There is an old saying among the Banyarwanda people in the heart of Africa. “During the day, God is elsewhere. But at night, he sleeps in Rwanda.” I suppose that myth was comforting to them. I suppose they felt safe believing their deity slept with his people the way a bird sleeps with its hatchlings. But the python strikes when the bird sleeps. In April of 1994, God must have been sleeping…
The Child
The other kids call me “Inyenzi”, but that’s not my name. I think maybe it’s because I’m small like a bug. But I don’t have six legs, just two. I think it’s not a nice name. Mostly, I don’t like being called “Inyenzi” because I love my real name. Papa told me that eight days after I was born all my family and neighbours came to our land to help pick a good name for me like they did for my brother and sister during their Kitwa Izina. My mother wrapped me in a blue blanket and I didn’t even cry. People shouted out names but my father ignored them. He decided not to name me after our ancestors. Their names made him sad. He knew their spirits were there and spoke to them the night before. They all died when he was young like me. They were killed by their neighbours because they wanted their goats and land. My neighbours aren’t like that though, they always help me. Sometimes when I get hungry they give me milk to drink and bananas to eat. I love my neighbours, except when the little boys call me “Inyenzi”.
My Kitwa Izina was a beautiful day. It had rained the night before when father spoke to his ancestors. In the morning when the Sun woke up it chased all the clouds away. Papa said the hills were greener than usual. The lake slept all morning long. Our ancestors must have asked Imana to make the day beautiful for me. That’s why Papa chose “Keza” for my name, because it means “beautiful”. Keza Celestine Ingabarenzi. Everyone cheered and agreed it was the perfect name for me. I think so too.
Since it was a beautiful day my birth must have pleased Imana because he decides when the days are beautiful and when it rains. My brother told me the muzungus call Imana “God”. I saw a muzungu once. At first I thought he was a spirit wandering the marketplace in Amahoro. He was covered in black and had a white collar and wooden necklace. He looked funny. I followed him through the market but I didn’t want to get too close because the other children said muzungus were cannibals. I lost sight of him in a crowd of people. I looked all around but couldn’t see him anymore. I squeezed by a big lady in a colourful dress and bumped into someone’s leg. I looked up and saw that it was the muzungu. He looked down at me and smiled. I had never seen blue eyes before. He had an old pink face and white hair. He said something to me and reached into his pocket. I was so scared I ran away before I could see what it was. I kept running all the way home. As I ran the dust turned my dress from blue to red. When I finally got to our hill I told Papa I saw a spirit in Amahoro Market. I told him about his black clothes and white collar. I said he had skin like a pig, hair like the clouds, and eyes like the sky. I thought Papa wouldn’t believe me but instead he just laughed. “Keza,” he said, “He was a muzungu.” “What’s a muzungu?” “A white man.” “Are they spirits?” “No Keza. They come from lands far beyond the hills of Rwanda.”
Callum walked with a look of determination in his eyes, and cold steel in his hand. The freezing, whipping wind of the Alaskan forest made the gun feel warmer. A soft blanket of comfort in a grim, lonely place. The kind of place someone comes to live the final years of their sad lives. The place they come to get away from the bullshit, from the hustle and lies of life. It’s the kind of place, someone comes to kill. He made his way out of the thick wood, to a clearing. A large circle of flat snow, with a single house the center, a middle finger to the surrounding nature. It was unnatural. In the wild, it seemed from another realm, another world. Under his soaked boots, crisp snow broke like pastry, with every emotional step. This is the kind of place were all meals are served cold, revenge being on the menu. A place where journeys come to an end. Numb feet carried Callum up three small steps, propelling him towards a final chapter. A pillar of black smoke rose from the single chimney, the smell reminding him of home. Of years past. Of years better left behind. Of a life left behind. Rotted wood on the small deck peeled and blackened with age. Nature turning on itself, defying man. Beyond the tall Western Hemlock’s, somewhere in the mosaic of trees, plants and wild life, a fox yelped, only to be cut off by the high pitch whistle of an eagle. Death gave way to life. One died, so the other could live. The eagle will eats its fill of the little fox’s insides. It will bathe its idolized beak in the blood of its foe. Such is the way of the world, both man and nature. With no knob, Callum leaned against the ancient door, its weight almost nonexistent. The hinges, groaned, signaling his entrance. Like turning the final page of a book, to see it filled only half way, Callum knew the end to his story was drawing near. He found her sitting in front of the fire. A glass of scotch in one hand, fresh bleeding meat in the other. The cold barrel of his gun placed against her withered hair. “You would treat an old lady, like myself this way?” her voice was like a dry leaf, floating to the mud. “Shut up!” Callum hammered the back of her head with the butt of the gun. “Shut up! You always knew this was coming.” Her flesh opened like water. Parted ways and bled. She didn’t sigh, not in pain, or anger. “I have,” again her voice soft, fragile, tired. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.” “Easy was never part of the plan. Easy went out the window years ago. You have lived far too long. You have lived the time she had…what? Ten fold, twenty fold? You are old, you are tired, and powerless,” Callum placed the cold biting steel to the back of her skull once again. Calm stilled his voce, and his hand, “Back to hell with you.” Her brains sizzled in the fire as it popped and danced, accepting the death, accepting the life.
A Story like no other, a tale of a boy and his brothers And their father who wore the English crown And the elder sons who tore his kingdoms down, But that’s not the story we seek, it was his youngest son that seemed bleak, Because Jonah Sans Terre would never be heir it was land his father did seek. The King set off to the northwest he went on a great quest to a land with rolling hills of green It a land of plenty and a golden scene until the war’s were waged men Killed, captured, and caged. The Gaels and Vikings were ruthless the king’s tactics all seemed foolish he lost so many men. So the King came up with a plan to this High King and council of this so called “Ireland” He said, neh he commanded “I’m not an unreasonable man all I ask is oh, say, you follow the rule of mine and My kin’s command, Mmm oh and say half your lands, an army with some of your best mans And oh yes for my son at the altar, the Irish Kings finest daughter….” And yes the Irish King did protest but still he knew that it was best For their lands to be as one he did what he felt need to be done. So with a nod and a flight of the hand the king of Ireland Brought in Rome’s treaty and Charter’s and yes he agreed to marry off his finest Daughter After the princesses 16th birthday she’d be engaged to marry to king of England’s son. Then the deal was done the English king said “A Victory here was WON” This be as far back as I know the tale for I am Alan of Annadale bard of the English Court For 5 years at 9 years old, I lost my Mum and my Dad, but the king like the stories I told. Well that be enough about me, I’ll tell you the story of what happened just presently a Magical love Story of Majesty…
As Agreed on July 21 1184, The Princess arrived on a large oak ship with green sails, heavily guarded, docked at Ellesmere Port with one hundred of Ireland’s best warriors who were ordered to stay at shore side. The air was humid and the sky grey, wet pellets hit the top of the spruce carriage that the Princess and her three ladies from each different clan rode in. Ten Soldiers protected the carriage they wore gold crucifixes on white and green banners, even their Irish Draught Black steeds were dressed in the banner. There banners marked them as Irish nobility and royalty. They marched through Chester, down to Shropeshire where the Princess Regan O’Conner would meet her fiancé Prince Jonah of England. “Are you Afraid he won’t look well?” chimed Mona MacLauchlan Lady of Mide, not invited by friend or family purely by station and the fact she lived on English soil half her life. Always with a smart smirk on her heart shaped face. The Princess gave her a deathly stare with her large gleaming green eyes, and then she thought to herself, what if the prince was hideous and in fact she would marry a beast? Looks were not something that crossed her mind, Regan looked at her union politically, so she’d have a say in what happened to her Ireland. Even though not tall, Princess Regan had beautiful features, Pale skin, and 30 inch long fire-red hair. The princess was a peaceful a healer remaining in infirmaries against her father’s wishes to treat war victims and the sick even the foreigners. Regan’s father Rory O’Conner allowed her to train as an apothecary she trained at the revered Insula Sanctorum et Doctorum , after the Roman and English take over it was renamed Cong Abbey.
