“I didn’t think about that…” “You don’t think about anything.” Around them are the ashes of what once was their home. The villain, and the so called “hero”. They stand together and alone, alone with the ashes and soot of this once great kingdom.
Once upon a time, there was a hero. A bright young boy, bound to save the world. The days turned to weeks, turned to months, turned to years, and that young hero is now the one thing standing between the villain and the world. The hero has to fight back a cough as he inhales the smoke infested air. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could muster to say, “sorry for what? Did you ever stop to think about that?” The villain yells and berates the hero, this was his fault and they both know it.
Once upon a December I keep forgetting though I wish to remember A dream is a wish That may never come true I’m almost there And my childhood is through
Sons of Adam, daughters of eve I may love it but it’s time to leave Dead men never tell any tales It’s time to hide, I have failed
I stared god in the eyes and saw nothing I have lived a hundred lives yet I still struggle to be something No amount of words or pictures can live up to the pain of being a survivor of a civilization of destruction I walk for miles in the desolate world and yet I find no one
I write my thoughts with only hope that someone will hear me I paint the winds with my sorrow hoping someone will see Though who can understand one who speaks with no words and paints with no sight To speak without tongue, to paint without eyes Only the image of a memory is with me tonight
A life without comfort A life with only fear A life without joy As death draws near
Despite the way of my death, despite where or when It will always be painful and slow, one full of sin As I have lived through life with nothing in turn I write my thoughts so you may learn
Everything is still and silent. Sound being drowned out by the pressing of the darkness. The cellar has always been humid, making the air sticky and inescapable like an itch. Footsteps approach and he kneels to the ground shelf to find something. He believes he is alone, though I know better. He never comes here, never feeling the usually humidity, or smelling the usual decay or rust. He will be the death of me, as I will be to him. I’ve been chained to him for so long, staying silent while he takes no notice of my presence. I like the loneliness that he seems to despise, I like the unknown of the darkness that he seems to fear, I like the press of the crowded humidity that he seems to run from. All I have to fear or despise or run from is the brilliance that is his pride, it burns me, drys me, keeps me aware, the feelings I so hate. He will be the death of me, but only if he realizes he could be.
The room is dead silent, all but the thump of my leg bouncing up and down under the table. “Ms.#### do you have anything else to say?” The voice booms in my ears, the anger boiling inside me, “your honor,” I start “I confess.” The room gasps and is flooded with the sickly voice of gossip. “Then I see this trial as clo-“ I open my mouth and the words begin to flow, “I confess to doing nothing wrong. I confess that yes, I did lay with another woman, and yes I’ve done it before! I confess that the only crime I’ve committed is one of cowardice, of shame for something that is only natural to a woman like me!” I rise from my seat, hands slammed on the table, “I confess that as I stand here today in front of you the god of all things unjust, that I am a woman who has and will always love women! I confess that I am guilty of an act of love, and nothing more!” The room goes silent once more, until the booming voice of the judge rings out, “Ms.#### you have been found guilty of homosexuality, you are being given the chance to serve life in prison if and only if you confess who else you know is guilty of this sin, if not you will be sentenced to death.”
He drops his coat on the ground, allowing himself to slump against the wall in a brief moment of relaxation. Once again, unannounced, the angel comes knocking at his door. “What, here to gloat?” He stands from the wall and questions the angel, a repeating cycle he wished to end. The angel is suddenly in front of him, squinting in confusion “why would I? I’ve lost as well.” There’s a moment of silence, then the angel loosens his gaze “you’re hurt, let me heal you.” He nods and returns to his spot on the ground, the angel follows. Resting a hand on his cheek, feeling the energy flow from the angel to him, a moment of peace midst the chaos. “Why do you heal me?” He asks, the angel stares in confusion “what?” “I said, why do you heal me? You seem to be the only person concerned about my wounds, you take away time just to make sure I’m fine. I can’t stand you.” The angel turns to face him “then why do you listen to me? Why, if you can’t stand it, do you let me heal you?” The silence only broken by breathing, a question he never thought of. He never did think someone may want him to be okay, much less he would let them help him. He had never thought of this before, he had never thought of wanting help, before the angel. “I don’t know.” He stands from the wall, followed by the angel. He says a goodbye and the angel is gone. He picks up his coat and drapes it over the night stand, then falls into a restless sleep.
Held, beheld, beloved Hold, behold, beloved Obtain, witness, cherish Clutch, watch, devote
Without is a purgatory Tormented with thoughts of heaven and memories of hell Missing is a curse A binding between nothing and everything Hatred is a maze Lost beyond the thin line of love and disdain
To open your clutch is to be almost without To look away is to regret what you miss To grudge is to hate the very being
You feel like falling so tighten your grip You have almost forgotten how far you've come so view upon how far you've come You want to hate so love every flaw that cannot be fixed
