Destiny’s Throne - Chapter 1

"Do you believe in destiny, Master Varleon?" The menacing, cloaked figure shook her head and spat on the wet cobblestones, revealing blackened and crooked teeth.

"And what could you possibly mean by that, Slynn?," Varleon sneered.

"Do you forge your own path? Slice yourself up on brambles and thorns, yet keep cutting through to get to the other side? Or do you embrace what you are meant to do? Do you rise up to seize your glory by brutishly hacking away through life? Or perhaps you simply refuse to be the master of your own destiny." Slynn took her wizened old eyes off of Varleon’s hooded face to gaze up at the moonless night sky. She licked her lips, adjusted her wooden eye, and prodded, "Well…?"

Varleon merely looked to his right, towards the Palace District. He scoffed and closed his eyes, allowing hazy memories to soothe his mind as he thumbed the intricate mythril pendant he wore around his neck. After a long pause, he stated, “I am a puppet, yes. Anyone who wants to stay alive in this world is. The only difference between them and me? I am my own puppeteer. And what of you? What of your destiny, Slynn? So quick to cast others down, thinking nothing of your own shortcomings. But one does not simply stumble into positions like mine. I know what you have been hiding all these years. I know the secrets to your secrets.” Varleon cracked his neck a few times before continuing. “True, the things that I do not know vastly outweigh the things that I do know, but…”

And in seemingly no time at all, Varleon had his dagger at Slynn’s throat; a minute bit of pressure more, and then all Varleon had to do was to slip back into the shadows - something he had become rather good at in his twenty-two years.

Slynn giggled. “Really, now, I could’ve sworn you were smarter than that, Hume.” She grinned as Varleon watched the old Hume woman transformed into a young Elven lass. “Jeez, how long have you known me, Var? I was just playing around. You’re always so serious.” She muttered something to herself while massaging her throat.

"Tch. And you didn’t happen to have anything to do with the real Slynn’s death, did you?"

"What!? Var, you’re terrible, of course I didn’t! I was so awfully bored just waiting around, so I decided to go look for this nutty old bat! But when I got to her hut, she was already dead. And judging by the smell, she’d been dead at least a week. Gross."

Varleon sighed. “Well, I guess we’re back to square one now, aren’t we, Caiella?”

"Hmph. I thought I told you to stop calling me that. People might recognize that name, and Luna forbid they capture me and give me back to the Elders," she wrinkled her nose, then said cheerfully, "Just… just call me Caia ‘till this is all over, ‘kay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Varleon waved his hand as if to dismiss her. "You… you don’t really believe in Luna and Sol, do you?"

"What kind of question is that!? Should I start questioning your beliefs now too?" Caia folded her arms and frowned.

"It’s just that…" Varleon sighed. "Never mind." Caia stopped frowning and looked up at the moon. She said wistfully, "We believe in Luna and Sol because they are the Creators. They shaped us from moss and stone and bark. From flowers and vines. They warm the earth, they rock the tides. They made us, so we worship them. You don’t believe we came from nothing, do you?"

Varleon grumbled. “I don’t believe in some absent mother and father figure. Maybe this was all just a big accident. But I certainly don’t believe that the sun and moon created us.” Varleon rolled his eyes. Caia scoffed, “Luna and Sol are not the sun and moon. They’re just the physical manifestations of their consciousness. You should really attend a Solunian Circle on of these days. Just to see if you like what we believe in.” Varleon stuck out his tongue, “Yeah, maybe. When hell freezes over.”

"Just stop questioning my Elven beliefs, and I’ll stop questioning your silly non-beliefs. Deal?" Caia stuck out her hand. "Fine, deal," said Varleon.

Caia whipped her cloak around her and darted off into the night, Varleon close behind her. They stopped when they reached an abandoned alleyway. “Shh. Do you hear that?” Caia whispered back, “Yes. I hear them. The Templars. They’re supposed to guard this city, but all they do is protect the Humes. They hate Elves in particular. Guess they’re just jealous.” Varleon rolled his eyes and said, “I’m going to go check things out.” Caia cringed a little bit. “Be careful, you idiot.”