“I guess that had not crossed my mind, so no, forgive me for I’m not sure what his looks have to do with our countries being at Peace” Princess Regan O’Connor innocently replied. “Let me be honest with you young princess… it does have a lot to do with it” Fianna O’Rourke Lady of Breifine interrupted. Older than the Princess, a dowager countess in her own right had inherited her father’s lands after her brother and father died in a previous war. Fianna was wise beyond her years with raven black hair, olive skin and hazel eyes with blue tribal tattoos on her collarbone with marked her being a chief constable of the Fionn Guard. “Without feelings his love can waiver and he could take many lovers, but you none… Have you not heard of the rumors of The Great Queen Eleanor of England and what she did to her King’s Lover?” Mona said deliciously, like she’d been waiting to share. “No..? Why? Are these things I ought to take interest in Mona? Gossip and Here say of English court “Replied the Princess abruptly. Regan then grabbed a hide satchel with over a dozen books in it that she’d taken from Cong abbey’s banned books she picked up one, it read Corpus Dionysiacum on the bind of the book, she opened and began to read hoping to drown out the others. “How did you get this book out of the Abbey Regan?”Shocked the Lady Bridget O’Brian sharply whispered at her. As she snatched the book out of Regan’s hand and shoved it between the hide leather padding on the seats then sat on it. “Good St. Pat, Yes, I think it does matter Regan since you’re about to carry a, recently deemed heretical book into English court!” Mona whispered satirically. “I wished to remain as healer. I did not ask for this, this may not be a life I would have chosen, it was still a life chosen for me by my Father so I shall respect it. I rather hoped to remain studying Biology, herbal and mineral medicines. If John were heir to the throne I would see the Kingdom of England would have a righteous rule.” The Princess spoke boldly as if was mimicking her father Roderick O’Conner High King of Ireland. “Let me stop, you there Regan” said Fianna smirked at her innocence.
“No, no allow me!” Mona took over the conversation like she usually did, she continued on “The Prince, count your lucky Stars is very handsome, best looking of all his legitimate brothers, which two by the way are still in line for the thrown Geoffrey and Richard, then John. King Henry is scared to give the throne to Geoffrey because he plans to join with France. Although rumors that Richard prefers to bed men have been surfacing so it’s possible that if king were to find out he may be disinherited. The last heir to the throne Henry the young died of dysentery 8 months ago, John received large land entitlements, until his brothers tried to claim them as their own. The King has had a truly hard year; even losing his mistress hurt him dearly…..” “I was unaware King Henry had taken a Mistress” interrupted Regan shocked. “Of course many where unaware, Especially the Queen mother” giggled Lady Bridget “Good lord Bridget, do you have to be so interruptive?! So King Henry for about 3 years had a mistress he would hide in a labyrinth of a garden and in his garden he would make love to her, when word had got back to the Queen that the King took a lover Eleanor cut down the labyrinth with 10 men and made the king watch his Lover choose from poison or a blade” Mona finished like she just told a spooky story with a smile on her face. “Why are you smiling, that’s horrible” Princess Regan snapped. “Well it’s good for her, she is queen and a French one at that, with as much land as yours and mine together; she wanted to show the king how unacceptable it was!”Mona cleverly replied. “Oh do shut up Mona you’ve been speaking the whole trip” Bridget pleaded “I beg your pardon” Mona replied “yah keep begging” Mona’s jaw dropped. “Enough of this, you are ladies! Can we not be happy? Look the weather has brightened! And I will be wed soon, it’s possible there are suitor available for all of you” Regan eased the tension. “Yes Princess but do remember they must hold to our Irish traditions and wait one year before marriage” either way Mona has frequented England since before her Uncle Richard de Clare or Strong bow as we know him passed away he entrusted me with her safety and now The king has asked me to do the same for you, since Mona now has Roger de Mortimer’s protection in England she no longer had use for my services” Fianna said strongly with a bold look in her dark eyes. “Yes, I know Fianna you do forget the Lady Mona is my second cousin don’t you?”The Princess reminded Fianna. “Well what’s family without out a little bit of rivalry”
(This is the introduction to my novel at the moment I have many places to begin and start, but I believe in introducing the background with the story, as I will be starting the story in a new era and age in the world I call: Eternity.)
The world is full of possibilities and opportunities, from the start of existence, to the birth of immortals and the rise of mortal races. In the existence only known as Eternity, there lies gods and men, creatures and celestials, monsters, villains and heroes from the earliest of times, to those who emerge in throughout the ages and others who would still appear in the future. Even with the world freed from the bonds of fate, mortals may achieve immortality or godhood in their lifetimes. In the distant past known as the Primordial Age, where the ancients and primals of the world were give life, after the four individual, but connected forces of existence had fought on two oppositions in a furious battle which gave the planet, Eternity form. These forces of existence are named Balance and Creation on one opposition and the other side is Destruction and Chaos. These forces each had different allegiances from some of the first immortals, the primals such as the titans, metallic dragons, wood elves and others whose names were long forgotten. The other beings known as celestials, were the opposite of the primals as each represented a necessity of the world and a celestial bodies such as the sun, moon and the elusive aurora borealis. Upon the end of the primordial age, the war of the gods and immortals had altered and permanently changing the fabricated laws of the world, by the victors such as Eryia and Orsith two gods of two panthons. These gods were responsible for the death of the god-king whose tyrannical rule had made the world of mortals and gods suffer greatly, for his greed and sin. These god’s follower built their own empires beginning a new era of divinity and thus the Divine age began, with the cycle of balance and creation fighting destruction and chaos, through the gods and mortals themselves. In the north, Eryia’s blessed race were born in the land favored by her followers such as the Iron-blood Titans and the Storm Elves whose own fellow kinsmen became two of their goddess’s own Champions named Traueq, the stormstrider and Aewloke, the bloodied.
