Me: One deep cut to my neck, and I will bleed out.

Alien: Your point?

Me: Humans are easy to kill...

Alien: So why should I spare you???

Me: Because I’m a weak little creature...you must show mercy to me...

Alien: But don’t you kill your own animals? What’s the difference if I kill you?

Me: Well, my species is intelligent.

Alien: So why are you so easy to kill again?

Me: Body wise, we are strong with tools.

Alien: oh, well thanks for the tip, I’ll let your plan backfire.

Me: What-

*Cuts Neck*

As the buzzing of enchantment fills the room I am aware of the gears of time spinning to a stop. What would we look like to someone outside of time, observing us like figures on a postcard?

click

I am half crouched, rising to my feet with my gaze fixed on the scene in front of me. I can feel the weight of my beaded robes around me - I can remember every pattern. My garb is the last thing connecting me to where I grew up, aside from my golden, dragon-like eyes and dark skin. In my hand I am gripping my knife, also etched with strange designs and runes. These are less friendly than the ones on my robe. To my right Ash is leaping forwards, spear in hand. As a dragonborn, he is stupidly noticeable and his red scales are shimmering in the sunlight. He is leaping at by far the most noticeable thing in the room. The dragon. Ashardalon the red dragon, hundreds of years old, having fought his way back from death itself. Currently with wings outstretched, about to disappear. Which he can’t do - not after everything we sacrificed to find him.

Sixteen-year-old Rasa is staring at this scene with wide eyes, and I don’t know if she’s about to stab someone or stab herself. Farther back is Anastri, her hands raised and blue ice already forming in the air in front of her. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a braid and her pointy ears are visible. Warren, his obsidian skin making his red eye stand out, is staring in shock at the scene playing out before us. Mio is... slow on the uptake, as usual. He’s in the entrance of the room, staring with shock and - rage? - at the dragon. Now that’s strange. Mio is as familiar to rage as a bird is to tunnels. It doesn’t sit right with him, which is probably a good thing since his shining greatsword and armor barely give him pause.

At the point where the enchantment is occurring, two other people stand. Lycinth, a thin blond-haired man who I know all too well, is struggling to rise after his fight with the demon. I neutralized it, but we’ll see how long that lasts. Standing in front of him is von Course, holding his plain-looking ring. The ring is what is doing the enchantment, stopping time, and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. As the spell reaches a crescendo of white noise, I know there will be nothing more to think unti-

Time pops back in, with a few important changes. Lycinth is dead, holding the hilt of a sword buried deep in the dragon’s thigh. The dragon is dead too, in the process of crashing to the ground. Everyone is looking around with absolute horror - Except for Rasa, who is staring at me with a burning hatred. I smile. My job is done, and my mission complete. I don’t need these people anymore, and Rasa will be the first to die.

Some strange sensation makes me reach my hand up to my neck, and it comes back red with blood. My head is spinning and my vision is tunneling - but I see Rasa’s smirk as I collapse to the ground with blood pumping out of my throat.

*this is a repost of one section of a story already posted and since deleted titled Snapshot. I decided to repost it so that I could organize it more effectively into a book format. If you're interested in the story like it or comment and I'll tag you on future installments!

His soul was the color

of broken glass

and creaking ice

a moment before

the plunge.

she fell.

His soul was the space

between the fine print-

so when he took her breath away

she didn't know

he wouldn't be giving it back.

she can't breathe.

And when the day ends

she is chained

to the corpse of a man

who never had a soul

to begin with.

so maybe she'll give him hers.

tearing it to ribbons

and pressing the silken fragments to cold lips.

but they flutter to the floor,

like the bloodied bodies of slain doves

and she learns

that love cannot be taught.

Sit still, back straight, hands rested in lap

Chin up, eyes forward, feet crossed

Girls, wear your long skirts to cover your skin, 

for if you show, you would be enticing men 

- it's your fault that they come - 

So cover your skin that makes you human 

In scraps of cloth sewn to hide your fire inside.

Boys, wear your suits to cover the rascals you are, 

tuck in your shirt, wear the blazer, make sure your shoes are shined, 

for if you don't, the women will turn away from you 

- be a gentleman - 

So, dress the way society commends, 

to hide the ways that you truly are with the scars you've earned. 