Varleon stuck his head out of the alley and saw two things. First, he saw a mortally wounded Elven child lying on the ground. Second, he saw a particularly large Templar standing over her, sword coated in blood. As he was processing this, Caia sauntered up behind him and peeked around him. Shocked, she gasped rather loudly, gaining the attention of the Templar. “Varleon, take the Templar down! I’ll get the girl!”

Caia ran over to the dying girl and brushed her long white hair behind her back. “It’s alright sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. Hush now.” Caia placed her pale hands over the tiny child’s wounds and began to hum. Immediately, her hands glowed with a pale light, and the child’s flesh began to repair itself. The more power Caia’s song had, the faster the muscle and flesh knit together.

On the other hand, Varleon was in the middle of a staring contest with the Templar. He drew his dual daggers and threw off his cloak. “Prepare to feel that child’s pain,” he said firmly. The Templar dragged his two-handed greatsword around in the cobblestones and said in a strange accent, “I shall not be the one to die tonight. I am justice. I am law. The child pickpocketed me. It was only right.” And with that, Varleon sprinted at the armored man and thrust his dagger under the Tempar’s helm. With his other dagger, he managed to knock the man’s helm off. Varleon gasped and stepped back. The man had dark hair with sharp red eyes. “Y-you’re an Ardian! What are you doing as a Templar?”

“I never said I was a Templar. But now it is time for me to bid you farewell. We shall meet again one day.” As he finished his last words, the Ardian darted off into the night.

As Varleon stood there blinking, Caia came running over, the child in her arms. “What happened? Why’d he run? And we need to find out where this girl came from so we can get her back home.” Varleon shook his head and explained what had happened.

“What? An Ardian? But we’re at war with them! Why is one here? We need to tell the guards. Or the mayor. Or someone! What if they’ve infiltrated the Templars already? Jeez, they’re bad enough already, we don’t need them crawling with those creepy Ardians too.” She shuddered. Just then, the little girl began to stir in Caia’s arms. As she woke, the girl looked around and yelped, desperately trying to get away from Caia. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m Caia, and this is Varleon. You probably don’t remember, but I healed you. See?” She poked the place where the girl’s wound used to be.

“…Oh. You healed me? Um, thank you. And I’m sorry I hit you.”

Caia laughed. “It’s alright. What’s your name? Where are you from? We should get you home.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “No! I can’t go back. Don’t make me! I’m Ryla, thirteen years old, and I’m from the Helping Hands Orphanage. It’s awful there. They beat me and punish me for things I didn’t even do!”

“Didn’t that place get an official warning from the Templars?” said Varleon. “I remember when they announced that they were thinking of cracking down on the orphanage.”

“Yeah. When we heard the rumors, I got hurt even more.” She looked down at the ground and wiped a tear away. “You can’t make me go back. Please, let me go home with you guys!”

Caia and Varleon looked at each other and simultaneously sighed. “Ryla,” Caia said softly, “You can’t come with us. We’re on an important journey. There will be danger and evil and fighting. We can’t put you in harm’s way like that.”

“But I can fight! I can do more than fight.” Ryla put her hands out in front of her, and from them came a bright blue flame. “See? I’m an Arcanian. I have lots of powers. Mostly destructive ones. I can fight. Please, let me come with you! And if I’m a burden, you can just leave me there and continue onwards and I’ll go back to the orphanage. Please!”

Varleon sighed and said, “Alright. But don’t get in our way. We need some destructive magic with us. Caia can only really heal.” Caia frowned, “And is that such a bad thing? Hmph.”

Meanwhile Ryla was grinning and saying, “Let me go find my stuff. I dropped it when the Templar attacked. You won’t regret this, I promise!”