As of late I find myself calling around to the people whom I used to call a friend, until I discovered a painful pattern. Many of the numbers are slowly changing.
Not once had I realized the folks I had been growing up with had been making an escape plan; and before long they put them forth into action. Resulting in me being left forever alone, feeling like I am sinking in the ocean of depression. I began sipping whiskey in hopes that drinking it down would warm me enough to prevent freezing; because my blood already runs slowly in my vein.
In hopes of finding a cure, a remedy to get better, I searched endlessly for a way, something to dismantle the despair and angst's that seem to forever linger.
I took up smoking cigarettes but it wasn't the nicotine that gave me relief, instead it was when I began reading Rousseau Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, and many other written pieces of dogma by men that are miserable for no reason.
Narcotics had started off as a hobby but became a habit and by the time I had noticed, it was too difficult to function during sobriety without throwing a fit. By sixteen it was clear that dope was no fad but it'd remain a vocation- even a weapon that was used by my head as part of a war effort to battle my weakening heart.
Vee woke to the smell of chilled sweat and fear. Cloudy mid-morning light seeped through the cracks in the roof catching motes of dust in its grip. Vee's labored breaths settled slowly as waking life asserted itself on her mind. She tossed off the tattered sweat soaked blanket to the dusty floor and swung her legs over the side of the cot. Vee combed her shaky fingers through her greasy mop of hair then wiped them off on her shirt. She stood up stretching her arms above her head, fingers nearly touching the slats of the roof. Vee groggily stumbled over to a bowl of collected rain water, cupping her hand and splashing water over her head. Vee shook her head showering droplets across the room before slicking her hair back.
Vee eyed the door before undressing, hanging the damp clothes on a line strung from end to end of the cramped space. She pulled down a long strip of linen binding it around her chest. She slip on dry, slightly over sized clothing and pulled up the hood of her shirt over her head. Vee stepped carefully across the cluttered floor to the door throwing back the two bolts. The door creaked on rusted hinges as she nervously cracked it open, peeking out into the alley. She slipped out and soon disappeared into the crowded streets.
The open market was one of Vee's favorite places in the city of Balton, the hordes of people, the mingling smells of sweat and spice and of course, the anonymity. She perched on the outskirts of the market watching the coming and goings of the sea of civilians while munching on a crust of bread. Vee brushed off the crumbs before seeping into the crowd moving with its natural flow. Her slender frame eased through with slightly more momentum like a current in the ocean.
The mid-day sun soon beat down casting shimmering waves in the air. The crowd had thinned avoiding the raging heat and sticky bodies. Vee loved the heat. The soft billow of her clothes was smooth and soft against her skin.
Her jaw dropped momentarily as eyes widened then narrowed, regaining her composure. Her nightmare stood at the other end of a long line of stalls. She turned around standing in the middle of the aisle desperately choking back tears. She wiped her eyes on her stained sleeve before ducking behind some hanging bolts of bright silk. She parted a hole with her fingers between two bolts peering down the aisle. “No touching.” The lazy eyed vendor warned. “Boy, don't be putting your grubby street rat fingers all over my wares.” Vee pulled her hood lower shading her eyes as she moved down several more stalls before stopping to look at some ugly pottery. Using her peripheral vision, Vee attempted to confirm the identity of her nightmare. “Vaylor.” she hissed through her teeth as he moved closer. The anger festered in her bones like an infected wound.
Vaylor perused the market wares, even oceans seemed to part at the high priest’s steps. He moved slowly and with grace, flashing warm smiles and blessings upon vendors he deemed worthy of his presence. The praise and occasional offerings worked in Vee's favor, keeping Vaylor from paying attention to a lowly street kid. She itched with the urge to get closer, but didn't. The longer she shadowed him through the market, the calmer she became. When Vaylor turned a corner Vee stumbled into a display of knives, knocking it over. “Jeez” the vendor screamed jumping back, avoiding the knives hungry for his toes. “I'm so sorry mister, let me help you...” “Fuck off before I get the town guard to throw you in a cell, you filthy little shit.” She raised her hands gingerly stepping back from the mess.
She turned and hustled towards the corner where she had last seen Vaylor as a smile crept on to her lips. She carefully spied around the corner just in time to see him disappear again. She scanned her surrounding as she quickly gained ground. A familiar face brought a gleam to her eyes. She walked past the aisle Vaylor had turned down, stopping on the other side to keep watch. He had stopped half way down at a fragrance vendor, sniffing samples with mixed reactions. A low whistle caught the attention of Jace who was sitting on some steps on the edge of the market square. “Sup Vee?” Jace said bounding over to her. “I need you to do something for me.” She smiled and explained the plan. Jace gave Vee a determined nod.
Vee and Jace took off in opposite directions turning down the two adjacent aisles to Vaylor. Vee moved with purposeful speed and agility dodging people along the way. Vee slowed down at the south end of the market turning into a narrow alley. She ducked down behind a pile of debris producing the stolen stiletto from her sleeve. Her eyes smiled with loathing. “You don't get to come to my market, you bastard” she said growing impatient.
Jace rounded the corner into the alley a leather pouch jingling in his clutches and Vaylor hot on his heels. Jace whizzed past, damn that kid was fast. Vee calmed herself in those precious few moments as best she could. She listened carefully as Jace passed timing the foot falls, at the last moment she shot out her leg catching Vaylor feet. It worked, almost. Vaylor stumbled but sheer will forced his feet beneath him. Vee shot out like a bolt of lightning, knife in hand glinting in the sunlight.
Vee was surprised as Vaylor spun with demonic speed catching her hand and throat, pinning her against the wall. She flailed and seethed, lashing out with her remaining limbs. The shock of her head and wrist crunching against the wall loosened her grip sending the knife clanking to the ground. Dizziness engulfed her as Vaylor's grip tightened on her neck. Spittle dripped down her chin and she felt as if her eyes were going to burst. Her lungs and eyes began to burn. Vaylor let go of her wrist and threw back the hood staring deep into Vee's eyes with a wicked grin. “So this is your doing little orphan Veedra” Vaylor eased his grip just enough to let her breath. Vee erupted into a coughing fit mixed with deep gasps for air. He stroked his boney fingers down her cheek. She spat in his face and tried to break his grip with a downward swing. His grip held. “I always liked your fiery spirit,” Vaylor sunk his fist into her stomach. Vee nearly went limp. “It really is too bad you're growing up so fast.” He snaked his hand across her body sending a wave of bile clawing up her throat. “Not too fast I see.” His hands lingered over her chest before migrating to her thigh. Vee struggled with what strength she had left. Her head sent spikes into the backs of her eyes.
