Short stories & poems

In the time before time, when the heavens were young and the earth still whispered its first breaths, the world was shrouded in twilight. No sun graced the sky, no dawn spilled golden light upon the land. The mortals lived by the glow of ember-lit rivers and the silver shimmer of distant stars, never knowing the full warmth of day.

Then came Lirion, born of the celestial river, woven from the breath of the great Cosmos herself. His form was neither man nor beast, but a shifting silhouette of flame and feather, his eyes glowing like twin moons set aflame. To him was given a solemn charge: to bear the First Light across the heavens, to weave the fabric of day from the dark tapestry of night.

Each morning, Lirion lifted the radiant sphere from its slumber in the east, cradling it within his outstretched wings. With each beat, the sky flushed with colors unknown to mortals—rose and ember, gold and fire. He carried the sun high, his body a bridge between the heavens and the waking world. The rivers gleamed beneath his flight, and the trees stretched their arms to drink in the light he bore.

But with each dusk came sorrow. For as the world thrived in the glow of his labor, Lirion himself remained unseen, a mere shadow against the brightness he carried. As night fell, he descended beyond the horizon, laying the sun to rest in the cradle of the western sea. There, he lingered at the water’s edge, gazing at his own reflection—a creature of light forever bound to duty, never to bask in the warmth he bore.

The stars, his only companions, whispered secrets to him as he rested. "Why do you mourn, Skybearer?" they asked.

"I am the bringer of light, yet I am never bathed in its glow," he whispered in return.

The stars wept for him, casting their silver tears upon the ocean’s waves. But the cycle could not be broken, for should Lirion falter, darkness would reclaim the land, and all life would wither beneath an endless night. And so, each dawn, he rose again, lifting the light upon his wings, a silent guardian of day, bound forever to a sky that would never know his name.

A lurid alloy of yellow stars, sizes aplenty, donned the ceiling of the parchment. It left no space for the silver miniature crescent moon braced upon the cliff of the page, as if it were attempting to flee from their celestial brethren.

Pronged emerald grass and rich soil soared from the parchment beneath the macabre of an aether above, scarlet critters with spiteful eyes veering into the abyss.

Garlic cringed and spied a figure buried within the grass, a sword ascending above their head. Was that supposedly the child? A memory, perhaps?

He lowered the parchment.

A pair of chestnut eyes twinkling with glee met his own, spittle cascading the corner of the child’s chin. They rocked upon their feet, clenching their little hands brazenly. A prideful grin was carved upon their mouth, pruned mucus bespoiling their nose.

“Gods be good.” He muttered and rested the paper upon the table. He never was fond of children.

“I drew you!” Said the boy, “Did you see?”

“I presumed it was you.” Garlic retorted and reclined upon the seat, nestling a hand atop his lap.

“No!” The boy lept and snatched the parchment, pointing to the figure with a finger violently. “See, Sir? That is you.”

Garlic’s nose scrunched as he scrutinised the grotesque creature. If the brows were tamed and if the figure wielded another blade, he would have concurred. The figure was mien to that old bastard of his Lord Father. “That looks nothing like me.”

The boy’s shoulders deflated.

(Tbc)

The footsteps of a hundred dancing elven partners swirl around the room. The music swells with them as they seem to float. I watch the hall, awaiting the perfect moment to join into the fray. To make an impression in the Elven court, one must stand out. The music softens, the rhythm of feet stop as they prepare to swap partners. I step out, my sliver foot lands so gracefully upon the marble floor. But all eyes stare at her, a dazzling center of attention. Like a vase covered in mirrors. She steps out barely faster then I. Her gold laden foot steps out onto the ballroom floor and a hush falls upon the room. Her somber expression so vividly plastered upon her face, I swear I could see her pink lips twitch into a smile. Blonde hair so bright it could be white wraps around her golden long ears and falls down past her feet. Her opalescent eyes like tears in starlight, haunting. She floats down into the center, her golden dress blows behind like the wing itself. Elvren, I swallow that name like bile down my throat. Oh how perfect she is, with her far too symmetrical face, her short fingers and too long ears. Perhaps her father was an orc. Half the elven men approach her, wishing for the first dance. They each kiss her hand. I turn and walk silently towards the back once more, where all the young elves wait patiently for their turn. I will have to wait again, for a chance when she and her nymph like face are not there.

Our hearts are quite similar, Don’t you see? The one within you has been Scarred, And so has the one within me.

Scars cover my heart, Now no one wants it, Scars cover your heart, So no one will take it.

