrec. "You're a weakling."
Kale stayed silent but stepped forward and placed his other foot onto the man's thigh. With both legs and arms he strained to pull out the sword.
"This is ridiculous," Alrec scolded. "It should have cut through the bloody bone by now."
Kale hopped off of his foe's leg, panting. "I'm...sorry," he said, resting his hands on his shaking thighs. "It may...have been a bit...dull."
"DULL!" Alrec was positively roaring now. "What kind of knight goes into a duel with a dull sword? You are the most useless, incompetent fool of a knight I have ever met. It's a wonder your house is still in existence!"
Alrec shoved Sir Kale with the bloody sword arm. He stumbled and fell. Standing over is prostrate form, Alrec continued to hurl insults.
"You're lower than a worm. You manure sucking slime!"
Kale slowly got to his feet. He'd had enough of this. Striding forward he reached out to Alrec, who continued his tirade.
"A dull blade, he says! No self respecting knight goes into battle with a dull..."
His words were cut off by the hand wrapped tightly around his jaw. He looked on, bewildered, into Sir Kale's blank face.
"I'm sorry about the sword," said Kale, calmly. "But you'll be pleased to know that I keep my dagger quite sharp."
With that he plunged the blade, up to the hilt, in Sir Alrec's forehead. The knight's eyes crossed as he looked up at the blade. He tried to say something, then toppled backwards to the ground. The fall sent the sword flopping out of Alrec's arm.
"Ah," said Kale. He picked up the sword and placed it in its scabbard. "I must have loosened it up."
He then reached down and took hold of the dagger. It didn't budge.
Sir Kale groaned. "Oh, hells."
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
The Trespassers
Author's note: Geez. I sure can be mopey sometimes. This story started out as me being a grump and turned into something different because I made the conscious decision to change it. While I may not always be able to pull it off, I think this just goes to show that writing is great therapy too, and we all have a choice about what we feel.
I think that it's important to allow yourself to feel whatever it is you need to feel. Just don't let it control/consume you like I occasionally do. I almost did with the first paragraph, then said "Okay. I'm feeling this thing, I'm allowing it to wash over me and I accept it. Now, enough is enough."
Oh, the story is still a downer, but at least it isn't another one of my whine fests. Enjoy.
*****
Writing in the lantern light, under the shadow of my own hand, my mind is filled with thoughts of other dark things. Things darker than mere shadow, dark as night. Thoughts that will haunt me until...
It was a beautiful, crisp fall evening. The moon cast its pale glow across the yard, aided by a million stars. I could see well enough and it may have saved my life, or at least prolonged it. Thank God for the moon.
I could just make them out, their slow, stumbling gait made me imagine a group of drunks. But something about the stiffness in their walk kept me from calling out to them. Drunks don't move like that.
I suppose I was fortunate to be sitting on my deck, enjoying a beer, when they first appeared. The vantage point gave me the ability to get a quick count. But the rustling I heard near my garden told me that the four I saw were definitely not alone. And as those four closed the distance I was just starting to see the others.
I couldn't count them fast enough. Ducking off of my chair I made my way to the door and slowly eased it open. It slid quietly on its rails, a small blessing. I closed it and made sure it was locked.
Standing up again I quickly made my way through the house, checked to see that all of the doors were locked, then went to my gun safe. I had a twenty-two rifle and pistol, which I used for target shooting, and I had plenty of rounds to go with them.
The twenty-two may not seem like the best weapon to have. It IS relatively weak and has almost no stopping power. However, my rifle and pistol fire straight and the hollow point rounds would do sufficient damage to the trespassers outside. Top that off with the fact that I could easily hold close to a hundred rounds in my pockets alone and even the average joe might start to see this particular caliber's merits.
Try carrying that many 30-06 or 50-cal rounds - they're totally pointless if a head shot will do, and you'd be lucky to get a dozen rounds in your pockets. (Sorry for the rant. You put yourself in my shoes and you'll understand why I might be a bit high strung right now.)
Anyhow, the rotten things started their moaning and banging. While I appreciated their politeness, they could knock all they wanted. I wasn't letting them in.
I heard the sound of shattering glass at my front door and I knew that my house was surrounded. I loaded up all of my rifle and pistol clips, threw some extra ammo in a small backpack, and grabbed my old camping hatchet as well. I needed to decide where my fall back room would be.