“This time I won't be so gentle.” He lifted her off the ground and tossed her down. A swift kick to the ribs stole her breath and brought stinging tears to her eyes. He crouched down pressing his weight down on her as she struggled. He used his size to control her and soon had her legs spread open. “I am going to fuck you until you're a corpse, you little whore.” A sharp slap cut off her attempt to scream. Vaylor licked his foul lips, tugging at her pants. Vee's searing smile disarmed him instantly.
Vaylor let out a guttural growl as the blade pierced his side. He wheeled about as a tiny claw snagged his thinning hair. Over and over the thin steel punctured his neck. The spray of blood scattered like rain drops as the mixed with the dusty earth. Jace stood over Vaylor, blood stained hands trembling. “We got to go.” Vee said finding the strength to stand. Jace was hypnotized by the expanding pool and lifeless eyes. “Now.” Vee said grabbing Jace's hand and running down the alley.
This was perfect. He had come full circle. He had taken his first victim here. Now his 13th victim would be here in this little town of Port Dover on Friday the 13th. How ironic! He had left after his first victim. Running away then, but now coming back to finish what he had started. Back here to his family home, to where he grew up in this picturesque town. Here where the streets closed up in the winter and summers were full of tourists. Fishing and swimming, hot dogs at the arbor, bikers everywhere, especially on Friday the 13th's.
Now they would know who he was. No longer invisible, no longer just “that boy”.
This small town of Port Dover became the favorite destination of bikers each and every Friday the 13th regardless of the weather. The tradition started back in 1981 when a bike shop owner got together with a few friends for a couple of beers and had such a good time decided to do it every time a Friday the 13th rolled around. The ritual was born as each year the word traveled and more and more bikers attended. Returning veterans and new bikers came to show off their bikes and catch up with old and new friends. From just a few friends having a couple of beers to thousands converging on this little town to party, it brought in much needed tourism and dollars to the economy.
I was the famous (in a small obscure way) hometown boy who had gone out and made a name for himself. And now, they had invited me back for a charity function to be held on the 50th event of Friday the 13th celebrations here in Dover. He still didn’t believe they really knew who he was just that he was an illusionist who happened to be from Dover. He had changed his last name for a stage name that had more flare when it was announced. The money raised from the function would be going to support the Port Dover Composite High School. When he received the request and saw where the monies would be going he just couldn’t resist and quickly sent his confirmation.
They were expecting almost 200,000 visitors and more than 30,000 bikers in this little town. It would be the perfect cover. The cops would be so busy with the bikers and the crowds, he would be long gone before they even realized there had been an abduction and murder, let alone a serial killer in their midst.
13 victims! No more, no less. The 13th victim on Friday the 13th! He had circled their pictures in his yearbook and meticulously crossed each of them off. He had one more to go, the most important one. He had saved her for the last. He had killed the first one before he had a chance to leave, but the others had all left this small town to strike out on their own. Hoping desperately to get away - get away from the torment. The torment severe or slight altered all of them to some degree. Even though they had left this place, they couldn't escape the torment embedded into their lives after all those years. The torment had stayed with them changing who and what they were. Perhaps even making them what they were.
Over the years he had taken his time searching each of them out. When he found them he waited. He watched them and followed them. He learned their routines, observed their behaviour, and felt their sadness and loneliness.
Then, at last he released them. He gave them their freedom. The freedom their tortured souls so deserved.
Friday would be the ultimate performance. The ultimate release! They would know that he shared their fractured souls. His final victim and his soul mate. By releasing her, he would finally be free - free from the guilt.
The guilt was not from doing something wrong, but from doing nothing. He did nothing to stop them. He couldn’t help her and did nothing to help them.
He was late, in fact he was the last to leave the residential zone that day, except for the younglings and their care givers who could not. His feet pounded the lavender grass flat as he raced between the small rounded concrete abodes. The air had a sweet warmth to it from the orange sun hanging lazily high in the sky, its light filtering down from the crystal clear emerald sky. Logan's tardiness was something of an oddity among the beings who live in the city of Origin. It was a place of ritualistic days for both its residents and visitors. It was also the safest place in all the realms. When they were taught history in The Glimmering Spire, Logan had learn that it had not always been so. Before the nine gates had been constructed, Origin had been open to all being including the dreaded beings of the outer realms. Elder Fanriir had spoken little about these being, except to say that they had been driven mad by the endless expanses of the far realms, so much so that they no longer held to The Principals. This revelation had brought frightened gasps from Logan's classmates, but he just didn't understand. When he had tried to probe further, the elder had just brushed him off. Logan's effortlessly gliding strides brought him to The First Gate, which was already open. With the animated statue, the gatekeeper, no where to be seen, he thought himself lucky today. He slipped through the gate almost unnoticed.
Even after the thousands of times he had pass through the gates, the transition from one realm to the next always left him feeling slightly awkward. A tingling pins and needles sensation permeated his extremities, as a shiver whipped through his body. Once again there was no time for this sensation, he pressed forward toward the base of the mountainous buildings of the city proper. Each bounding stride saw the city loom more and more over head, filling the sky as if standing beneath a great tree. This place always seemed cold to Logan, as if the geometry of this place, which seemed unnatural to him, cast shadows across more the just the ground. The Glimmering Spire was deep withing the urban labyrinth, but shone like a beacon as its glass-cut surface twisted the reflective light into every color imaginable and even some that he never thought he could. It was the center of the city and not just because of it location. The Glimmering Spire was were all the important decision were made for the welfare of Origin. The grand entrance was heavily trafficked by residents and visitors and it was impossible to enter undetected. This was the part of the daily journey that Logan dreaded the most. The inevitable “Late again.” jabs from each Watcher he had to pass to make his way to the education level. His pace slowed. He was already late, no point in trying to rush through the traffic. He reluctantly pressed he way inside, taking each remark with his customary sheepish smile and shrug.
Entering the spacious room, drew the usual glances and quiet laughter from his classmates. Elder Fanriir never spared a glance anymore, he simply continued his lecture. As he took his seat, Logan felt as if he had finally rejoined the stream of time, but instead of relaxing and joining in the ritual, something else was nagging at the back of his mind today. He couldn't concentrate. His mind drifted along to the rhythm of the lecture taking place.
BRAD CRAWFORD: CHAPTER 1
ReplyDeleteThere is an old saying among the Banyarwanda people in the heart of Africa. “During the day, God is elsewhere. But at night, he sleeps in Rwanda.”
I suppose that myth was comforting to them. I suppose they felt safe believing their deity slept with his people the way a bird sleeps with its hatchlings. But the python strikes when the bird sleeps. In April of 1994, God must have been sleeping…
The Child
The other kids call me “Inyenzi”, but that’s not my name. I think maybe it’s because I’m small like a bug. But I don’t have six legs, just two. I think it’s not a nice name. Mostly, I don’t like being called “Inyenzi” because I love my real name.
