Everything evolves Around me changes But still stay here And meet new faces

I’m small And deep in the ground Where sometimes newcomers dig And welcome what they found

I last forever After my short term I used to move And change form

But now I’m forever still Holding what once was one I’m a mere frame A casing of history

Yet thousands look at me daily With wonder and fear But I know the stories Of those who came before me If only I could tell you And set these stories free

No more words needed.

Human will.

Never changed.

Ever.

War never changes

Beginning to the end.

War caused by

The corruption of human will.

Life is full of seasons. With each season comes change, some good and some bad, but the one thing that didn't change was the love my grandmother showed me. That love was not always expressed as kind words and a hug. Sometimes my actions warranted gentle guidance and discipline to teach me wrong from right. As I became older, I took for granted that love, having never not had it. When my grandmother died, I grieved for that consistent love that I knew I would never have privilege to again. The goodness of it all is I have the memories of the way my grandmother's love made me feel.

When you are born people say that your life starts I disagree it starts when you babble and people listen It starts when people hear your voice When they start to hear it your personality can become clear Maybe you’re sassy, funny, kind, sad, torn, excited,or energetic When your heard people start to like you or hate you those that like you often become your friend When you make friends with someone’s the start normally they’re there for life Sometimes they disappear buy most of the time they stay They stay with you forever you can count on them you always can Even as the world continues to evolve babies babble at the start make friends and live Cause no matter what happens you have someone you always do It can take a while to find your someone but you will Everyone does

“There will always be people who doubt you, Thomas,” his mother had said, “it’s up to you whether you let them bring you down.”

Thomas had been six at the time, clinging to his mother’s skirts, palms grazed from slipping over gravel. He couldn’t quite remember how it had happened, but the memory of his mother wrapping him in her arms was as strong as her peony perfume.

“There now,” she’d kissed both his hands, raw with scrapes, “you’re alright. A mother’s love is no match for pain.”

Thomas had kept those words too. He remembered all the lies his mother told him.

“Now,” she’d continued, setting him on the kitchen table, “what were you doing playing outside? You know it’s dangerous out there.”

Thomas had hung his head. “Sorry, mamma.”

She’d clicked her tongue, but a smile crept at the corner of her lips. “It’s alright, just make sure you never do it again.”

His mother had stood up then, striding over to the sink to wash her hands. “There will always be people who doubt you, Thomas,” she said, “it’s up to you whether you let them bring you down.”

Before he could ask what she meant, his father entered the kitchen and his mother began doting on him instead.

So six year-old Thomas slipped silently off the table, hiding his scraped palms up his sleeves, and vowed never to play outside again.

God is forever the same Never changing and his name He is God everlasting The bright star never changing

He gave his Son to adore So we’ll live forevermore We praise God and his Son Holy Spirit three in one

God adopted each of us And he made man from the dust From man’s rib women were made For Gods love will never fade

The world dances to the beat of the universe, wearing its shoes made from shining golden stars. They tap against the blackness of the galaxy and dance on the ceiling, for there’s nothing too crazy for this world.

Blinding lights reflect off of buildings and shield people from seeing the blood running through the streets. The call of death rings in the ears of those who fear it the most. Three sisters hold the string at an angle so they can cut it short.

Then there is love; the craziest thing that ever existed. Some say it’s at first sight. Some say those are the words of fools.

Even with all of the craziness shining through the clouds, there is an infinite amount of beauty. The orange sunsets, the laughing children, and the soft glow coming from a kind heart. The mysterious moon and all of its companions twirl ‘round the earth, but only to shield more helpless and vulnerable eyes.

Hate is the most evil thing that the universe holds. Violence eats away at any unsuspecting victim. All people who are sick enough to do such horrible things to humans should be shamed upon, or they will destroy, and our crazy, unpredictable world will be doomed.

Throughout the days of antiquity, Throughout the haze of being me. Hope it stands so steadily, Guides our hands with ease, you see?

Searching ever through pains of past To move you forth, not backwards, fast.

Mark sat down in the back of the small apartment with his hands clenched together. He looked over at the digital clock hanging on the wall over a worn leather sofa. Everything he has was worn and second-hand.

It was a quarter after two.

He rubbed his face and laid his head back against the wall. A large sigh exhales from his body reveals the nerves in his stomach.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he said to himself. He had gotten himself in a small quarrel with a girlfriend. A typical thing but this time, he couldn’t wrap his head around why she was so upset with him. He glanced over to the dinner table. It was small and made out of light aluminum and yellow plastic. The chairs matched as well. On the table, two plates of food lay untouched. One was half-eaten, and the other only had scraps of what look to be rice, chicken, and broccoli.

They were eating when they argued. Mark had gobbled down his food; he hadn’t eaten all day. At the same time, Sherry (bless her heart) was barely eating the food. Something had bothered her. It was something Mark had said.

“I’ve never seen you actually finish a plate of food in my life,” he said.