The garage attic seemed like the obvious choice. It had a pull-down staircase, was ventilated, and had a small store of food and water that I had placed there just in case. If your dad talks about societal collapse as much as mine did, you'd have some stores of food and water, too. I figured I'd have enough for a couple weeks; hopefully this mess would be cleaned up by then.
I quickly stalked through the house. I pulled open the garage door and was immediately greeted by a moaning, rotted visage. I picked tonight, of all nights, to forget to close the darn garage. The shambler reached out for me.
At the time my immediate reaction was to smash the walking corpse in the face with the butt of my rifle. It stumbled back and fell over. I immediately closed and locked the door.
Thinking on it now, the way the creature moved was almost beautiful, haunting. It made me think of a lover reaching out for a kiss. The yearning, longing look in its eyes was heart breaking. In part this was because I could imagine the creature as it once was. I wondered if there might be some flicker of humanity still locked away inside - like someone that is paralyzed, could the former host still see what was happening and do nothing to control it?
To be truthful, it was also haunting for the obvious fact that the darn thing was hoping to make a meal of me. Spark of humanity or not, I wasn't about to let anything snack on me. I don't imagine I would taste all that good anyway.
A pounding on the garage door told me that getting its face smashed hadn't slowed the walker down. That or one of its buddies had taken its place. Whatever the case, my plans were changed for me. I made my way to the bedroom instead.
As I walked past the front door the wooden frame finally gave out and the whole thing fell in. Four of them got wedged in what was left of the doorway. I immediately raised my rifle and sent their souls back to rest. They were replaced so fast that I probably shouldn't have even bothered. These next few were courteous enough to take turns invading my home. I was nice enough to put them down.
They kept coming though, so I kept shooting. On the plus side, their bodies were beginning to block up the door, which would buy me some time. Then I heard the shatter of glass from the doors and windows downstairs. I popped off a few more shots into the various faces, then made a dash for the bedroom.
Locking the door behind me, I then did a quick scan of the room. They hadn't smashed in the window yet, but it would only be a matter of time. The sound of the shamblers making their way through the hall was getting closer.
Grabbing my dresser seemed a good idea and I slid it in front of the door. For squirts and ha-has I decided to push the bed in front, too. It might not stop them, but would slow them down.
I pulled open my closet door and assessed the contents. There wasn't much: clothes, some favorite books, my old Magic the Gathering collection, some board games (maybe I should have tried to stump them with a game of chess). There was also my old camp lantern which would come in handy given my plans.
You see, there is a small access hole in the ceiling of my closet. I don't really have an actual attic there, so I don't know entirely why it's there. It came with the house, and at the moment I was thankful for that.
I gave a shove to the small hatch and slid it to the side. Given my recent luck I half expected to be eyeballing a rotter again. But once again today, fortune seemed to favor me.
Giving a quick check to my lantern, which was about half-full, I gently placed it up into the hole and slid it to the side. Then I reached out, took hold of the lip and pulled myself up, just as the door splintered. I gave one last glance and saw a rotted arm reaching through the doorway. Then I slid the hatch back in place.
I wish I knew how long ago that was. Maybe a day or so. All I know for sure is that I'm hungry and thirsty now. I feel claustrophobic and I might try to break a hole in the roof so I can get some air.
I hope they go away soon. I can still hear them shuffling around down there. They're bumping into things, breaking my stuff. Every now and then one of them scrapes its splintering nail along the hatch. They claw at it for awhile then go on about their business. And I'm just stuck here.
I have plenty of ammo, but what difference does it make? There are too many of them. No way I could fight my way out. No way I could shoot or reload that quickly.
I'm going to die up here.
They're clawing again, this time much harder. Maybe they can smell me or hear the scratch of my pen. My lantern is getting dim. Flickering now.
I'm going to die up here.
I think that it's important to allow yourself to feel whatever it is you need to feel. Just don't let it control/consume you like I occasionally do. I almost did with the first paragraph, then said "Okay. I'm feeling this thing, I'm allowing it to wash over me and I accept it. Now, enough is enough."
Oh, the story is still a downer, but at least it isn't another one of my whine fests. Enjoy.
*****
Writing in the lantern light, under the shadow of my own hand, my mind is filled with thoughts of other dark things. Things darker than mere shadow, dark as night. Thoughts that will haunt me until...