The scars on our hearts, They leave us to lives of Solitude, For nobody wants us.

Then our paths crossed, You and I met, And that’s when we realized, That with our scars, We could connect… So we did.

Paths intertwined, Lives intertwined, Souls intertwined, Everything about our Scarred selves And Scarred hearts Is intertwined.

I thought you would be taller. I’ve never quite understood why a height difference would be so appealing, but I suppose since I’m not short, like you, I wouldn’t really come across it. The way he described you, I’d have imagined your eyes to be “kind,” or something like that. I’m not even sure what that means. If it’s resembling the way some cartoon animals’ eyes are drawn beady and shiny, then, yes, I suppose you have kind eyes. Your hair could be quite beautiful. It’s always amazed me that there are women well into their forties with naturally straight and blonde hair. If there are grays, I couldn’t tell in that hasty ponytail you always wear. I could imagine that haircare must be quite extensive due to your frigid environment. I probably wouldn’t bother either. It is quite lucky for you that it’s so cold there. Here, we don’t have the luxury of layers. But I do understand why he loves you so much. Don’t get me wrong, if I had someone like you, I would feel bound to such safety. It’s amazing how supportive you’ve been of his career, and I’ve heard your a good cook, you even moved away from your family for him! You’re quite the woman. He’s so lucky to have you. I hope you two are very happy together.

I’m feeling the pain flowing through my body and can feel my head start to pound. I look around the room and see the IV dripping into my arm. The beeps from the monitors are steady which is something new since I first arrived here. I know they told me there was a flat line initially when they first brought me in last night. I’m here only by the luck of the draw; my passenger wasn’t so lucky.   The doctor looks me over and says, “Nice to see you back with us. You were out for a little bit.” I can barely hear the man speaking to the woman next to him, I don’t know who she is, but she seems concerned about me. She comes over and holds my hand and says, “Oh honey, I’m so glad you are alive.”. I stare at her for a second and finally ask, “Who are you?”, the look on her face tells me I should know her.   She stands up and turns away and says something to the doctor, and then turns back to me and she says, “I’m your wife, Barbara. Don’t you remember me.”. I shake my head letting her know I don’t. She begins to sob and walks out of the room. The doctor approaches my bed and asks, “Do you know who you are?”. I must admit to him that I have no idea, but I know there was someone with me that died in what I can only assume was a car crash.   The doctor seems upset and asks me if I know what happened. Then he begins to explain about the accident and that my friend Joey didn’t make it, and there was something else. He lifted the blanket, and I can see that my legs have been amputated, and I begin to sob. That’s when I see my next visitor in the corner.   The figure appears to me with the black cloak and sickle. He points at me and mouths, “It’s your turn.”. I nod to him and a smile appears across my face. I’m happy when I suddenly hear the machine beside me flatline and he takes my hand. My legs are there, and it is time for me to leave.   As I’m walking past the doctor and Barbara my wife and here the doctor say as he looks me directly in the eyes and says, “He will give you death, and you will love him for it.”, and he is right there is now peace in my heart as I make my way to the bright light.

that dress. its perfect. why didn’t i think of that the way it fits her body would it look better on mine? no, of course not i don’t have hips like that, a stomach that flat, any of it. why does she have everything i am nothing compared to that if i was her i would not take that for granted not like she does why didn’t i get that stuff i deserve it more, don’t i?

I crawl through the dirt, the mist and grime. On hands and knees I creep ever closer to the great mosolium. I castle of death, centered around this vast and full cemetary. The stench of death perfectly mixed with the moisture of the air assaults my nose, overwhelming as it is, I continue on. Crawling passed graves and crypts. Each looking ancient and forgotten, dirty and barely legible. I see the faint glow of candles and I can feel my journey reaching its climax. I feel the presence of the great castle, the sense of a looming tomb, the home of death himself.

I think and reflect on my life, knowing all I know very well many end here. My wife, my daughter. I find strength to my resolve and continue on, I have to make it back to them. I cannot let them win like this. I recite my speech in my head like a mantra, it’s short but to the point. A simple request of Death. To return to the land of the living, my time can’t be up so soon. I can’t lose my family, abandon my family like this. I feel warmth trickle down my face while I crawl onward. The tears cloud my vision but I follow the candlelight, blurred as it may be. The impending feeling of the castle is so powerful, so potent in the air I could get there blind at this point. I briefly shift my attention to the headstones lining the great walkway, how many of these poor souls made this journey? How many actually convinced Death for a second chance? Is this all for naught? I shake my head trying to convince myself there is hope for me, I can’t give up without even trying to get back. I pause a moment to steady myself, calm my breathing, wipe my tears and then I continue on my knees. 