The Beginning

Monday morning blues. 5:30am. Hit the snooze button so hard you pray it’ll never go off again. 5:35am. Punt the damn alarm clock across the room where it hits the floor. You imagine it shattering into a thousand pieces. Instead, it goes off again. Grudgingly, mumbling, grumbling, you drag your tired and hungover self to the bathroom. Mental checklist for a normal Monday: Jack off, wash up, brush teeth, do something about your hair. Straighten your tie. Wave goodbye to your jackass roomate. Halfway to the subway terminal, you remember you forgot your briefcase. How so very typical of you. Now you’re going to be late for work.
Claim briefcase, double check to make sure your materials for your big presentation are still in tact. After this, you’re sure you’re going to land that huge promotion you’ve been working up towards. You’ll get rich. Become an entrepreneur. Marry the perfect housewife. Have perfect children. Live in a huge perfect brownstone in Brooklyn. Near a perfect park. Everything will fall into place. Every single detail will go exactly as planned.
You’ll die perfectly and peacefully in your sleep.
One perfect life in exchange for this one perfect presentation.
You sprint down the crowded midtown streets; destination: Subway station.
Finally you see the sign for the entrance. Look at your watch. And… good. You can still make it on time.

Well, you would have.
If you hadn’t seen that girl.

That plain, ordinary-looking girl.
Staring at you.

You freeze. It’s as if time has stopped, but only for you and her. You know. Like in the movies. Everyone rushes past, but the two of you lock eyes for what seems like decades. You snap out of it. Shake your head. Tell yourself you imagined it. You aren’t getting enough sleep. Yeah. That’s it. Check your watch again. Exactly fifteen and a half seconds had passed since you first saw her.
You want to see this girl again. This curious and plain girl.
Your eyes hungrily scan the crowd panned out in front of you, desperately searching for your target.
Check your watch again. You can’t be late.
It has been exactly ten seconds since you first saw her.
Double-take.
Excuse me? You must have been making a very strange face right about then. Because New Yorkers (who are not fazed by anything, mind you) and passersby were watching you stare at your watch. Rubber-neckers in cars and busses and obnoxiously yellow taxis stare.
They only stare at you though.
You look around. Someone has his cellphone out. Police, media, well, he’s definitely calling someone you don’t want around.

It has now officially been ten hours since your eyes first locked with those eyes, according to your obviously malfunctioning watch. You know it just needs new batteries… Right?

You see her smile at you. A sad, lonely, and loving smile.
And then you see it. Her right eye is a deep crimson. Like blood. Her left eye is a beautiful shade of gold. Even more beautiful than actual gold. Silver flecks shimmer in the sunlight in both eyes. You receive a quizzical look from her after you realize you’ve been staring for quite some time. She silently laughs. But you know. You just know that her laughter sounds like tiny windchimes by the sea.

She beckons to you. This plain yet extraordinary girl. Blue fingernail polish motions you closer. Her plain white dress doesn’t flap in the wind like everyone else’s. It streams behind her, like water behind a canoe.

And then you’re close enough to really take a good look at her. In the middle of a busy Manhattan street. It’s almost as if you two are the only ones there.
Her hair is loose and curly. Plain brown. From a distance, that is. Upon further inspection, you see streaks of blonde, patches of auburn, blocks of grey-brown. Waves of silver and gold. Her gaze never retreats. You close your eyes because you feel like it’s the right thing to do. Stupid, really. Closing your eyes in the middle of the sidewalk. But you want to trust her so badly.

You close your eyes.
A voice in your head whispers for you to open them.
Great. Now you’re hearing things. But you do it anyway, because again, you know it’s what you need to do.

Trees. Lots of them. You’re obviously in a forest. Wait. A forest? You peer past the dense shrubs and trees and only see more shrubs and trees. And darkness. Where did the daylight go? The only source of light are mysterious blue lights adorning the trees, and the two moons up in the sky, shining bright.

Wait, excuse me? TWO moons?
Toto, I don’t think we’re in New York anymore.


You close your eyes and try to focus on what to do next. Your watch is now gone. So much for that weird girl’s crazy time tricks. You’re hallucinating. It’s a dream. You are still at home, back at your crappy apartment, living your crappy life with your awful job and annoying roomate. Just when you’ve finally convinced yourself that this is all a dream, that delicate and mellifluous voice rings in your head again.


