Aeris

Aeris

“One should have squint lines from looking at the horizon, not from reading in dim light!” “What’s a horizon? Is it like the end of an isle of books?” -Strange the Dreamer

211
Writings
116
Followers
26
Following
The Tale Of Marion DuLacey: The Origin Of Hate

I ran into the woods, towards the camp I knew my father had planned to ambush that day along with the other men of the village. It had been to long for them to not have returned. A sick feeling had buried itself in my gut and the shadows that were once my friends seemed ominous. When I reached the campsite… all I saw was blood. I hid among the leaves and branches and the scene I looked down on… wa...

The Tale Of Marion DuLacey: The Origin Of A Hero

It was a small town… the type of place where everyone knew everyone. A quiet valley in the mountains. I grew up in a happy home, content to cause the elders trouble with my pranks and listen to the stories of the merchants that travelled through. I would sneak into the tavern and hide underneath tables. I truly thought I was clever back then, snagging food while the travelers pretended to not noti...

Death Row

What was that color?

Red.

A lovely shade, glistening and warm.

A dark origin.


What is that creature?

A worm.

Slimy and wriggling.

A string come to life.


What is that image?

A photograph.

A rushed burial.

Messy and fresh.


What is that light?

My death.

Come to collect.

So bright and…...

Bleak Musings Halfway to the Top of the World

"You know that feeling when you think

"I've done it. I've found my talent, my home. I'm free."

But then you look back at your accomplishments and think

"What have I done? Nothing. What have I accomplished? Nothing that will be remembered, not while I breathe or cease to be."


I've no plans to be remembered and sometimes hope to be forgotten. My only goal is to prove to myself that I can do thi...

3
5
Flames Reaching

It was a dance,

Lit in embers,

Wreathed in gold.


Shadows pranced

As it ventured,

Higher,

Higher still.


It held me in a trance

As I remembered

This warmth

This destructive beauty....

The Stone of the Burning Witch

The grass pulled at her skirts like snakes, hissing with each movement, lashing out in her wake. As she fled from her pursuers she knew her bare feet were leaving tracks of copper through the woods as the stones cut her soles. There must be some escape! Some path or cave...


Ahead something glinted in the orange moonlight, only for a moment before it flittered out of view. She paused for a moment...

Poetry Vs. Practicality

Figures dance, only visible to me.


Shapes bring vivid colors, images of different worlds.


This little slip of paper, a portal past two pages.


It was only a matter of time…


Imagination shocks me, seizes hold, shakes me.


Words surrounded my life,


Art foremost among my priorities.


It couldn’t last…


Bills stacked up, the red words much more foreboding.


The said I wasn’t focused but I was…


Ju...

Work In Progress... Indefinitely... At Least Until I Remember...

I woke with excitement, jolting me from my nest of cozy blankets as though I had been struck by lightning. My feet tangled in my blankets I fell from the bed like a newborn calf attempting his first steps. Paper! I needed paper! Fumbling desperately in the dark for my lamp it finally clicked on and blinded me. It was the wee hours of dawn when the sky was at its darkest blue and my dreams at their...

2
The Servants Petty

He whispered over her shoulder like the devil he was,

“I bet you hate him. After everything he’s done, why wouldn’t you?”


“Shut up.” She replied, her voice as tense as her eyes as she scanned over the swarm of elites as the feasted and reveled and fawned over their new king and his guests, including a princess and potential bride.

“I don’t hate him...”

Elise breathed, not daring to move her lips ...

How Very Shakespearean

To be or not to be?

That was the most famous question...

I can become ones darkest thoughts or wildest hopes;

I can describe a romance or heartache or a dream you had three nights ago.


Courage comes from the writers, the poets;

Comfort is given to my readers, those who seek me in the lost unthought of corners of a public library somewhere.

I come quite naturally to some... to others, like my wri...