I reflect on my conversation with the gatekeeper, that hooded man that guided me to this journey. Remembering his words so clear it’s inspiring me to continue on. On bloody knees I move on towards the blurred candlelight, picturing my family in my mind to motivate me through to pain and sorrow. To see this journey to its end. To embrace my family once more.** **The man at the gate told me this would be my eternal resting place, to sleep here at peace just as each soul the passed has before me. I remember how desperate my pleas to return were, how pathetic I must have come across. But he reassured me all the same, I was not the first, I will not be the last and to seek an audience with Lord Death. To show humbleness and crawl to the very heart of his domain, his castle amongst the dead. I mustn’t stand, for that would be seen and rude and I surely would never see this journey end, my fate would be eternal walking to a place I could never reach. But if I stay true and crawl the entirety of the journey, he would see me, listen and judge fairly. He watches over the dead, the souls laid to rest, ensures they are cared for and at peace, but if a soul cannot find peace in death, and they approach him with respect and humility, he gives them a chance to plea their case to find true peace. Even rarely granting a second chance at life for those taken too soon.

Suddenly and immediate the mist begins to disapate, I can’t recall how much time has passed now, how long I’ve been crawling towards this place. But with now clear eyes I see rising above me, so high and grand I cannot make out the top. I see a grand staircase lines with ornamental bones, bejeweled and beautiful. Handrails made of femurs, interlaced tibias make the frame for the handrails. Each end post adorned with a pure white skull with sunken and black eye sockets. They do not frighten me, but give an aura of peace, of welcoming. As if inviting me to join them here forever. I shake the feeling and begin climbing the great stairs on my knees, the icy cold steps burn my raw knees. I hadn’t realized how accustomed to the jagged and sharp gravel walkway I’d become until now. The steps seem as if they rise too heaven itself and I feel my body growing weary, begging me for a break. yet I don’t give in, I am so close now, I can’t afford to take breaks. I shake my head and steady my resolve to continue forward, continue my assent to Death. 

It feels as if hours have passed up these stairs, and on they go. I feels my legs wanting to give out, my body wants to fail me. Yet I press on, pausing only for a moment’s rest. This has to be a test of some sort, a proof of my devotion to this task. I must see it through, I cannot waiver. My thoughts race only to continue to convince myself of this, to refuse to accept defeat here. I’ve come entirely too far to quit, to rest, to lose. And just as I feel myself stopping, as I feel at my limit, I see just a few steps above lays a grand door. “I’m here”, I weep, as I hurriedly climb the remaining steps.  Pausing to calm my breath, calm my nerves and prepare myself to meet Death. As I try to steady myself I finally realize I can smell a comfortable and familiar smell. the smell of my wife’s cooking, of our fireplace roaring and I swear I can even hear my daughter’s laugh. I feel tears begin to stream down my cheeks, overwhelmed with joy but suddenly ruined by the realization that they cannot be here, that I’ve made this journey to return to them back on Earth, not here in Death’s domain. Without drying my eyes I stand and grasp the heavy brass doorknob. I turn it and the door gives way, opening to a cold and dark hall, a throne stands at the far end of the room, and I hear his voice. “Welcome to my home. You’ve certainly earned your audience with me. Passing my trials, my tests, and holding true to your mission. Please come in and speak with me.” I step one foot into the cold room before it bursts into warm candlelight. Chandiliers lining the ceiling come alive with fire and I can see the beauty, the intricate design work of each molding, each groove in the hardwood floors, the walls lined with art I’ve never imagined possible. For a moment I am completely awe struck. How can a place so full of loss and death be so unimaginably beautiful? 

I step slowly into the hall, nervous steps echoing across the room. I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, nerves so inhumanity alive knowing I will be face to face with Death in but a moment. The walk through the hall is short compared to the journey to took to get here, I almost try and slow my pace to procrastinate the meeting, to calm myself before gazing upon him. I see his figure, massive and grand. Adorned with a beautiful black cloak, a hood obscuring his face. All the legends and storybooks describe him as a skeleton the very end stage of our bodies. But mere feet from him now I can assure that is anything but true. His face is mine, identical to me in every way, his face is my wife’s and my daughters and everyone’s. I cannot put into words to describe him beyond that, a calm comfort washes over me as I see each loved one’s eyes stare back at mine. Not a shapeshifter mind you, more a void filled by memories. A void in a humanoid body. A reflection of life.