It was a beautiful, crisp fall evening. The moon cast its pale glow across the yard, aided by a million stars. I could see well enough and it may have saved my life, or at least prolonged it. Thank God for the moon.
I could just make them out, their slow, stumbling gait made me imagine a group of drunks. But something about the stiffness in their walk kept me from calling out to them. Drunks don't move like that.
I suppose I was fortunate to be sitting on my deck, enjoying a beer, when they first appeared. The vantage point gave me the ability to get a quick count. But the rustling I heard near my garden told me that the four I saw were definitely not alone. And as those four closed the distance I was just starting to see the others.
I couldn't count them fast enough. Ducking off of my chair I made my way to the door and slowly eased it open. It slid quietly on its rails, a small blessing. I closed it and made sure it was locked.
Standing up again I quickly made my way through the house, checked to see that all of the doors were locked, then went to my gun safe. I had a twenty-two rifle and pistol, which I used for target shooting, and I had plenty of rounds to go with them.
The twenty-two may not seem like the best weapon to have. It IS relatively weak and has almost no stopping power. However, my rifle and pistol fire straight and the hollow point rounds would do sufficient damage to the trespassers outside. Top that off with the fact that I could easily hold close to a hundred rounds in my pockets alone and even the average joe might start to see this particular caliber's merits.
Try carrying that many 30-06 or 50-cal rounds - they're totally pointless if a head shot will do, and you'd be lucky to get a dozen rounds in your pockets. (Sorry for the rant. You put yourself in my shoes and you'll understand why I might be a bit high strung right now.)
Anyhow, the rotten things started their moaning and banging. While I appreciated their politeness, they could knock all they wanted. I wasn't letting them in.
I heard the sound of shattering glass at my front door and I knew that my house was surrounded. I loaded up all of my rifle and pistol clips, threw some extra ammo in a small backpack, and grabbed my old camping hatchet as well. I needed to decide where my fall back room would be.
The garage attic seemed like the obvious choice. It had a pull-down staircase, was ventilated, and had a small store of food and water that I had placed there just in case. If your dad talks about societal collapse as much as mine did, you'd have some stores of food and water, too. I figured I'd have enough for a couple weeks; hopefully this mess would be cleaned up by then.
I quickly stalked through the house. I pulled open the garage door and was immediately greeted by a moaning, rotted visage. I picked tonight, of all nights, to forget to close the darn garage. The shambler reached out for me.
At the time my immediate reaction was to smash the walking corpse in the face with the butt of my rifle. It stumbled back and fell over. I immediately closed and locked the door.
Thinking on it now, the way the creature moved was almost beautiful, haunting. It made me think of a lover reaching out for a kiss. The yearning, longing look in its eyes was heart breaking. In part this was because I could imagine the creature as it once was. I wondered if there might be some flicker of humanity still locked away inside - like someone that is paralyzed, could the former host still see what was happening and do nothing to control it?
To be truthful, it was also haunting for the obvious fact that the darn thing was hoping to make a meal of me. Spark of humanity or not, I wasn't about to let anything snack on me. I don't imagine I would taste all that good anyway.
A pounding on the garage door told me that getting its face smashed hadn't slowed the walker down. That or one of its buddies had taken its place. Whatever the case, my plans were changed for me. I made my way to the bedroom instead.
As I walked past the front door the wooden frame finally gave out and the whole thing fell in. Four of them got wedged in what was left of the doorway. I immediately raised my rifle and sent their souls back to rest. They were replaced so fast that I probably shouldn't have even bothered. These next few were courteous enough to take turns invading my home. I was nice enough to put them down.
They kept coming though, so I kept shooting. On the plus side, their bodies were beginning to block up the door, which would buy me some time. Then I heard the shatter of glass from the doors and windows downstairs. I popped off a few more shots into the various faces, then made a dash for the bedroom.
Locking the door behind me, I then did a quick scan of the room. They hadn't smashed in the window yet, but it would only be a matter of time. The sound of the shamblers making their way through the hall was getting closer.
Grabbing my dresser seemed a good idea and I slid it in front of the door. For squirts and ha-has I decided to push the bed in front, too. It might not stop them, but would slow them down.
I pulled open my closet door and assessed the contents. There wasn't much: clothes, some favorite books, my old Magic the Gathering collection, some board games (maybe I should have tried to stump them with a game of chess). There was also my old camp lantern which would come in handy given my plans.