Welcome to Rela Ciele. Realm of the damned. Realm of the abandoned. Realm of the unsung heroes.

The voice, it tells you to get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day for you.

Oh, joy.

And suddenly you’re in an enormous room. All empty, all made of stone.

And one by one, a bed, a table, a desk, chairs, curtains, they all appear exactly in place. Blankets folded perfectly. Paintings hung perfectly straight. Chairs placed perfectly around the room.

The voice, it tells you, Welcome home.

You sigh. You give up. You give in. And you go to sleep. A deep dreamless sleep.


                                                                                                                         


After you fall asleep, I find Father. I tell him all that has happened.
He smiles and praises me for finding you.
Tells me how I’ll always be his favorite, even though his prodigal son, heir to the throne of Rela Ciele has returned.
I never wanted to be the queen anyway.
I’m more of a hands-on type of girl.
The type of girl who kidnaps long-lost family members.
The type of girl who speaks with her mind.
The type of girl who has a red eye and a gold eye.
The type of girl who never misses her mark with her sword.

The type of girl who was born to lead this revolution.

Something More

Stop.
Relax.
Breathe.
Repeat.

You never meant for this to happen. You were drunk. But isn’t this how all these things begin? You were wasted. He pulled you into his crowded apartment. He asked, Would you like something to drink? Stupid question. You were shitfaced. Of course you wanted something to drink. A bottle of red wine, burgundy, dark and swirling in your glass. Dizzy and wanting something, something more than your life as it was could ever give you. He stared at your throat, your chest, your legs from across the room, leading you on. But of course, of course, you never could have known how good of an actor he was.

Stop.
Smile.
Stare.
Repeat.

He was so charming, so suave, you had to love him. You got lost in his deep brown eyes. His dark, messy hair. His mesmerizing demeanor. A little voice in the back of your head gives you a warning. You ignore it. Of course. He stands up, advances towards you. You back up, like a trapped animal, into the bedroom, knowing what was going to happen next. A hand crawling up your shirt; his hand. The wine glasses forgotten, he takes off his own shirt and slides his hands past your belt buckle, past the waistband of your skin-tight jeans. The next thing you know, you’re both naked, he’s on top of you, your breath meeting his and blending together in the stuffy air of his claustrophobic apartment.

Stop.
Sin.
Lust.
Repeat.

His lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, moving around, searching for something. Something more. Oh, this is all too familiar, isn’t it? Your hands pressed on his back, his hands groping for your bony hips. Nips on your collarbone lead to kisses on your stomach. You whisper, Make me forget. He wants to know what you need to forget. You shake your head and beg for his touch. Stroke after stroke, moan after moan. His icy touch is the only thing your burning body can feel. You seem to fade in and out of consciousness, and next thing you know, he’s inside you. The alcohol in your blood, in your brain, it pushes you along, always wanting him. Only him. You and this boy are the only ones in the world. The night belongs to you. Hips thrusting, rattling moans, gasping for air as lust tears at your heart, rips it to shreds. Your bodies one single entity. He melts inside you while your heart melts at the thought of him. There is nothing more than this. And as suddenly as it started, it’s over.

Stop.
Rest.
Calculate.
Repeat.

You know what you have to do. Heart racing, you piece together your outfit again. Cast one last backwards glance at the boy that will break your heart at least three more times before the year is over. But of course, of course, you never could have known that. Silently you creep out of that cramped apartment. As you walk down the quiet streets, the streetlights bright and glaring, you know you never should have… But what good does it do you now? You know he’ll sleep soundly tonight. He knows he’ll tear you apart, and loves it. Heartless and cruel. Sadistic and cold-blooded. But you love him just the same. It looks like it’s going to be one of those sleepless nights again.

Stop.
Cry.
Give up.
End.