Papa told me that eight days after I was born all my family and neighbours came to our land to help pick a good name for me like they did for my brother and sister during their Kitwa Izina. My mother wrapped me in a blue blanket and I didn’t even cry. People shouted out names but my father ignored them. He decided not to name me after our ancestors. Their names made him sad. He knew their spirits were there and spoke to them the night before. They all died when he was young like me. They were killed by their neighbours because they wanted their goats and land. My neighbours aren’t like that though, they always help me. Sometimes when I get hungry they give me milk to drink and bananas to eat. I love my neighbours, except when the little boys call me “Inyenzi”.
My Kitwa Izina was a beautiful day. It had rained the night before when father spoke to his ancestors. In the morning when the Sun woke up it chased all the clouds away. Papa said the hills were greener than usual. The lake slept all morning long. Our ancestors must have asked Imana to make the day beautiful for me. That’s why Papa chose “Keza” for my name, because it means “beautiful”. Keza Celestine Ingabarenzi. Everyone cheered and agreed it was the perfect name for me. I think so too.
Since it was a beautiful day my birth must have pleased Imana because he decides when the days are beautiful and when it rains. My brother told me the muzungus call Imana “God”. I saw a muzungu once. At first I thought he was a spirit wandering the marketplace in Amahoro. He was covered in black and had a white collar and wooden necklace. He looked funny. I followed him through the market but I didn’t want to get too close because the other children said muzungus were cannibals. I lost sight of him in a crowd of people. I looked all around but couldn’t see him anymore. I squeezed by a big lady in a colourful dress and bumped into someone’s leg. I looked up and saw that it was the muzungu. He looked down at me and smiled. I had never seen blue eyes before. He had an old pink face and white hair. He said something to me and reached into his pocket. I was so scared I ran away before I could see what it was.
I kept running all the way home. As I ran the dust turned my dress from blue to red. When I finally got to our hill I told Papa I saw a spirit in Amahoro Market. I told him about his black clothes and white collar. I said he had skin like a pig, hair like the clouds, and eyes like the sky. I thought Papa wouldn’t believe me but instead he just laughed.
“Keza,” he said, “He was a muzungu.”
“What’s a muzungu?”
“A white man.”
“Are they spirits?”
“No Keza. They come from lands far beyond the hills of Rwanda.”
JUSTIN DIXON: Hand in Hand
ReplyDeleteHand in Hand
Callum walked with a look of determination in his eyes, and cold steel in his hand. The freezing, whipping wind of the Alaskan forest made the gun feel warmer. A soft blanket of comfort in a grim, lonely place. The kind of place someone comes to live the final years of their sad lives. The place they come to get away from the bullshit, from the hustle and lies of life. It’s the kind of place, someone comes to kill.
He made his way out of the thick wood, to a clearing. A large circle of flat snow, with a single house the center, a middle finger to the surrounding nature. It was unnatural. In the wild, it seemed from another realm, another world.
Under his soaked boots, crisp snow broke like pastry, with every emotional step. This is the kind of place were all meals are served cold, revenge being on the menu. A place where journeys come to an end.
Numb feet carried Callum up three small steps, propelling him towards a final chapter. A pillar of black smoke rose from the single chimney, the smell reminding him of home. Of years past. Of years better left behind. Of a life left behind. Rotted wood on the small deck peeled and blackened with age. Nature turning on itself, defying man. Beyond the tall Western Hemlock’s, somewhere in the mosaic of trees, plants and wild life, a fox yelped, only to be cut off by the high pitch whistle of an eagle. Death gave way to life. One died, so the other could live. The eagle will eats its fill of the little fox’s insides. It will bathe its idolized beak in the blood of its foe. Such is the way of the world, both man and nature.
With no knob, Callum leaned against the ancient door, its weight almost nonexistent. The hinges, groaned, signaling his entrance. Like turning the final page of a book, to see it filled only half way, Callum knew the end to his story was drawing near.
He found her sitting in front of the fire. A glass of scotch in one hand, fresh bleeding meat in the other. The cold barrel of his gun placed against her withered hair.
“You would treat an old lady, like myself this way?” her voice was like a dry leaf, floating to the mud.
“Shut up!” Callum hammered the back of her head with the butt of the gun. “Shut up! You always knew this was coming.”
Her flesh opened like water. Parted ways and bled. She didn’t sigh, not in pain, or anger.
“I have,” again her voice soft, fragile, tired. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Easy was never part of the plan. Easy went out the window years ago. You have lived far too long. You have lived the time she had…what? Ten fold, twenty fold? You are old, you are tired, and powerless,” Callum placed the cold biting steel to the back of her skull once again.
Calm stilled his voce, and his hand, “Back to hell with you.”
Her brains sizzled in the fire as it popped and danced, accepting the death, accepting the life.
COURTNEY GREEN: The Green Man
ReplyDeleteA Story like no other, a tale of a boy and his brothers
And their father who wore the English crown
And the elder sons who tore his kingdoms down,
But that’s not the story we seek, it was his youngest son that seemed bleak,
Because Jonah Sans Terre would never be heir it was land his father did seek.
The King set off to the northwest he went on a great quest to a land with rolling hills of green
It a land of plenty and a golden scene until the war’s were waged men
Killed, captured, and caged.
The Gaels and Vikings were ruthless the king’s tactics all seemed foolish he lost so many men.
So the King came up with a plan to this High King and council of this so called “Ireland”
He said, neh he commanded
“I’m not an unreasonable man all I ask is oh, say, you follow the rule of mine and
My kin’s command, Mmm oh and say half your lands, an army with some of your best mans
And oh yes for my son at the altar, the Irish Kings finest daughter….”
And yes the Irish King did protest but still he knew that it was best
For their lands to be as one he did what he felt need to be done.
So with a nod and a flight of the hand the king of Ireland
Brought in Rome’s treaty and Charter’s and yes he agreed to marry off his finest Daughter
After the princesses 16th birthday she’d be engaged to marry to king of England’s son.
Then the deal was done the English king said “A Victory here was WON”
This be as far back as I know the tale for I am Alan of Annadale bard of the English Court
For 5 years at 9 years old, I lost my Mum and my Dad, but the king like the stories I told.
Well that be enough about me, I’ll tell you the story of what happened just presently a Magical love Story of Majesty…
As Agreed on July 21 1184, The Princess arrived on a large oak ship with green sails, heavily guarded, docked at Ellesmere Port with one hundred of Ireland’s best warriors who were ordered to stay at shore side. The air was humid and the sky grey, wet pellets hit the top of the spruce carriage that the Princess and her three ladies from each different clan rode in. Ten Soldiers protected the carriage they wore gold crucifixes on white and green banners, even their Irish Draught Black steeds were dressed in the banner. There banners marked them as Irish nobility and royalty. They marched through Chester, down to Shropeshire where the Princess Regan O’Conner would meet her fiancé Prince Jonah of England.