You see, there is a small access hole in the ceiling of my closet. I don't really have an actual attic there, so I don't know entirely why it's there. It came with the house, and at the moment I was thankful for that.
I gave a shove to the small hatch and slid it to the side. Given my recent luck I half expected to be eyeballing a rotter again. But once again today, fortune seemed to favor me.
Giving a quick check to my lantern, which was about half-full, I gently placed it up into the hole and slid it to the side. Then I reached out, took hold of the lip and pulled myself up, just as the door splintered. I gave one last glance and saw a rotted arm reaching through the doorway. Then I slid the hatch back in place.
I wish I knew how long ago that was. Maybe a day or so. All I know for sure is that I'm hungry and thirsty now. I feel claustrophobic and I might try to break a hole in the roof so I can get some air.
I hope they go away soon. I can still hear them shuffling around down there. They're bumping into things, breaking my stuff. Every now and then one of them scrapes its splintering nail along the hatch. They claw at it for awhile then go on about their business. And I'm just stuck here.
I have plenty of ammo, but what difference does it make? There are too many of them. No way I could fight my way out. No way I could shoot or reload that quickly.
I'm going to die up here.
They're clawing again, this time much harder. Maybe they can smell me or hear the scratch of my pen. My lantern is getting dim. Flickering now.
I'm going to die up here.
A Princess Poem
Once a princess who lived in a castle
met a goblin in the woods.
They talked of life and joys and sorrows;
then fell in love and it was good.
But fate it had another purpose
for the meeting of the two.
She was meant to learn, grow stronger
from all that he would put her through.
Goblins, you see, can be quite nasty,
it's in their nature to be grumpy at times.
To placate him she tried to love,
to cook nice dinners and feed him limes.
Nothing seemed to work for the princess
though she did her very best
She couldn't seem to make things better,
could not find her happiness.
So at last she went away
for it was all that could be done.
The goblin realized his folly
and with hanging head chased the setting sun.
Others tried to love the goblin
but didn't even register
"I had my princess," he'd quietly say.
"And no one else compares to her."
met a goblin in the woods.
They talked of life and joys and sorrows;
then fell in love and it was good.
But fate it had another purpose
for the meeting of the two.
She was meant to learn, grow stronger
from all that he would put her through.
Goblins, you see, can be quite nasty,
it's in their nature to be grumpy at times.
To placate him she tried to love,
to cook nice dinners and feed him limes.
Nothing seemed to work for the princess
though she did her very best
She couldn't seem to make things better,
could not find her happiness.
So at last she went away
for it was all that could be done.
The goblin realized his folly
and with hanging head chased the setting sun.
Others tried to love the goblin
but didn't even register
"I had my princess," he'd quietly say.
"And no one else compares to her."
Friday, August 24, 2012
The Divine
Author's Note: I have struggled to write this since December of 2011. It was meant to be my first crack at a full-length novel, and yet for some reason I could not quite get it out. I would write a paragraph or two, edit them. Delete them.
I would save the draft and come back to it over the weeks, months, only to begin the process over again.
Tonight I had the idea that if I could not quite get it out in the way I had originally intended, then perhaps a different format was required. I thought of the poem that inspired Stephen King's Dark Tower Series, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came", by Robert Browning.
Here was a lengthy poem that told a story. And while mine does not rhyme and isn't nearly as long, it tells, to some degree, the tale that I needed to tell.
As many of my stories do, it began with tears. But what sparked the idea was a simple dedication, or declaration, in a wonderful book - The Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence. I do not know who he dedicated the book to, other than a name, nor what the dedication actually means.
But it meant something to me.
All relationships, all loves have their good and bad moments. They have times when everything seems so right, and times when it all seems wrong.
But it is never wrong to love. As Stephen Levine once said, love is the only rational act.
Love is the only rational act.
It isn't perfect, by any stretch, but then again...
*****
"...the best parts were never broken."
He battled for years against many a foe
Defeated them all without a scratch
"Invincible" were the rumored tales
His wings outstretched, his halo bright
A rescue one day would change his life
He was mesmerized by her shining eyes
They fell in love thought there were concerns
if his enemies learned she might come to harm
She held his secret close to her heart
And at the end of the day he would come back to her
But time has a way of adding to strife
His love was afraid of losing him
She cried one night and begged him to stop
in her heart she knew it was a matter of time
So in the midst of battle she went out to him
Beseeched him to end it and just be with her
Distracted by this he was struck a blow from behind
In a brilliant flash his wings blew apart
He fell from the sky as a blazing ball of flame,
left a small crater where he crashed to the earth.