Day 0 - It All Begins Now

Spencer Maddox was an extremely normal teenager. Your oh-so-typical seventeen-year-old. He liked girls, video games, parties, and sports. Popular and smart. Hated school and had issues with authority.
Your typical, average, very boring young man.
But Spencer was boring, because frankly, he was bored himself. He wanted something completely out of the ordinary to happen. He wanted an apocalypse. He wanted adventure. He wanted… anything but this.

Our story begins on a breezy autumn night. Spencer was on his way to yet another party, where he predicted drunken sex and stupid mistakes would occur. He’d been through this a million times before. Nothing ever changed. The same girls danced on the pool table with their shirts off. The same idiot football players always got into the same fights over the same things. The same stupid bimbos hit on him with the same tactics. Noticing a pattern here? Because Spencer definitely was. As he stared out the window at a red light, he watched the stars, all glimmering. All… the same. Then out of the corner of his eye, Spencer saw a shooting star. A simple, fleeting burst of light, standing out from all the other stars. Turning focus away from even the moon. “That’s what I want to be,” Spencer thought. “I’m sick of being jaded. I’m tired of all this sameness.” And then he shouted to the skies, “I need something different! Something more! Anything. Something to break this damn cycle!”

Spencer set his jaw and saw the light turn to green. He slammed on the gas pedal and roared off into the night. He pulled up in front of the house where the party was. And, right on cue, there were the same people puking up vodka and beer. The same people feeling each other up in the same pool. The same party crashers. Spencer rolled his eyes and gripped the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles turned white. All of a sudden, Spencer became aware of his overwhelming desire to get as far away from these people, his so-called “friends”. And so he started his car back up and took off. Blindly taking corners, not really caring where he was going. He didn’t want to go home, with the same rich parents who never had any time for him, the same annoying little sister. The same video games he had beat a thousand times already. More of the sameness that he despised so much.

At another red light, he saw Central Park up ahead. Seventeen years in Manhattan, and Spencer had never been to Central Park. It was night. It was probably dangerous, and he’d end up as the inspiration for a great CSI episode. But he didn’t care anymore. “At least dying would be a change of pace,” he bitterly said to himself. The streets were fairly empty, and so he pulled over next to the park. As he stood outside his car, staring into the darkness where the trees meshed together as if they were one single entity, he felt as though the park was almost… calling him. He considered this for a few seconds, and then immediately dismissed the thought. Spencer knew that sort of stuff only happened in fiction. He exhaled, and watched his breath disperse into the chilly air.

Spencer wandered aimlessly through the giant park. Over foot bridges, along dirt paths with millions of footprints, benches with homeless men sleeping with newspapers for blankets. He finally found his way to a playground. He sat down on a swing and closed his eyes. He was completely alone. Same as ever. Spencer frowned and made a “tch” sort of noise, clenching his jaw and kicking at the dirt beneath the swing.

“Hi! Mind if I join you?”

“The hell?” Spencer opened his eyes, and in front of him was a girl who looked about his age. “Uh, oh. Um, sure, I guess.” He gestured to the empty swing next to him.

“So what’s your story?” the girl asked with a slightly sad and sympathetic tone. “Why are you here in the middle of the night?” She pulled out her cell phone and stared at it for a few seconds. She put it away and repeated her first question. “What’s your story?”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “What do you care? You’re a complete stranger who I just met about thirty seconds ago. What do you want from me?”

The girl smirked and Spencer could’ve sworn he saw her eye literally twinkle. “I want to know about you, Spencer. I want to know what you’ve done in your life. But mostly, I want to know if you’re happy.”

Spencer blinked rapidly and opened his mouth to make some snarky and rude comment, but instead, what came out was, “How do you know my name?”

“I know lots of things. And I’ve been watching you, Spencer.” She giggled when Spencer gave her a look that said, “Stalker?” “Not a stalker or anything. I’ve just been… watching.” She drifted off into silence. “Do you believe in the afterlife?” she suddenly said.