“Are you Afraid he won’t look well?” chimed Mona MacLauchlan Lady of Mide, not invited by friend or family purely by station and the fact she lived on English soil half her life. Always with a smart smirk on her heart shaped face.
The Princess gave her a deathly stare with her large gleaming green eyes, and then she thought to herself, what if the prince was hideous and in fact she would marry a beast? Looks were not something that crossed her mind, Regan looked at her union politically, so she’d have a say in what happened to her Ireland. Even though not tall, Princess Regan had beautiful features, Pale skin, and 30 inch long fire-red hair. The princess was a peaceful a healer remaining in infirmaries against her father’s wishes to treat war victims and the sick even the foreigners. Regan’s father Rory O’Conner allowed her to train as an apothecary she trained at the revered Insula Sanctorum et Doctorum , after the Roman and English take over it was renamed Cong Abbey.
(CON'TD)
ReplyDelete“I guess that had not crossed my mind, so no, forgive me for I’m not sure what his looks have to do with our countries being at Peace” Princess Regan O’Connor innocently replied.
“Let me be honest with you young princess… it does have a lot to do with it” Fianna O’Rourke Lady of Breifine interrupted. Older than the Princess, a dowager countess in her own right had inherited her father’s lands after her brother and father died in a previous war. Fianna was wise beyond her years with raven black hair, olive skin and hazel eyes with blue tribal tattoos on her collarbone with marked her being a chief constable of the Fionn Guard.
“Without feelings his love can waiver and he could take many lovers, but you none… Have you not heard of the rumors of The Great Queen Eleanor of England and what she did to her King’s Lover?” Mona said deliciously, like she’d been waiting to share.
“No..? Why? Are these things I ought to take interest in Mona? Gossip and Here say of English court “Replied the Princess abruptly. Regan then grabbed a hide satchel with over a dozen books in it that she’d taken from Cong abbey’s banned books she picked up one, it read Corpus Dionysiacum on the bind of the book, she opened and began to read hoping to drown out the others.
“How did you get this book out of the Abbey Regan?”Shocked the Lady Bridget O’Brian sharply whispered at her. As she snatched the book out of Regan’s hand and shoved it between the hide leather padding on the seats then sat on it.
“Good St. Pat, Yes, I think it does matter Regan since you’re about to carry a, recently deemed heretical book into English court!” Mona whispered satirically.
“I wished to remain as healer. I did not ask for this, this may not be a life I would have chosen, it was still a life chosen for me by my Father so I shall respect it. I rather hoped to remain studying Biology, herbal and mineral medicines. If John were heir to the throne I would see the Kingdom of England would have a righteous rule.” The Princess spoke boldly as if was mimicking her father Roderick O’Conner High King of Ireland.
“Let me stop, you there Regan” said Fianna smirked at her innocence.
(CONT'D 2)
ReplyDelete“No, no allow me!” Mona took over the conversation like she usually did, she continued on “The Prince, count your lucky Stars is very handsome, best looking of all his legitimate brothers, which two by the way are still in line for the thrown Geoffrey and Richard, then John. King Henry is scared to give the throne to Geoffrey because he plans to join with France. Although rumors that Richard prefers to bed men have been surfacing so it’s possible that if king were to find out he may be disinherited. The last heir to the throne Henry the young died of dysentery 8 months ago, John received large land entitlements, until his brothers tried to claim them as their own. The King has had a truly hard year; even losing his mistress hurt him dearly…..”
“I was unaware King Henry had taken a Mistress” interrupted Regan shocked.
“Of course many where unaware, Especially the Queen mother” giggled Lady Bridget
“Good lord Bridget, do you have to be so interruptive?! So King Henry for about 3 years had a mistress he would hide in a labyrinth of a garden and in his garden he would make love to her, when word had got back to the Queen that the King took a lover Eleanor cut down the labyrinth with 10 men and made the king watch his Lover choose from poison or a blade” Mona finished like she just told a spooky story with a smile on her face.
“Why are you smiling, that’s horrible” Princess Regan snapped.
“Well it’s good for her, she is queen and a French one at that, with as much land as yours and mine together; she wanted to show the king how unacceptable it was!”Mona cleverly replied.
“Oh do shut up Mona you’ve been speaking the whole trip” Bridget pleaded “I beg your pardon” Mona replied “yah keep begging” Mona’s jaw dropped.
“Enough of this, you are ladies! Can we not be happy? Look the weather has brightened! And I will be wed soon, it’s possible there are suitor available for all of you” Regan eased the tension.
“Yes Princess but do remember they must hold to our Irish traditions and wait one year before marriage” either way Mona has frequented England since before her Uncle Richard de Clare or Strong bow as we know him passed away he entrusted me with her safety and now The king has asked me to do the same for you, since Mona now has Roger de Mortimer’s protection in England she no longer had use for my services” Fianna said strongly with a bold look in her dark eyes.
“Yes, I know Fianna you do forget the Lady Mona is my second cousin don’t you?”The Princess reminded Fianna.
“Well what’s family without out a little bit of rivalry”
JORDON RIOUX: Summary for novel.
ReplyDelete(This is the introduction to my novel at the moment I have many places to begin and start, but I believe in introducing the background with the story, as I will be starting the story in a new era and age in the world I call: Eternity.)
The world is full of possibilities and opportunities, from the start of existence, to the birth of immortals and the rise of mortal races. In the existence only known as Eternity, there lies gods and men, creatures and celestials, monsters, villains and heroes from the earliest of times, to those who emerge in throughout the ages and others who would still appear in the future. Even with the world freed from the bonds of fate, mortals may achieve immortality or godhood in their lifetimes.
In the distant past known as the Primordial Age, where the ancients and primals of the world were give life, after the four individual, but connected forces of existence had fought on two oppositions in a furious battle which gave the planet, Eternity form. These forces of existence are named Balance and Creation on one opposition and the other side is Destruction and Chaos. These forces each had different allegiances from some of the first immortals, the primals such as the titans, metallic dragons, wood elves and others whose names were long forgotten. The other beings known as celestials, were the opposite of the primals as each represented a necessity of the world and a celestial bodies such as the sun, moon and the elusive aurora borealis.
