To breath,

One needs a certain amount of time to live in another world.

To live in another world,

One needs enough time to create.

To create,

One needs enough time to properly think their thoughts.

To properly think one's thoughts,

One must have time to record all of one's thoughts.

To have the time to record all of one's thoughts,

One must be secluded and alone for a period of time.

To be secluded and alone for a period of time,

One must stay sane.

In order to stay sane, 

One must take a minimal amount of breaks.

In order to take these breaks,

One must get all this done.

In order for all of this to get done, 

All other forms of life must abandon, and time must be given in heaps, and space must be endless.

But in order for all other forms of life to abandon, and time to be given in heaps, and space to be endless,

Many must not breath.

You see the dilemma? 

C L O U D S

Like a floor

Out my window

Clouded with fog

Dancing in mountains

Rising upward and out

Hiding airplanes with tails and buildings that leave cuts in the sky

An escape route

Y O U C A N D O A N Y T H I N G U P H E R E they say

B E B E T T E R they say

I listen to their music

Where the sky is endless and high plateaus of white thrive

I hear the soft sound

The clouds are right

They tell the truth the way a flower blooms each year-

Not always, but ceaselessly nevertheless

Inspiring beauty and dread

So far into the ocean of sky

I flew

In a dream, perhaps

But perhaps the not-flying, perhaps the landing was the dream

I flew

And I am better for it.

Nessa

There’s been another murder in the woods. Another child, too, but nothing shocking about that. They are always children.

The murders started about a year ago, when the High King rose to power. The High King has an “obligation, a duty, to preserve the minds of our youth.” In other words, he likes to keep the children of his kingdom stupid and uneducated, so as they do not rebel, revolt, or make any move to overthrow him and his seat upon the throne. My brother, Zachariah, worships him, as he was raised to believe in the same things the king does- that all peasants like us, even all the aristocrats children, should be left uneducated, bowing to him on his mighty throne.

Growing up with my father, perhaps, is what led me to decide to travel through the woods to Avoca and back, all in one night, all the while managing not to get mysteriously murdered. My father works with the High King’s High Inquisitor, to make sure all local shops and trade systems aren’t hiding any illegal marketing. They are, of course, but my father works to hard to impress the High King and his High Inquisitor that I dare not tell him for fear of hurting his pride.

So, no matter all the recent and past murders, I shall still travel through the woods tonight to retrieve a search warrant for a tiny yarn shoppe just down the road, so my father can investigate.

Cullen

I do not have a good relationship with my father, the minister. He would rather save his own neck than do his duty to the people, “saving them”, “helping them on the path to self- preservation”. I, on the other hand, would prefer to be a knight of the High King, or perhaps one of his fabled assassins, who kill anyone who dares to cross him.

Nevermind that, though, because, seeing as he would rather him alive and well than me, he seems prompted to ask me a… favor. Again.

“Cullen.” He glowers in the doorway to my living quarters.

“I need a favor.”

“Yes, Father?” I feel my insides twitch. He isn’t exactly the best person to do a favor for.

He raises his eyebrows.

I glare at him. “Of course, Father.”

“Good. Now, I know you’re a strong boy, Cullen. You can handle a few cowardly bandits who like to make fun by killing children.” He pauses there, as both him and I know that that is not what he thinks is happening at all.

“Cullen, you need to travel to Avoca tonight. I need some supplies for my next sermon that they only have at that neat little bible shop in Avoca.” He wants me to go into the woods, at night, and risk my life, all for a bible?

“Cullen, you’re not a boy anymore. You can handle one night in the woods. God wants you to follow this path, Cullen.”

Apparently, God has something against the fact that I remain alive.

“Yes, Father.” I grumble.

Nessa

The woods are quiet except for the occasional chirp of a cricket, or brush of a squirrel's tail. I, against my father’s will, have taken my sword and sheath, and they now bump against my leg, pinned to my creamy white dress. My red hair has been pulled into a long ponytail falling down my back, with two braids framing my face.

I am awfully jumpy, but as there has been no monsters passing by my right shoulder yet, I have relaxed a little. For the next few miles, I walk alone in peace.

Then I see it.

Cullen

I hear only a few cracks of sticks on the forest floor and scuffles of playful squirrels before I hear the creature. It is cloaked in black, like a young traveler might be. The black cloak swishes loudly. The only thing that suggests that it is inhuman is its breathing. It goes in like a baby rattling a dry gourd, and comes back out with a ragged cough. It is walking slowly towards me. I draw my sword. I will admit it, I am more afraid of the silence pressing around me than the actual creature. It puts on a sudden burst of speed, it’s own knife in hand. I will not go down without a fight. For the first time ever, I make the sign of a cross in the air, and sprint.

Nessa

I trip over leaves and thorny bushes on the ground. I smash into trees, and jump over roots. Nothing will stop me from running away. I hear a scream. It’s long, piercing. Then I realize I am the one screaming. My heart pounds, my legs feel numb. Then, there is a person. He smashes into me, both our swords drawn within the second. I back away, panting hard.

“Did they chase you too?” He asks hoarsely.

“Yes.”

We watch each other in silence, hardened stare meeting hardened stare.

“Are they gone?”

“I’m not sure.”

I replace my sword in its sheath. He follows suit.

Cullen

Her braids are falling out, her ponytail scraggly. She looks ferral. She puts her sword in her sheath, as do I. I can’t tell what she is thinking. I wish I knew. She reminds me of this boy I used to take classes with at the town square before the High King outlawed youth teachings. I believe his last name was O’Mallon, which makes her the sister he always talked about, Nessa.