“The… the afterlife? Huh. I guess I haven’t really given any thought to it. I guess there’s heaven for the good people and hell for the bad.” He shrugged. “But who knows?” The girl giggled again. “Oh for heaven’s sake, stop giggling at everything I say!” Spencer crossed his arms and watched a cloud drift lazily across the star-speckled sky.

“Hey, listen. I know you’re bored. I know you’re sick of your everyday life. I know you hate all the sameness.” She checked her phone again. “Oh good. Still have time.”

“Time for what?” Spencer asked, terribly confused.

“You’ll see. Now, look, will you just trust me? You’re gonna die anyway. We both are. So let’s have the time of our lives this next week, okay?”

“Well, of course we’re both going to die. Isn’t that how life works?” Spencer commented, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I know that. I meant that we’re going to die very soon. For you, a week. For me, six days. My fate was set yesterday. Someone like me found me and told me.” She closed her eyes. “Look at the inside of your right wrist. It should be there already.”

Spencer looked at her skeptically out of the corner of his eye. He slowly pulled up his sleeve and looked at his wrist. And just as she said, there it was. Etched into his skin like someone took a knife and carved it in. It read:
“06.23.59.28”

Without even looking, the girl said, “Six days, twenty-three hours, fifty-nine minutes and twenty-eight… twenty-seven… twenty six… seconds. When that timer hits all zeros, you die.”

“How—”, Spencer started. “I can see how much time you have left. Look at me, now that you have your timer.” Spencer looked at her and saw “05.23.12.53” floating around her.

“Whoa. This can’t be happening. I-I’m really going to die in a week?”

“Yep!” she said cheerfully. So let’s make the best of it. You and me. We’ll take on the world, so people will remember us when we die.”

“You’re insane. I just met you!” Spencer exclaimed.

“So I’m insane, you’re jaded, we’re both dying. Why not go have some fun?”

Spencer raised his eyes to the deep blue sky and took a deep breath. “Well, it’s not like it’ll matter when the week’s over. Why not?” He stopped for a second. “Wait. You never told me your name!”

“First of all, how do you know it won’t matter? No one knows. Second, I’m Adrasteia Lazuli. A mouthful, I know. Just call me Adra. My parents are obsessed with—”

“Greek mythology, right? You were named after the nymph who protected Zeus from his father?” Spencer said excitedly.

Adra laughed. “Yep. At first, I got made fun of a lot, but I love my name now. Being unique is fun.” She winked at Spencer. “So. Are we gonna do this?”

Spencer stood up and stretched. “What are you waiting for?”

'Till Death Do Us Part

Shudder and stutter and cry out to the starless black sky. On the edge, one more step, and when you look for someone to catch you, there’s just an empty expanse of darkness. What a wonderful feeling, to be completely and utterly alone. You’re sick of being with yourself all the time. You just need someone, anyone, is anyone even listening? But they all know you’re just the boy who cried desperation. This is not a test. I repeat, this is not a test. This is an emergency broadca— You’re through faking and pretending and begging for attention. This time, oh, this time it’s for real. A nervous grin and a sad, scared wink. Oh yes, you have them fooled, they think you’re perfectly fine. The apocalypse is nigh, three… two… Oh, you never got to one. Just like always you walked out. Walked out on me. On us. A promise, I promise, you shattered it like a dropped china dish.

Apparently bulletproof glass isn’t heartbreakproof.
Thank you, my dear, for destroying my perfect illusion.
Deluded. Delusion. Confusion.

Forgive and forget.
In time, I’ll forgive. But I will never forget.

Lullabies and Demons

She doesn’t know how much longer she can hold on.
Dying inside isn’t as easy as it sounds.
Stripping the layers, one by one,
watching memories fade and wither.

She picks up the cracked and faded
pieces of her once pure heart.
Wistfully, longingly, she takes out
a demon from her pocket.

This demon asks her what
her one true desire is.
And she just stares out the window
into the cold, black sea.

Trance-like, she whispers,
"Be mine forever…"
And this cursed demon hesitates
and cries.