Upon the end of the primordial age, the war of the gods and immortals had altered and permanently changing the fabricated laws of the world, by the victors such as Eryia and Orsith two gods of two panthons. These gods were responsible for the death of the god-king whose tyrannical rule had made the world of mortals and gods suffer greatly, for his greed and sin. These god’s follower built their own empires beginning a new era of divinity and thus the Divine age began, with the cycle of balance and creation fighting destruction and chaos, through the gods and mortals themselves. In the north, Eryia’s blessed race were born in the land favored by her followers such as the Iron-blood Titans and the Storm Elves whose own fellow kinsmen became two of their goddess’s own Champions named Traueq, the stormstrider and Aewloke, the bloodied.
JORDAN NEWMAN
ReplyDeleteAs of late I find myself calling around
to the people whom I used to call a friend,
until I discovered a painful pattern.
Many of the numbers are slowly changing.
Not once had I realized the folks I had been
growing up with had been making an escape plan;
and before long they put them forth into action.
Resulting in me being left forever alone, feeling
like I am sinking in the ocean of depression.
I began sipping whiskey in hopes that drinking
it down would warm me enough to prevent freezing;
because my blood already runs slowly in my vein.
In hopes of finding a cure, a remedy to get better,
I searched endlessly for a way, something to dismantle
the despair and angst's that seem to forever linger.
I took up smoking cigarettes but it wasn't the nicotine
that gave me relief, instead it was when I began reading
Rousseau Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, and many other written
pieces of dogma by men that are miserable for no reason.
Narcotics had started off as a hobby but became a habit
and by the time I had noticed, it was too difficult
to function during sobriety without throwing a fit.
By sixteen it was clear that dope was no fad but it'd
remain a vocation- even a weapon that was used by my head
as part of a war effort to battle my weakening heart.
Mid-morning Shadow
ReplyDeleteby Stefan Dawson
Vee woke to the smell of chilled sweat and fear. Cloudy mid-morning light seeped through the cracks in the roof catching motes of dust in its grip. Vee's labored breaths settled slowly as waking life asserted itself on her mind. She tossed off the tattered sweat soaked blanket to the dusty floor and swung her legs over the side of the cot. Vee combed her shaky fingers through her greasy mop of hair then wiped them off on her shirt. She stood up stretching her arms above her head, fingers nearly touching the slats of the roof. Vee groggily stumbled over to a bowl of collected rain water, cupping her hand and splashing water over her head. Vee shook her head showering droplets across the room before slicking her hair back.
Vee eyed the door before undressing, hanging the damp clothes on a line strung from end to end of the cramped space. She pulled down a long strip of linen binding it around her chest. She slip on dry, slightly over sized clothing and pulled up the hood of her shirt over her head. Vee stepped carefully across the cluttered floor to the door throwing back the two bolts. The door creaked on rusted hinges as she nervously cracked it open, peeking out into the alley. She slipped out and soon disappeared into the crowded streets.
The open market was one of Vee's favorite places in the city of Balton, the hordes of people, the mingling smells of sweat and spice and of course, the anonymity. She perched on the outskirts of the market watching the coming and goings of the sea of civilians while munching on a crust of bread. Vee brushed off the crumbs before seeping into the crowd moving with its natural flow. Her slender frame eased through with slightly more momentum like a current in the ocean.
The mid-day sun soon beat down casting shimmering waves in the air. The crowd had thinned avoiding the raging heat and sticky bodies. Vee loved the heat. The soft billow of her clothes was smooth and soft against her skin.
Her jaw dropped momentarily as eyes widened then narrowed, regaining her composure. Her nightmare stood at the other end of a long line of stalls. She turned around standing in the middle of the aisle desperately choking back tears. She wiped her eyes on her stained sleeve before ducking behind some hanging bolts of bright silk. She parted a hole with her fingers between two bolts peering down the aisle.
“No touching.” The lazy eyed vendor warned. “Boy, don't be putting your grubby street rat fingers all over my wares.” Vee pulled her hood lower shading her eyes as she moved down several more stalls before stopping to look at some ugly pottery. Using her peripheral vision, Vee attempted to confirm the identity of her nightmare.
“Vaylor.” she hissed through her teeth as he moved closer. The anger festered in her bones like an infected wound.
(CONT'D)
ReplyDeleteVaylor perused the market wares, even oceans seemed to part at the high priest’s steps. He moved slowly and with grace, flashing warm smiles and blessings upon vendors he deemed worthy of his presence. The praise and occasional offerings worked in Vee's favor, keeping Vaylor from paying attention to a lowly street kid. She itched with the urge to get closer, but didn't. The longer she shadowed him through the market, the calmer she became. When Vaylor turned a corner Vee stumbled into a display of knives, knocking it over.
“Jeez” the vendor screamed jumping back, avoiding the knives hungry for his toes.
“I'm so sorry mister, let me help you...”
“Fuck off before I get the town guard to throw you in a cell, you filthy little shit.” She raised her hands gingerly stepping back from the mess.
She turned and hustled towards the corner where she had last seen Vaylor as a smile crept on to her lips. She carefully spied around the corner just in time to see him disappear again. She scanned her surrounding as she quickly gained ground. A familiar face brought a gleam to her eyes. She walked past the aisle Vaylor had turned down, stopping on the other side to keep watch. He had stopped half way down at a fragrance vendor, sniffing samples with mixed reactions. A low whistle caught the attention of Jace who was sitting on some steps on the edge of the market square.
“Sup Vee?” Jace said bounding over to her.
“I need you to do something for me.” She smiled and explained the plan. Jace gave Vee a determined nod.
Vee and Jace took off in opposite directions turning down the two adjacent aisles to Vaylor. Vee moved with purposeful speed and agility dodging people along the way. Vee slowed down at the south end of the market turning into a narrow alley. She ducked down behind a pile of debris producing the stolen stiletto from her sleeve. Her eyes smiled with loathing.
“You don't get to come to my market, you bastard” she said growing impatient.
(CONT'D 2)
ReplyDeleteJace rounded the corner into the alley a leather pouch jingling in his clutches and Vaylor hot on his heels. Jace whizzed past, damn that kid was fast. Vee calmed herself in those precious few moments as best she could. She listened carefully as Jace passed timing the foot falls, at the last moment she shot out her leg catching Vaylor feet. It worked, almost. Vaylor stumbled but sheer will forced his feet beneath him. Vee shot out like a bolt of lightning, knife in hand glinting in the sunlight.
Vee was surprised as Vaylor spun with demonic speed catching her hand and throat, pinning her against the wall. She flailed and seethed, lashing out with her remaining limbs. The shock of her head and wrist crunching against the wall loosened her grip sending the knife clanking to the ground. Dizziness engulfed her as Vaylor's grip tightened on her neck. Spittle dripped down her chin and she felt as if her eyes were going to burst. Her lungs and eyes began to burn. Vaylor let go of her wrist and threw back the hood staring deep into Vee's eyes with a wicked grin.
“So this is your doing little orphan Veedra” Vaylor eased his grip just enough to let her breath. Vee erupted into a coughing fit mixed with deep gasps for air. He stroked his boney fingers down her cheek. She spat in his face and tried to break his grip with a downward swing. His grip held.