She ran to his side with tears in her eyes
Held his shattered form within her small arms
Blood trickled out as he struggled to speak
"I'm sorry," she said as she looked in his eyes.
"You were there for them all, I wanted you for me."
He looked into her eyes with tears flowing down
And smiled at the woman he had come to love
"It was always for you," he weakly spoke.
"I wanted to be worthy of the love that you gave."
With a groan and a grimace he pulled her close as he could.
A tear of blood fell from his eye
The wind swept up his broken feathers
Together they cried for the very last time
"I'm sorry," he said. "I left so much unspoken."
She said, "No my love...the best parts were unbroken."
Then with a shudder in her arms and a soft, gentle sigh
She watch her dear love, The Divine, slowly die.
The hero who had rescued her from above
Paid the ultimate price for the sake of their love
I would save the draft and come back to it over the weeks, months, only to begin the process over again.
Tonight I had the idea that if I could not quite get it out in the way I had originally intended, then perhaps a different format was required. I thought of the poem that inspired Stephen King's Dark Tower Series, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came", by Robert Browning.
Here was a lengthy poem that told a story. And while mine does not rhyme and isn't nearly as long, it tells, to some degree, the tale that I needed to tell.
As many of my stories do, it began with tears. But what sparked the idea was a simple dedication, or declaration, in a wonderful book - The Prince of Thorns by Mark Lawrence. I do not know who he dedicated the book to, other than a name, nor what the dedication actually means.
But it meant something to me.
All relationships, all loves have their good and bad moments. They have times when everything seems so right, and times when it all seems wrong.
But it is never wrong to love. As Stephen Levine once said, love is the only rational act.
Love is the only rational act.
It isn't perfect, by any stretch, but then again...
*****
"...the best parts were never broken."
He battled for years against many a foe
Defeated them all without a scratch
"Invincible" were the rumored tales
His wings outstretched, his halo bright
A rescue one day would change his life
He was mesmerized by her shining eyes
They fell in love thought there were concerns
if his enemies learned she might come to harm
She held his secret close to her heart
And at the end of the day he would come back to her
But time has a way of adding to strife
His love was afraid of losing him
She cried one night and begged him to stop
in her heart she knew it was a matter of time
So in the midst of battle she went out to him
Beseeched him to end it and just be with her
Distracted by this he was struck a blow from behind
In a brilliant flash his wings blew apart
He fell from the sky as a blazing ball of flame,
left a small crater where he crashed to the earth.
She ran to his side with tears in her eyes
Held his shattered form within her small arms
Blood trickled out as he struggled to speak
"I'm sorry," she said as she looked in his eyes.
"You were there for them all, I wanted you for me."
He looked into her eyes with tears flowing down
And smiled at the woman he had come to love
"It was always for you," he weakly spoke.
"I wanted to be worthy of the love that you gave."
With a groan and a grimace he pulled her close as he could.
A tear of blood fell from his eye
The wind swept up his broken feathers
Together they cried for the very last time
"I'm sorry," he said. "I left so much unspoken."
She said, "No my love...the best parts were unbroken."
Then with a shudder in her arms and a soft, gentle sigh
She watch her dear love, The Divine, slowly die.
The hero who had rescued her from above
Paid the ultimate price for the sake of their love
Phone calls and signs
"So if you're lonely, you know I'm here..." - Take Me Out, Franz Ferdinand
As the plane began its slow descent I knew that the butterflies in my stomach were from more than the change in altitude. Sure I had come back to see family, but I had also returned because home kept calling to me. ("Home is where the heart is.")
I had had dreams for weeks; they felt so real. Dreams of a hand, long absent, once again in mine. Eyes that I had longed to gaze into. A smile.
A whispered "I love you" in the soft grey-blue of the morning light...
And each time I would awaken, alone. Lost.
I would lay there for hours, thinking of what I needed to say ("It's only you"), what I needed to make known ("It can only be you"), what I needed to tell you ("You are the last I will love, the one that is home to my heart").
But as I sit here thinking ("Fortune favors the bold"), I realize that courage has eluded me. I am afraid, and I am hoping for a sign. Whispered words on the other end of the phone.