Sit pretty in front of your families, 

representing the name you carry

- a burden you're chained to -

Your words are your only solace, 

locked away all day until you can come back to your reprieve, 

releasing the screams from within 

- don't talk back, it's rude - 

Until they took away your words

- your freedom - 

Confining you to the box they've made, 

the perfect little child

So, sit pretty and stay silent, 

For if you do those things, you will be accepted 

- into a society of wolves -

tell me your secrets, i’ll tell you my sins

(honeycomb kisses on tangerine skin)

o’er these hallowed grounds upon which we roam

(we’ll lay down our feathers and make this our home)

we’re running side by side, feet pounding against the concrete, syncing with the beat of our heart.

the sun is beginning its descent, melting slowly into the horizon, one oozing drop at a time.

we could reach up and pluck it out of the sky, it seems.

we could hold it in the palm of our hand, put it in a little lantern and carry it always, a reminder that even in the darkest times we will have light.

but we keep going, pushing ourselves faster than we ever thought we could go.

we feel like cheetahs striding through the open prairie, like a horse bred for racing, tearing around each and every corner with the power of a falcon soaring into the star speckled beyond.

i am pulling slightly ahead as the sun falls behind our backs, and the light is fading, a firefly that has been kept in a jar for much too long, struggling to stay alive.

i cannot stay much longer, that I know.

it is becoming too dark.

we stop on a corner to pick up the paper.

we lift it in our hands, examining the front page.

in the dimming glow of the streetlights, we can begin to make out the words thrown across the page: kennedy elected, usa saved.

folding the paper in a neat roll, we cram it into our pocket and hand the young boy running the stand a few coins.

he tips his hat gratefully and we begin racing again, but it is not before long that the dark comes altogether and i slip away into the darkness, anticipating the next time we will get to play.

we are never far apart over the span of the next few years.

i am always by his side, and although i do not speak to him, he knows i am there.

i am there the day he has his first kiss, watching in bittersweet happiness as my boy begins to grow up and find himself for the first time.

i am there the day he finds out his father is dead, and i am the only one who stays by his side as he crumples into a little ball of hopelessness and despair.

i lay down next to him and comfort him with my quiet presence.

there is not much more i can do.

i am there the day he meets the man he is to love, as their broken eyes find each other across the room of the dimly lit bar.

i am there when he edges over to the man with a nod of his head, and slides into the seat next to him.

i am there, standing against the wall, when my boy brings his new love home to his mother, who smiles sorrowfully with tears in her wrinkled eyes, wishing her husband could be here to see this sacred moment.

i am there the day they move in together, as they hold hands and gleefully run through each room of their new home, laughing and hugging, planning out their lives together in their small temple of hope and dreams.

but i cannot help but feel an ounce of sadness course through my being as I remember the time that my boy would spend with me, skipping and playing and going everywhere together, just the two of us.

i shake the thought out of my head and replace it with thoughts of how truly happy i am for him, to be with the person he loves.

i am forgotten.

i am there the day they adopt their daughter, a small girl from some far away place you only hear of in fairytales.

the youthful flame in their eyes that has been forgotten since childhood is reignited, and i feel a spark of warmth inside of me at the thought of my boy filled with so much love again.

but as the light outside the windows begins to dim down, i can’t help but feel as though i am being replaced yet again.

i disappear into the darkness as i do every night, only to be awoken the next morning by the indifferent sun beginning to hover over the horizon.

i am there the day their daughter leaves home, as all three embrace tearfully and promise to never let go.

i stand apart in a corner, watching as they part with wet eyes and aching hearts, and some small corrupted part of me feels a tinge of happiness.

maybe, just maybe, i think, i will be remembered, with one less person in his world.

but life is too busy to work as such, and i find myself dreaming of the times we would run together, racing against ourselves and the world.

i am there the day he finally notices me, the sun high overhead in the sky, beating down waves of heat on all who dare set foot outside.

he looks over at me, up against the brick wall covered in decades of graffiti, and smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners, no doubt remembering all the time we spent together as children.

without looking away, he begins to run.

we jog side by side again at last, down the winding, smoky streets of the city.

neither of us are as young and nimble as we used to be, but our feet slap the concrete in unison once more.

legs burning, arms pumping, chests heaving in and out, i feel a surge of nostalgia.

i will be alone no longer.

but I see the car before he does.

a large truck, green, a color rarely seen in the city anymore.

rusted around the grille, large and threatening and dangerous.

i see it all, taking it all in in slow motion.

every part of my body is warning me to stop, to slow down, to do something, but i cannot.

all i can do it watch as the car slams into the side of my boy, who didn’t even see it coming.

he is thrown like a rag doll across the road, and i feel myself being jerked along with him.

our bodies slam into the ground with the impact of a meteor, and i cannot do anything but stare as my boy takes a final rattling, painful breath, spilling out onto the pavement.

i look deep into his broken eyes, hoping, praying, and cursing myself for not doing something, anything at all to save him.

but how could I have?

i am banished to a life half lived, to watch from afar, never to be anything more than the reflection of a man.

a shadow.