I bow deeply upon reaching him, awaiting his acceptance of my virtue. “Rise my dear fellow, rise and speak your story. How may I be of service to you?”. I whimper, the thoughts race, reflecting on my journey, reflecting on my mission. Reflecting to my family and my life. Each memory flashes before me, so fast I can’t enjoy it, there is no time to savor each beloved memory. “Please sir, you have to send me back. I have to go back to my family, they need me!” I beg, mustering the strongest voice my wreck of a body can muster. “Please”. I pause and await his response, yet no words come out. I look into his void of a face, at each of my loved ones faces reflected back at me, and sob. My voice cracks, as tears fall yet again. “Please, won’t you say something?!”. There is a pause broken by a deep sigh, “You’ve come so far, fought through pain, exhaustion, and maintained your resolve all this way. But you do not remember dear boy. You cannot remember for my kiongdom won’t allow it. Here all souls lay to rest, souls broken, battered, exhausted. Those are the ones you’ve seen on your journey here. Restless spirits, that this land allows peace, allows them to forget what keeps them clinging to life. And you’ve made it all the way here and deserve answers before it is your turn to rest.” Shocked and angry I yell, “I was told you could send me back! I don’t want to forget my family so I can just sleep for eternity!”. Another pause before he replies, “look into my eyes, and you will remember what brought you here”. I look into his void, my family’s faces disappear, only blackness, nothingness until a light shines. Suddenly I feel guilt, overwhelming guilt. This is it, the memory, the moment that lead to my death. The moment that lead me here. 

I watch through horrified eyes at the lifeless bodies of my wife and daughter. Killed in the car accident I caused. “I was distracted!” I cry out. But the memory continues. Watching as I turn right without fully checking, distracted by my favorite song on the radio, by my daughter’s voice singing along to it. Then blackness fades as I loose consciousness, hit, T-boned by a semi-truck. The memory comes back with me being gurnied away by the paramedics. Begging to know if my family is okay, while I see them being zipped into body bags. The last time I ever got to see their beautiful faces. Then blackness again. Recovering in the hospital with ease physically, because somehow I left the wreck with some cuts and a fractured rib. But the guilt was overwhelming. I went to grief counseling, to therapy, to drinking. Nothing helped. Nights I’d lay away, haunted by that memory, by that scene. The booze helped me sleep but only because I’d pass out. Until finally I slipped the noose around my neck to join them. I survived a whole year in hell, in my own self torture. Racked by guilt, self loathing and self hatred. An accident, but it was still my fault. 

“No..” I sob as I fall to my knees, the memories clear in my head. Quietly I weep to myself, bloody knees on the once again cold floor. The lights have dimmed and gone out now. Death stands from his throne and kneels beside me. “It was not your fault, being distracted is a lie you convinced yourself a long time ago. Surviors guilt they say. But that truck driver was high. He barreled into your car while you were safely stopped at a red light. The memories you saw just now were those that haunted you this whole time, but not the truth. Your untimely end however was real, and it brought you to me. Looking for them. Alas you cannot find them here, but you may rest with the memories of them, the happy and joyful ones. You’ll forget the loss and finally be at peace.” His voice soft and calming now. He extends his hand and I take it. Together we walk outside to see the vastness of his kingdom. And quietly we walk down the steps, now significantly shorter a trip. He guides me to my plot, my new home. Another resident of the kingdom of Death.

She has a perfect completion. Dolls eyes sent into a porcelain frame that can draw you in with a single look. Full lips that hide a perfect smile. I wish I could say there was a flaw but she seemed to be sculpted by God. I have watched her grow into all that I wish I had.

Her magic was only beginning. A spark at first. Nothing but a wisp of smoke faltering between the tips of her fingers--there, then gone. She knew she had to leave. Staying would be a death wish. Not to her, but to everyone around her. She couldn't control the power that was encased inside her, held deep in her bones. But she could at least make sure no one got hurt because of her. She knew all too well what she would leave behind. Her home. Her sister who depended on her so heavily, her mother with scars already too deep. She feared they'd never recover. At least they'd be alive, she thought. With wounds so deep it tore them down, but beating hearts nonetheless. She'd make it, alone, in the woods. Her power would grow, and maybe it would consume her--maybe that's what she deserved, but no matter what happened, what was to come, it was better if she was gone.