And she smiles and cries happy tears
as she slowly sinks, floating, falling
into the great abyss in her mind.
Never stopping; never faltering.

Her last words still haunt the stiff air:
"Don’t cry out… No, not for me."

Monochrome

Ashes are falling.
Weighing down the gloomy petals of those asphalt flowers.
Broken China and glass houses…
No, you’ll never change.

Begging to bloom, and struggling to live,
those asphalt flowers finally give in.
Oh, I’m such a sadist.
But those flowers are masochists.
They wept for it.

Tumbleweed rolls across the wasteland of my mind.
That sad, sad smile always broke my porcelain heart.

They say that mirrors never lie.
Yeah, well I never cry so why, oh why does my mirror taunt me so with tears?

A break, a heart, a name, a drop.
Don’t you dare forget my name.
When I’m gone you’ll thank your lucky stars,
but I’ll come haunt you in your sleep.

No, you’ll never change.

Scared of love, scared of life, scared of the future, present, and past.
It’s such a wonder you can ever love yourself…

The tree that we lay under is dying.
Mottled brown leaves fall and crumble in my hand.
Didn’t you say you wouldn’t abandon me?
Didn’t you?
You’re nothing but a lie.
And I wouldn’t even be surprised if you were just a figment of my desperate imagination.

Fantasy mixed with surreality blur the lines.
I don’t know anything anymore.
Oh, but I used to know the world.
We sang our songs, we played our games,
but it’s time to retire.

Twilight beckons, and the sun fades to that blue.
Yes, that blue that reminds me of your eyes, your shirt… you.

I wave my white flag
and sigh. I always get stuck with the dirty work.
You can’t afford to soil those perfect hands.
But I know you better than you know yourself,
and we both know that your hands are far from clean.

And I wonder, I wonder,
how many lives you’ve ruined.
Tea leaves swirl and smoke rises and raindrops soak my skin.
Drinking tea always relaxed me
while I was burning bridges in a storm.

Yet, I cannot thank you enough
for being the thorn among the roses.
I’ll disappear. And maybe now and then
you’ll think of me and wish you hadn’t…

Goodbye, it’s time to let the flowers have their chance at life now…

From Shot to Call

Sweet arias accompanied by
melancholy strings.
Songs of eld and their triumphant muses
sing their despondent tunes.
A bell tolls to the far east.
A shiver runs down a well-braced spine,
and his lucid dreaming mixes with reality.

Slowly shake the walls loose of this
desolate and desperate debris.
Monotony, monotonous, it’s all the same to me.

Seemingly soundless specters haunt
these grim and sorrowful halls.
The paint is peeling, time keeps ticking,
and my heart just keeps beat, beat, beating away…
Beating away to the silent despair of these ruins.

How does it feel to finally be
on the outside looking in?
Do you finally understand
the true meaning of loneliness yet?

Mirrors taunt and toy with my heart
as they proudly plaster a perpetual smile on my face.
A sad, forlorn, and abandoned smile.
An empty smile, devoid of all truth.

Salty tears fall, just as an angel falls from grace.
Bitter and resentful, the mirror shatters,
and along with it, my beautiful illusions.

Trivial trials come to pass,
and the second hand on the clock in my heart
ticks slower than ever.
Submitting to the numbness is harder than it sounds.
Abandoned of any emotion, I become a living doll;
a walking corpse, still smiling that same, lonely half-smile.

You see, redundancy and perseverance
are my deadliest weapons.
Pair those with guilt, and I’ll slit your throat.

After all, the sole thing you wished for
was to die by my hands.
These hands you loved so much.

But do not shed tears, for this was not a loss.
Merely take things one disaster at a time.

I will always forgive, my love,
but I shall never forget.
The truth will set us free.


I profusely apologize for your mistakes.
I just cant seem to get it right.

Stolen

Delude myself in wild fantasies
until I can’t tell fiction from reality.
I don’t belong here, I can tell you that much.

Simple words stitched and strung together
that sing a song of desolation and sad, soft smiles:
That’s all I am.
And it’s all I ever will be.

