The sun grew weary of seeing men squander its light

Placing their hopes and dreams on their pillows at night

Seize the day, is what they used to say

Now they are machines wasting away

They do not understand this gift of life, of sight

This star is not something you simply ignite

My illumination shouldn’t have trepidation

They should be running, sailing, screaming for salvation

Living, breathing, celebration

There is miracle in our existence

If only the humans would find their deliverance

When I am lost, and the people drive by

We will regret we didn’t say goodbye

It’s a tough job, being a murderer. You experience such a thrill the first time and need to feel it again. The plotting and planning. Finding reason for your choices. You need to keep building hope and getting away with collapsing it in roughly eighty thousand words.

It’s an even tougher job when your power goes out and you’re working with a candle and the streetlight outside the window. Just as inspiration strikes after months of dull nothingness. Three time bestseller, you are going to crack soon.

It is an impossible job when the candlelight waves and the streetlight flickers. The words on the page tease their way into view, and I struggle to focus. Their Side of the Story is the working title for my latest book. A woman has the power to speak with killers, dead or alive. But, she can only talk to the people who have hurt her family. For a prestigious family like the one she belongs to, there are a considerable amount. The only issue is that she cannot change—the street lamp outside goes out and on again. Out and on again. Out again, on again. And again.

I stare at the small, pale illumination and dare it to extinguish one last time. The light seems to happily oblige as it dies out. And before I can take a breath to collect myself and my things, the light outside comes on once more. On this night, I’m tempted to rip up all of my writings and throw them into the fireplace. At least I’d be able to see.

It’s no use. The inspiration is now gone, so I blow out my candle and head to bed.

A curse has fallen before me I believe. I swear I can hear the buzzing of the light outside. What has been taunting me for a week now, is infuriating me tonight. My bedroom window does face the street, but my curtains block any light coming it. That does not stop the whirring outside. However faint the sound has been before, no matter if I actually found it a little peaceful before, it is a sharp sound I feel in my teeth right now.

In my rising anger, I get out of bed for the second time tonight and abruptly open my curtains to survey my next victim. It flickers persistently. It is like it wants my attention, to keep me up tonight. I focus on the off and on, the urgency a street lamp shouldn’t have. It should have just died by now. Hell, it should’ve died out a week ago. This light flickers day and night, even if there are sensors that should be controlling it. Like something else is controlling it.

I bring myself closer to the window. My nose gently presses against the cold surface. What is causing this? I count the flickers. One, two, three, four. Another flicker. A flicker, a longer flash, two more flickers. It does that again. Then four more flashes. My forehead is against the window now.

Is this lamp…trying to communicate to me?

Disclaimer: I’m in the planning stages of a fantasy book. What I’m writing about here is a side character’s story. A man, General Louvel, has nightmares about his abusive relationships in the past with his family. The nightmares don’t feel normal, like they’re cursed. They are constant, they invade his waking moments. He wakes up drenched in sweat and sometimes it’s hard for him to get a grip on reality. He keeps this to himself mostly and only speaks about it vaguely with the healers in the town. This letter is from the perspective of someone who knows his problem and wants to exploit him for it. I hope that’s enough context for you to understand this letter! Enjoy!

My Dear Lou,

I hope it’s okay that I’ve called you Lou. I know that name is reserved for more special people in your life. I think I should claim I’m someone special in your life. Maybe last week you didn’t know. Maybe yesterday you didn’t realize. Hopefully now, you’ll see that I am someone special in your life.

I saw you walking to the apothecary in the Vale district a few days ago. Just today you tried to get help in the Somnum house. Left their silver and blue doors with nothing but that disheveled look you had on your face. I know I can’t stay away any longer. You are in so much pain. They can’t fix you there.

Have they barely fixed anything? Any dreams other than the ones with that horrible man? He treated you too unkindly, I know. Any moment where you can close your eyes and enjoy the dark for a while? When was the last time the darkness brought you peace?

What a sad life to live, General Louvel. Oh, is that better? Does hiding under your status make you feel stronger, General Louvel? I digress. I see your pain. Cursed to have nightmares of your life’s past. Oh, all that pain, pain, pain.

I have found you. I can fix you. Just, don’t try looking for me, Lou. Leave a cup of motherwort tea out for me outside your door the morning after you read this, and I will help you.

Give it a chance, Your healer

Madelyn, far, far away Madelyn, you’re so strange

August, feel the sun on your face August, let it all wash away

The Gulf of Mexico Florida’s west coast Tampa, Sarasota, and St. Petersburg host

Madelyn isn’t real Madelyn can’t be true Madelyn, I do not know you

There is nothing like honeybees Flying up into the trees They look so free in the breeze

But finding a home can be hard
Every time you think it’s good, it falls like a house of cards Like the only place that’s right would be the graveyard

Staring at her profile The mirror has its own demands and denials She tries to give them the tears of crocodile

Something may change, the world may freeze And free up space to ease Her mind at rest, her body of seas

Although it can be hard to not be on guard The way that she’s trying isn’t marred Only thing she can do is hope she doesn’t end scarred

She let go of the hostile So, she shrugged and turned with a smile For the truth had been there all the while

“Do you really think we used to have tails?”