Nessa

I know who he is the minute I get a good look at him. He’s the MacAleese boy. Cullen, I believe. His father is the minister. He is gossiped about quite a bit, he is said the be atheist, not to believe in God, nevermind his father being a minister. I am pulled out of my thoughts by a loud crash as the large black shape that was previously chasing my tumbles into the bramble patch we now stand in. Blood spatters the trees before anyone can scream, I don’t know who from, perhaps from Cullen. I whip my head around, to see that, thankfully, there is the… thing… dead on the ground, and there is Cullen, shocked look on his face and a bloody sword in his hand.

Cullen

I can’t help it. I know, I am nearly an adult, but I still can’t help but cry. Nessa comes over and touches my arm gently, but I see her glance over at the dead body. She doesn’t understand. She still thinks it’s a monster, but I know better. It’s human. My sword slashed through its body and I felt a human-ness that no creature can posses. I killed a human. She moves away from me towards the body.

I wipe my eyes and watch her lift up the black cloak covering the body.

“Oh my.” She murmurs, “Oh my. Oh my!”

I stumble over to her and follow her gaze to a small gold pin on the inside of the bloodied hood. It’s circular, with a tiny tree, rounded so the roots are touching the leaves, with the actual leaves curved in runic designs.

It’s the symbol of the High King of Rathdrum.

And next to it, the broken face of the High King’s dead assassin.

You grab my heart

And crumple it like it is nothing but sand

Dust

Unworthy of floating down upon the same ground that you walk upon

Is all you see in the mirror yourself?

Even when all surround you

Hands on your shoulder

Crying for you

When some stand in front

And some behind

Do you not see us?

You take my lungs 

And squeeze them as if they are nothing but toys to be thrown about

Yet I still care

I could not care

Have the waves of hatred and confusion you offer up to me

Crash down onto an empty shore

With my lifeless body now running away from them

And your small childlike form shrinking in fear

Of my newfound courage

It could be like that

But where would the fun be in not caring?

So I carry on caring.

Nonsensical whimsical wonderland

Fast moving never-ending fairytale 

Every day a new day

Yesterday was today 

Waiting for wishes to to wander to you

Ever-spinning wide-open wondrous world

Open arms to grasp those 

Willing to take the challenge of glory

Witches, warlocks, fairies, elves

I watch over all of the madness.

Tendrils of smoke

Twisting up through the chimney 

A hidden message

For what awaits

A three year old

Prancing in a new dress

Giggling as she skips down the hall

Cries of

"Daddy!"

Fill the air 

As she flaunts her tiny body

In that big dress

Belly laughs and head shakes 

Follow in her wake 

As she passes under the white machine

With a suddenness 

Swift like a dolphin diving under the waves

A high pitched chirp

From the white machine

Her body jumps

Loud noises scare her

She screams and cries as she is scooped up by her father

The white machine on the ceiling still shipping away

Warm body holds her close

Running through the house

Checking every nook and cranny

For the cause of this noise

A small body wracked with shivers

A large hand reaching for the handle

A basement door opened

An image tightened in quality

Orange and red flames

Reaching hands out from the depths of the underground room

Eyes wide

A phone call made

A cry for help

A siren sounded

Flames extinguished

Set by a man who liked to watch things burn

Who crept through the basement of the giggling child's house

And lit a match

The little girl

Forever afraid.

Soft voice

Calling 

"Sweet girl!"

Love in her eyes

Stroking my hair

Until the closed doors of sleep are opened

Long fingers

Stretched toward the open window 

As the sun disappears, eyes closed

Laughing with eyes radiating with warmth 

Felt only on the hottest days 

When the ice cream melts and the watermelon drips 

Down her elbows as she smiles so big

Holding on the the last thread of hope

That anything can happen

And that the stars can guide her on

As I speak

As I speak a life burns down with a village and a family.

A baby cries, a blossom blooms.

As I speak a mouse scrambles across the wood floor away from a tiny gray kitten

A tree dies, a gun is fired

As I speak a poem is written with words crafted out of breath

A memory forgotten, a lone star glows

As I speak a ladder falls and a bucket of paint spills, coating the concrete floor

A child laughs, a flower is picked

As I speak a forest is broken to the bare skeletons it will remain

A picture is taken, a crane folded

As I speak a whale is beached off the coast of Hawaii

A plane takes off, a hand is shaken

As I speak a story is written in blood and titled history

A life dissipates, another begins

As I speak a dog barks as the neighbors car pulls in

A promise is broken, a wish made

As I speak a nightmare of death morphs somebody else’s reality

A dove soares, the sun disappears

As I speak a man is shot down while trying to flee the horrors that await all who stay

A jacket zipped, a cup emptied

As I speak a volcano erupts consuming a city of stone walls and stone people

A piece of hair braided, a teacup filled

As I speak a trigger is pulled on a gun to big for the little hands that hold it

A dress bought, a door closed

As I speak a cry is heard so distant I can not respond

A wolf howls, a knife is broken

As I speak a hunter crouches in the shadows, waiting for illegal prey

A faucet turned on, a stone kicked

As I speak a woman carries water ten miles so her family can drink

A threat uttered, a question asked

As I speak the last remaining animal of a species head is mounted on a trophy wall

A letter is sent, an icicle melts

As I speak restless time ticks by, waiting for something new to happen.

As I speak.