Now, what is an angel?

Standing so tall and proud?

Can they really fly,

or do they just sink and drown?

No, not by water, but through the air,

heavy, thick, and viscous,

weighed down by the sin floating there.

Is that why we never see them?

Maybe we're too blatant in our search,

looking solely towards the heavens

when really, they're here, on earth.

It's possible they're hidden among us,

trying to call for help;

their cries as fearful and desperate-

as a small creature, cornered by it's larger ilk.

Daisy chains and children's’ games

Paired with time passing quickly by.

Flower crowns and old night gowns

Accompanied by a midnight breeze,

So slight.

Clover kings and faery wings-

We all still hum along;

To nursery rhymes

And those stories, right?

Or was it just me all along?

It wasn't said or even whispered, although conveyed loud, for all to hear. Amoung the forest's shadows, the message was made clear. By the absence of the wind, slightly rustling the leaves, and a cool, crisp chill emitted by all those tall, quiet trees. Also passed on by dark creatures that made things go "bump" in the night; the message was quite simple, although delivered with a bite,

"Human, I am warning you, Something's hunting you this day. It has dark eyes, too-long limbs, sharp claws, and if you saw it, you'd know you're its prey. Human, there's something hunting you, and it wants blood this day."

( this is a short version of an idea I have been developing. please let me know if you think I should write more on this :) )

And, now that

the day

is done,

I can rest my

well-worn body;

I slip into

sweet ignorance.

But, now that

the night

has begun,

I can truly wake,

live and breathe;

in the darkness

I become my true self.

Who are you, sweet creature?

With words spun of sugar, 

pouring off your tounge, 

spilling into the void,

and sending me off

into a world: not my own.

Who are you sweet creature?

Your touch is like good fudge

slightly sticky,

but oh, so soft,

so smooth. 

I only wish the taste could

linger longer 

on my tounge.

Who are you, sweet creature?

Such a voice;

every sentence, a song.

It is a slatwater taffy

that sticks in your head

not your teeth.

Who are you, sweet creature?

And your eyes:

fabled to be more beautiful

than molten chocolate 

being stirred in a golden pot.

I can assure you those tales are true.

Who are you, sweet creature?

With lavish, red hair

made of licorice,

not that cheap stuff though,

the real kind, homemade. 

It is more beautiful than 

those flowers whence you came.

Who are you, sweet creature?

What a scent! 

It is a sweet shoppe 

filled 

with cocoa and sugar.

All things sweet.

It calls to me like it would

to small child

with an extra sweet tooth.

Who are you, sweet creature?

Sweet creature, you thief! 

The heart,

from my chest!

I would have gladly given it,

had you asked.

But now, alas!

I know who you are, sweet creature...

I set out, now, to hunt you down.

Because in this kingdom,

bitter rules.

Forever.

Good day.

One day, there will be a time. 

One day, there will be a place.

One day there will be a person.

One day there will be a man. Or Woman. Or Child.

One day, there will be, a day. And one day, that time, that place, that person, and that day will go down in a history.

But, it is difficult for any time, any place, any person, any day to go down in history; if there is no one left to even recall it.

Oh my soul,

It's torn in two-

One part of Me,

One part You.

It’s like a mirror

Made of broken glass

With only one me looking in

But way too mant staring back

You say you’re always there for me

But that is not the way I see

You are cruel, you are mean!

I dont want you as a part of me

I was full of laughter; full of fun...

But now look what have you done?

I now stand up here- Oh! So high.

And you keep yelling at me to jump, and die

But I’m not ready, not today.

I finally manage to banish you away!

I will live; I will laugh!

Without your cruel catcalls behind my back

Because from this day on I swear I’m free;

You are no longer a part of me!

"Ha! You- you- oh my gods, how did you not realize it before?" she questioned me, a lsight bit of dispilief and pity lacing her voice, "The shadows betray you, because they serve only me."

"Wha- What? They-"

"Oh! you poor thing you didn't even know, did you? They betrayed you. That's how I found you, you know. They led me right to this little hideaway of yours"

"Hey, wait, no! they- they were kind! they were nice! They listened! They were my friends, They- they- were yours all all along..." I trailed off, increduility, and looked down, shuffining back a bit. How? It was so clear now, but how, and wait, then why were the shadows so nice? I thought _______ disliked me.

The darker girl huffed, and turned back towards me, looking as if she was about to say something haughty, but stopped as I turned my gaze downward again, and if she might auctually be somewhat ashamed...

Some say not all those who wander are lost.

I do not agree.

For I can tell that those who say it

Haven’t looked, or simply cannot see.

Because when you look inside

A wanderer’s soul, a wanderer's eyes,

It is easily seen how lost one is able to be.

For deep, deep down inside those eyes-

Protected by the skull,

Hidden within the brain,

And well concealed by the soul,

Is a whole other world.

It may be a forest.

It may be a field.

For some it’s a sea.

Others might have a maze.

Some could even have a small town.

But is is a place that is their own.

A place they want to be.

A place that once you are inside,

Makes you want to never leave.

A place that wherever it is,

One thing does not change

And that is the pain you can so clearly see.

From sad mockingbirds’ songs

To the towns’ absent ‘ding-dongs’

It will reverberate

From the breeze, waves, and walls.

Yes, you heard correct

That sorrowful, sad, sound

Is the place calling to be found.

You hear the loss,

And anguish,

And grief;

And the absence

Of the wanderer

That the place knows belongs.

For you see,

That is the real reason we wander.

So that we might find

The place that doesn’t exist.

This is why we are so lost,

Lost forever.

Looking for the place we belong.

The place we yearn to be.