“I always liked your fiery spirit,” Vaylor sunk his fist into her stomach. Vee nearly went limp. “It really is too bad you're growing up so fast.” He snaked his hand across her body sending a wave of bile clawing up her throat. “Not too fast I see.” His hands lingered over her chest before migrating to her thigh. Vee struggled with what strength she had left. Her head sent spikes into the backs of her eyes.
“This time I won't be so gentle.” He lifted her off the ground and tossed her down. A swift kick to the ribs stole her breath and brought stinging tears to her eyes. He crouched down pressing his weight down on her as she struggled. He used his size to control her and soon had her legs spread open.
“I am going to fuck you until you're a corpse, you little whore.” A sharp slap cut off her attempt to scream. Vaylor licked his foul lips, tugging at her pants. Vee's searing smile disarmed him instantly.
Vaylor let out a guttural growl as the blade pierced his side. He wheeled about as a tiny claw snagged his thinning hair. Over and over the thin steel punctured his neck. The spray of blood scattered like rain drops as the mixed with the dusty earth. Jace stood over Vaylor, blood stained hands trembling.
“We got to go.” Vee said finding the strength to stand. Jace was hypnotized by the expanding pool and lifeless eyes. “Now.” Vee said grabbing Jace's hand and running down the alley.
Janice Secord: Red Rose Illusion - Prologue
ReplyDeleteThis was perfect. He had come full circle. He had taken his first victim here. Now his 13th victim would be here in this little town of Port Dover on Friday the 13th. How ironic! He had left after his first victim. Running away then, but now coming back to finish what he had started. Back here to his family home, to where he grew up in this picturesque town. Here where the streets closed up in the winter and summers were full of tourists. Fishing and swimming, hot dogs at the arbor, bikers everywhere, especially on Friday the 13th's.
Now they would know who he was. No longer invisible, no longer just “that boy”.
This small town of Port Dover became the favorite destination of bikers each and every Friday the 13th regardless of the weather. The tradition started back in 1981 when a bike shop owner got together with a few friends for a couple of beers and had such a good time decided to do it every time a Friday the 13th rolled around. The ritual was born as each year the word traveled and more and more bikers attended. Returning veterans and new bikers came to show off their bikes and catch up with old and new friends. From just a few friends having a couple of beers to thousands converging on this little town to party, it brought in much needed tourism and dollars to the economy.
I was the famous (in a small obscure way) hometown boy who had gone out and made a name for himself. And now, they had invited me back for a charity function to be held on the 50th event of Friday the 13th celebrations here in Dover. He still didn’t believe they really knew who he was just that he was an illusionist who happened to be from Dover. He had changed his last name for a stage name that had more flare when it was announced.
The money raised from the function would be going to support the Port Dover Composite High School. When he received the request and saw where the monies would be going he just couldn’t resist and quickly sent his confirmation.
They were expecting almost 200,000 visitors and more than 30,000 bikers in this little town. It would be the perfect cover. The cops would be so busy with the bikers and the crowds, he would be long gone before they even realized there had been an abduction and murder, let alone a serial killer in their midst.
13 victims! No more, no less. The 13th victim on Friday the 13th! He had circled their pictures in his yearbook and meticulously crossed each of them off. He had one more to go, the most important one. He had saved her for the last.
He had killed the first one before he had a chance to leave, but the others had all left this small town to strike out on their own. Hoping desperately to get away - get away from the torment. The torment severe or slight altered all of them to some degree. Even though they had left this place, they couldn't escape the torment embedded into their lives after all those years. The torment had stayed with them changing who and what they were. Perhaps even making them what they were.
Over the years he had taken his time searching each of them out. When he found them he waited. He watched them and followed them. He learned their routines, observed their behaviour, and felt their sadness and loneliness.
Then, at last he released them. He gave them their freedom. The freedom their tortured souls so deserved.
Friday would be the ultimate performance. The ultimate release! They would know that he shared their fractured souls. His final victim and his soul mate. By releasing her, he would finally be free - free from the guilt.
The guilt was not from doing something wrong, but from doing
nothing. He did nothing to stop them. He couldn’t help her and did nothing to help them.
Origins
ReplyDeleteHe was late, in fact he was the last to leave the residential zone that day, except for the younglings and their care givers who could not. His feet pounded the lavender grass flat as he raced between the small rounded concrete abodes. The air had a sweet warmth to it from the orange sun hanging lazily high in the sky, its light filtering down from the crystal clear emerald sky. Logan's tardiness was something of an oddity among the beings who live in the city of Origin. It was a place of ritualistic days for both its residents and visitors. It was also the safest place in all the realms. When they were taught history in The Glimmering Spire, Logan had learn that it had not always been so. Before the nine gates had been constructed, Origin had been open to all being including the dreaded beings of the outer realms. Elder Fanriir had spoken little about these being, except to say that they had been driven mad by the endless expanses of the far realms, so much so that they no longer held to The Principals. This revelation had brought frightened gasps from Logan's classmates, but he just didn't understand. When he had tried to probe further, the elder had just brushed him off. Logan's effortlessly gliding strides brought him to The First Gate, which was already open. With the animated statue, the gatekeeper, no where to be seen, he thought himself lucky today. He slipped through the gate almost unnoticed.
Even after the thousands of times he had pass through the gates, the transition from one realm to the next always left him feeling slightly awkward. A tingling pins and needles sensation permeated his extremities, as a shiver whipped through his body. Once again there was no time for this sensation, he pressed forward toward the base of the mountainous buildings of the city proper. Each bounding stride saw the city loom more and more over head, filling the sky as if standing beneath a great tree. This place always seemed cold to Logan, as if the geometry of this place, which seemed unnatural to him, cast shadows across more the just the ground. The Glimmering Spire was deep withing the urban labyrinth, but shone like a beacon as its glass-cut surface twisted the reflective light into every color imaginable and even some that he never thought he could. It was the center of the city and not just because of it location. The Glimmering Spire was were all the important decision were made for the welfare of Origin. The grand entrance was heavily trafficked by residents and visitors and it was impossible to enter undetected. This was the part of the daily journey that Logan dreaded the most. The inevitable “Late again.” jabs from each Watcher he had to pass to make his way to the education level. His pace slowed. He was already late, no point in trying to rush through the traffic. He reluctantly pressed he way inside, taking each remark with his customary sheepish smile and shrug.
Entering the spacious room, drew the usual glances and quiet laughter from his classmates. Elder Fanriir never spared a glance anymore, he simply continued his lecture. As he took his seat, Logan felt as if he had finally rejoined the stream of time, but instead of relaxing and joining in the ritual, something else was nagging at the back of his mind today. He couldn't concentrate. His mind drifted along to the rhythm of the lecture taking place.