“Yes! Evolution proved this. Scientists have proved this. Look it up,” exclaimed Stacy, who was growing tired of this conversation. She didn’t have time for trivial office small talk. Maybe after work she’d be willing to discuss evolution and tails, but now was not the time. She was rushing to get the holiday newsletter out to her manager. It had to be approved in two hours, and while she felt like she finished it yesterday, there was no problem she couldn’t find or create for herself. So now was the time to make the decision, red or green colored font for the headline?

“That’s just so…strange,” Paul stated, “like, imagine if we had four arms, or a horn on our head? Then those things just went away? Or no ears! Just holes that we can hear out of. Like lizards!”

“What would be nice is if you didn’t have a mouth,” joked Stacy, “or wings. Would you stop shaking them so hard? You’re getting feathers everywhere! Sit down.”

Paul stares at her from a moment before he sits back at his desk across from Stacy. Her painted red nails typed away as she attempted to focus on the task in front of her. Paul wondered why she kept going undo, redo, undo, redo, when he took a glimpse of her desk.

“Sorry, it’s a habit,” Paul apologized while he moved his arm back and stroked one wing, trying to soothe it, “I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes with the boss. I’m going to propose a commercial idea for the first time, and I admit I’m a little nervous.”

Stacy stopped the clicking of her keyboard, and looked over at Paul. She felt a tinge of guilt and sympathy for him. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so sharp just now. They both looked down at their keyboards.

“Hey,” chirped Stacy, “you’re gonna do just fine. Oscar’s not as bad as you think. I know this job is new and he can be a little scary, but coming from someone who has been to the Christmas parties around here, Oscar is nothing to be worried about.”

“He’s got such a mean snarl though, Stace.”

“Yeah, but he also sings Mariah Carey like there’s no tomorrow,” argued Stacy, “he puts on this whole spunky outfit and everything. Trust me, he’s got good sides.”

Paul smiled up at his friend. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“You’re gonna fly up there and you’re gonna nail it. I’ve seen your work. I know your work.” Stacy looked at him with solid eyes. She tried her best to reassure Paul, but she understood how hard it is to keep a job in this business, in this economy.

“Thanks, Stacy,” Paul grinned, “what’re you working on?”

“Ugh.” Stacy moved her eyes away from Paul and back to her computer, “I can’t decide the colors and font for this newsletter I’m working on. I feel like my work is never complete. I don’t want it to look unplanned and messy. Like I threw it together”

Paul looked at his colleague in disbelief, “You’ve never been one to wing things. I’ve known you for too long to know that you’re the most precise creature I’ve ever met. Let me see.”

Paul got back up from his chair and joined Stacy at her desk, fairly close to her now. He watched as she went undo, redo, undo, redo.

“That one,” Paul finalized, “it’s got more uumph, more gusto, it stands out.”

“You know what, you’re right,” Stacy chimed. Such a silly little task that is so minuscule, she was overthinking it yet again. She looked to her side, at Paul. Her green eyes meeting his brown. It must’ve been too much eye contact because it ended abruptly with him clearing his throat, and his wings shook a tiny bit.

“I’m gonna go practice my presentation in the bathroom one more time. Wish me luck,” Paul said. Stacy didn’t get a chance to say he didn’t need it before Paul flew away to the restroom. She shook her head, looked back at her computer, prepared the document, and hit send.

I did not realize it would be this nice. I met her two days ago, and now we are boarding the rocket, ready for liftoff. Normally, I wouldn’t be falling in love in two days, no less getting actually married. But you know what? These past 48 hours have been the best of my life. There is no going back now. Plus, we’re still going to put our seatbelts on and hold each other’s hand when we start to fly.

Thankfully, I am not deprived of my senses. I can see, smell, taste, hear, and feel. No glasses or hearing aids or numbness in my toes.

She’s alright in her senses too. She did wear glasses in the third grade, but that was just because she, and I quote, “wanted to look cool.”

But there’s something new now. She looks at me when we’re sitting in a public place like there are curtains closed all around us. A privacy I didn’t know I’d reach for. My heart has grown three sizes like The Grinch. This is bizarre because I’m pretty sure my heart was the average human size before meeting her. I feel like when I see her, it’s Christmas morning. It is my favorite mug, warm in my hands. It is the silhouette of trees with the setting sun casting the shadow. A sense of love and enlightenment and excitement like nothing before.

Of course, I’ve been happy in my life. I was happy when I graduated college. I was happy when I went to my first concert. I was happy when I went snorkeling and saw a bunch of tiny, shiny fish swim by. This, this is new. A new sense and a new look on life. Every time I look at her hand, and the fact that I’m lucky enough to let it hold mine, the sense of love intertwines my heart.

I’ve come to my senses and so has she. The wedding bells will be ringing at three. We can feel the world, together, all at once. It is big and bright and full and beautiful. It was never like this before, but I know it will be like this forevermore.