The place that cries, to us, for us.

That place that doesn't exist.

We are lost forever in this world

And we know it.

We are lost but we don’t want to be found.

We are lost and we know we need to seek;

Even if in our heart;

We know we never will.

Yet we still try-

We still look.

We still listen.

We still take that extra glance

Whenever something seems amiss;

When something just isn’t right.

Just wanting,

Hoping,

Praying,

That we will find the evidence,

The proof we want to be there-

The proof we know is not there,

Of the place that doesn't exist.

     "Yes," I had murmured, "Yes. I would be glad to" more proudly I had stated, although now I'm not so sure If I regret my decision.

     I now stand before the President of State, the Head of Guard and the Head Guard (not to be confused with one another), as well as two other soldiers, three guards, and the man we are about to kill , er- execute. I attempt to steel myself but, I’m still not sure that I caould do this. If I do, it will be the first time I have killed for real, and I mean, to kill a man, even if he was a man that had betrayed my trust, even if he was a man that had stolen, run from the police, and held hostages, it wasn't like he had ever killed anyone. So, sure I wanted him punished, but to me at least, death still seemed a bit harsh. Maybe I should have declined that offer...

     "... any last words?" The preacher asked, and I must say, Kane answered rather courageously.

     "Only, my good sir," he drawled, clearly addressing his words to the Head of Guard, "that I stand with my earlier statement." I stole a glance towards Kane’s target, and noticed that his words had struck home. The Head of Guard clenched his jaw and fists as Kane’s pale, scarred lips curved upward into a smirl. I wonder, what could have happened between them?

     "Anything else?" The Head of Guard growled, the question directed at both the priest and the prisoner. Kane only smiled grimly, but the preacher, oblivious, only shook his head, and confirmed with a sigh,

      "No, please proceed." The grey man stepped down from the podium.

     Taking that as our cue, the rest of the firing squad and I unslung and loaded our rifles. I took a shuddering breath. Well, I thought, it's too late to back out now.

     The three guards would take the first shots, one in each leg, and one in the arm. The other officers and I would take the prisoner's other arm and lower abdomen. No vital shots though, those were saved for the officials.

     The first shot came too soon. The Kane’s guards had him on his knees, though his head was still up and his posture proud. The first soldier hefted his rifle, and took aim. In the distance, a loud whistle blew. The soldier fired, and Kane visibly shuddered, but although a blood rose began to blossom in his thigh, he did not slouch or even bend.

The other soldier followed suit, aiming at his other thigh, and his shot hit home, but it was not until the third bullet buried itself in his hand that Kane finally bent. As the soldiers also left the podium, my group, the officers and I, stepped up those three white granite steps to the large podium. Kane looked different from this angle, stronger and harsher, more like the criminal he was. You know, the whole of the dusty execution yard looks soberer, deadlier from here.

     Jake, one of the other officers in my group took his aim and fired without hesitation. His bullet buried itself in the prisoner's hand, and Kane winced visibly. His resolve was clearly fading. Max stepped up next, he looked scared but determined. He was one of the hostages Kane took last year, and although he was not injured, I've heard that Max still has nightmares, even though that might also just be because he's a wimp. His shot was slightly off, but nevertheless as it hit Kane's body, he bent down for a few moments before straining up again.

     Honestly, I had to admire Kane's courage, it was unfortunate that such a strong man should have ended up in such a bad place. I wonder what happened to him….

It was my turn now. With a butterfly fight club in my stomach, I raised my gun, slowly, carefully, making sure I didn't shake. As I took aim, I noticed Kane was shaking. Although his posture was still pretty strong, his eyes were watering and jaw was clenched tightly. Oh my gosh, he was scared.

     Honestly though, who wouldn't be? Kane was obviously is a lot of pain, he had just been shot five times, and he was going to be shot four more times still. He was going to die. I tried to imagine some of the thoughts that must have been running through his head. Where would he go? What would happen to him? What is he thinking? Also, what did Jake think we he shot Kane? What about Max? And the others? What was going through their minds? Oh my, the thoughts were overwhelming.

     I took a deep breath, quieting my now rampaging train of thought, and took aim again. My terror was swelling, and that dark pool of worry beginning to feed it wasn’t helping either. What would happen to me? I was about to shoot someone for goodness sake, and even if I wasn't aiming to kill... I’ve heard that will do things to your conscience, to your soul. Again, I was forced to take a breath and shake the thoughts from my head.

    Hey, let's pretend this is just a drill I told myself, maybe that will make it easier. Breathe...in...out...Ready?No...Aim!...But I don't want to...Fire!... I pulled the trigger.

I watched Kane crumple, not daring to breathe. Luckily (for me) I had hit where I intended to, and I had not killed him. My victim shakily, slowly, and gingerly pushed himself up, back onto his knees, although he no longer had that air of pride or that strait, proud posture. I stepped down from the podium, relieved, feeling as if a small weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I let out the breath I forgot I had been holding.

I watched the officials step up and each take their shots, none though seeming to hesitate as much as I thought I did.

     The last person to fire, and this time kill Kane, who I knew was still not dead, stepped up. I held my breath again, feeling unwelcome and unnecessary sadness and guilt begin to seep in, like slushy snow finds its way inside of not-so-water-resistant-boots. The Head of State aimed, took his shot, and apparently hit Kane in the head, but I didn't, couldn't look, so I couldn't tell for sure. Jake though, was watching and muttered nice shot after the gun sounded, so I assumed the Headman had finally finished our prisoner off.

     I sat through the remainder of the execution formalities in a dazed stupor, until the Head Guard himself dismissed us, and headed back to the barracks.