Blind dolls and marionettes link hands
and cry tearlessly at monochrome nightmares.
Mute lips spell out harsh words,
but they’ll only end up falling upon deaf ears.

I slowly sink into my silent serenity
and wish for nothing more than everything.
Everything I’ve lost, everything I have,
and everything in between.

My lullaby, my requiem, my anthem,
my one respite goes unsung.

I just want to be free.

Lost

Liberation has forced my hand
and you’ll never know the cost.

Wake up.
Shake up.

Raise the stakes, the bets are high,
but you’re just coming off a low.

Lull me to dreamland
with your broken
lullabies.

What was that they always said?

"Ignorance
is
bliss.”

I wanted to know
the world;
I wanted the world
to know
me.

But now I get it.
I give up.

After all,
you are no match
for me.

Or was it the other way around?

Silk sheets and velvety smooth
words
make for a perfect alibi.

Now,
all you need is a
crime.

Puzzle’s solved.
Day’s won.
World’s saved.

But does anyone ever
know the true cost of
happiness?

Relapse

She senselessly pulls the strings
of a broken marionette.
Lullaby, oh lullaby, just take me
anywhere but here, I beg of you.

He slams the door to shed his tears.
No one really knows his name for sure.
Lullaby, oh lullaby, sing me something,
anything sad and alone.

You trim the vines to hide the fact
that you were merely
the thorn among the roses.
Lullaby, oh lullaby, wilt and wither;
return to the soil from whence you came.

I write the words to leave a memory
of the truth as it lays unmarred.
As ink spills onto the white of the paper,
pure melodies become tarnished.

Lullaby, oh lullaby, please forgive me.
I never really even tried.

Away

Staccato stars in monochromatic hues,
silenced deliberately by way of dreaming in the tombs.
Breathlessly whispering, “The rains will come,
and wash away our tears”.
Graceful and radiant, she bows her head in solemn despair.

"The stars, the stars have left us," she cries,
as the moonlit night closes its eyes one last time.
Sparks of vibrant memories propel us forward,
always forward.

Empty Stares and Broken Souls

Speechless.
Perfect poise, perfect utterances of something profound,
perhaps to calm my trembling nerves.
Throat chokes, chest tightens;
I cannot imagine why I’m still
oh, so surprised.

Trusting in the warmth of your
icy cold stares and your
too hot skin.
Believe me, I will never believe
again.

Take your time.
After all, the perfect ambush
is the one that I can see, but am too blind,
too deaf to realize.

Calculating. Ever-staring.
You are ones and zeros and I am your perfect experiment.
Strike back, fight back, turn back.
You are a vulture and I am your prey.
Write me off, tell me off, beat me off.
You are the master thief, and I am the heartless princess.

Believe me, I will never believe
again.

Fiery Skies

Anxious beating hearts and drums.
Hands twitch, brow furrows;
Sonatas and arias mask truths behind
paper tigers.
Bleeding swords and sharpened wrists
fall soundlessly into my dreams.

Victory: Improbable and impossible.
Soul: Uncertain and unshaken.

Come hell or high water,
I will see this through.

Quitting the field just isn’t my style.
I’d rather die a thousand deaths
than watch you fall
that one last time.

Secret Burdens

Their sleeping cries grasp at the black midnight air. The die has been cast; never again shall we submit. Submit to the tyranny of cliche lines and overused phrases. We will choke you to death with your humble white flags. Gracefully, she steps out from under the frame of the door that you loved so much, and she is never seen again. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the will, the strength to fight. Good intentions pave the road to where I stand, but you should have already figured that out by now. Pace and turn, pace and turn, faith lost and cynicism found. Hold onto that paranoia, it’ll serve you well. Trust is but a fleeting memory of a long lost fantasy. Cosmos and mythos are my domain, yet they never seem to listen to my proudly stuttered words of desperation.

Come, let us walk the path of the weary, the innocent, the ones who have been cast aside. Beating hearts shall be our war drums, and words shall be our swords.