("I still love you. Come grow old with me.")
As the plane began its slow descent I knew that the butterflies in my stomach were from more than the change in altitude. Sure I had come back to see family, but I had also returned because home kept calling to me. ("Home is where the heart is.")
I had had dreams for weeks; they felt so real. Dreams of a hand, long absent, once again in mine. Eyes that I had longed to gaze into. A smile.
A whispered "I love you" in the soft grey-blue of the morning light...
And each time I would awaken, alone. Lost.
I would lay there for hours, thinking of what I needed to say ("It's only you"), what I needed to make known ("It can only be you"), what I needed to tell you ("You are the last I will love, the one that is home to my heart").
But as I sit here thinking ("Fortune favors the bold"), I realize that courage has eluded me. I am afraid, and I am hoping for a sign. Whispered words on the other end of the phone.
("I still love you. Come grow old with me.")
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
The Men in Black Suits
My Dearest Love,
last night the men in the black suits came for me.
My old horse had carried me across the miles and I was nearly to your door. The horse was lathered in sweat, and my bones ached. But when I saw the men I drew my sword and held it tightly in my hand.
It was not meant to be. There were too many of them.
One was called Regret. Another was named Sadness. There was also Guilt, Despondency, Pain, and Anger.
They were the ones that kept me from you and I am truly sorry. I swung my sword with all the strength left in me, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
I am writing this from the cell that they have locked me in. My heart aches at the thought that I was not strong enough to defeat them. It aches because they kept me from what should have been.
They kept me from you.
Now my time is running short and I am feeling weak. They have deprived me of the necessary nourishment that I need to keep going, and I am already so tired from my journey.
My love, as you read this, please know that I tried to get past them. I gave it all that I could, but I just was not strong enough.
I should have been stronger. For you. For me. For us.
The light is beginning to fade and the raven that I have captured to deliver this message is growing restless. He yearns to fly. To you.
Know that when you read this all of the love I ever had for you goes into these words. Know that I never gave up and will never give up.
Even as my body grows cold and weak, if I can find a way to come to you, I will. Because your love is all that I need. Your love, and your acceptance.
If I can find a way.
Until that time I will fight the men in the black suits. Until I can fight no more.
My love will always be with you and my heart will always be yours.
last night the men in the black suits came for me.
My old horse had carried me across the miles and I was nearly to your door. The horse was lathered in sweat, and my bones ached. But when I saw the men I drew my sword and held it tightly in my hand.
It was not meant to be. There were too many of them.
One was called Regret. Another was named Sadness. There was also Guilt, Despondency, Pain, and Anger.
They were the ones that kept me from you and I am truly sorry. I swung my sword with all the strength left in me, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.
I am writing this from the cell that they have locked me in. My heart aches at the thought that I was not strong enough to defeat them. It aches because they kept me from what should have been.
They kept me from you.
Now my time is running short and I am feeling weak. They have deprived me of the necessary nourishment that I need to keep going, and I am already so tired from my journey.
My love, as you read this, please know that I tried to get past them. I gave it all that I could, but I just was not strong enough.
I should have been stronger. For you. For me. For us.
The light is beginning to fade and the raven that I have captured to deliver this message is growing restless. He yearns to fly. To you.
Know that when you read this all of the love I ever had for you goes into these words. Know that I never gave up and will never give up.
Even as my body grows cold and weak, if I can find a way to come to you, I will. Because your love is all that I need. Your love, and your acceptance.
If I can find a way.
Until that time I will fight the men in the black suits. Until I can fight no more.
My love will always be with you and my heart will always be yours.
Under the Field of Stars
To the countless stars up in the sky
I beg "Please tell her true."
And each time you look upon the heavens
they're whispering
"He loves you."
~~~~~~~~
I look up at the evening sky
and my mind turns to you.
As I gaze upon the stars I ask
"Is she looking at them, too?"
My love for you it has no end
though we may be far apart.
When you stare up at the sky
please know
you are always in my heart.
I beg "Please tell her true."
And each time you look upon the heavens
they're whispering
"He loves you."
~~~~~~~~
I look up at the evening sky
and my mind turns to you.
As I gaze upon the stars I ask
"Is she looking at them, too?"
My love for you it has no end
though we may be far apart.
When you stare up at the sky
please know
you are always in my heart.
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