Sherry looked up at him, her eyebrows pinched together, creating a look of anger.

“What? It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” she said calmly. She was trying her best not to turn this into a fight.

“Sure, but do you remember the last time we are out? I think it was Peter’s; you didn’t even finish your burger.”

“I did eat before that.”

“What about BPs?”

“What about it,” she said, putting down the fork. Mark wasn’t going to let this go.

“We didn’t even order a lot, but you barely touched your pasta. I am starting to think that maybe you are anorexic.”

Sherry wasn’t thin or starving. She looked like anyone else. Her skin wasn’t drying out, and her hair was just fine.

“Excuse me?”

“Hey,” Mark said, leaning back into his chair and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “I’ll still love you either way.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s going on.”

“Listen. I see the signs, and I know what’s going on.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t know what’s going on. Just because you experience something doesn’t mean that it’s true to me.”

“Babe. Everyone does that. What we experience with a person tells us what’s going on. Like when I buy something and get upset because now I don’t have any money. You know through your experience that I bought a bad purchase.”

“I get it, but you are denying my experience, and I don’t think I have an eating disorder.”

“Just from what I see, you have one.”

“Well, I’m glad that what you see determines how I experience things. Now, all mighty god, tell me what other experiences determine who I am.”

“Sherry, it’s not like that. Just chill. It’s not a big deal.”

“There you go telling me it’s not a big deal, but hey, it might not be a big deal to you. But it is for me. Because it lays out what’s been itching at me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about you. You are the most normal person in the world, but if someone calls you normal, you say, ‘no, I’m not normal; I’m hella weird.’ If you make a mistake, you don’t accept it and play it off that I’ve made a mistake. You’re just a victim of miscommunication. When it’s plain to see that you are so far up your ass that you don’t even know how to relate to others or even how to accept your faults,” said Sherry, her hand tightly gripping the fork while her other hand is balled up into a fist. She was building up, and her anger was pouring through the cracks. She didn’t want another fight, but now she was tired of dealing with the type of person Mark is.

“Wow, firstly, I do accept my faults. I know when I’m wrong.”

“No, you don’t; you think you do, but you don’t. When you went and started diagnosing me with anorexia, did you think that maybe you were wrong?”

“I-I’m not—you’re making—listen, it’s not like that. I was just stating my opinion. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“So it’s alright to gaslight me and then play the victim. You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“A little bit,” said Mark adjusting in his seat.

“And that everything I’ve said so far doesn’t apply to you, and I’m making all this up,” she said. Sherry stands up and grabs her coat. “Mark, you’re a dick. You can continue thinking you’re a growing human being. You can continue thinking everyone is stupid, and you are the only one with common sense. You can continue thinking you’ve made progress in your life, but until you figure out how to see yourself in other people’s shoes, then maybe our relationship would‘ve worked.”

“Fine, leave. Gawd, if this were a discord call, I would have ended it seconds ago. I don’t need this type of toxicity in my life. I’m not wrong. You have problems. Go fix them.”

Sherry stared at him. She couldn’t believe how arrogant Mark was. Perhaps he has been this way and was just good at hiding it. She adjusts her coat, holding on to the sides because deep down, she didn't want everything to end. Mark wasn’t giving her any other choice.

“Yeah, I do. I can’t believe I thought that having a relationship with you was even possible.”

“See, you didn’t think it through. Not my fault. You knew what you were getting into.”

“No, I didn’t. You have two sides. One that plays the intellectual that attracts people; you’re easy to talk to, fun to be around. Your thoughts are unique, and your plans are ambitious. The other side is the one that shows that you don’t grow. It fights back at you, and when you think you’ve grown, you haven’t. It’s the crude you that just says your opinions, and everyone else is wrong. It’s a dark you that plays the victim because Mark is never wrong, just miscommunicated.”

Sherry put on her shoes and leaves. Slamming the door behind her, causing Mark to flinch.

He chuckled to himself and just sat there. He opens his phone, but nothing was calling for him. His Instagram, which full of models and Instagram thots, didn’t catch his attention like it used to. His Reddit, which is full of pc, gaming, and stock posts, didn’t pull him either. He just sat there as Sherry’s lunch got cold.

Now he was presently sitting on the floor. He had waited two hours for Sherry to come back. Two hours without calling her or texting her. He just sat there waiting.

“I’m not the one at fault. People just don’t know how to deal with their baggage,” he told himself like a lousy therapist trying to cheer himself up. He sat for a couple more minutes before dozing off for a nap.

When he woke up, nothing had changed. He walked around the apartment. Sherry’s clothes were gone, and anything else that belonged to her was missing. The room felt bigger without her, more space.

He washed the dishes and then checked the clock; 9:00 pm.

After a long hot shower, he laid himself down to sleep. The bed felt colder with his newfound space. Everything felt colder. He wrapped himself into his sheets, and soon, after crying, he was asleep.

“It’s not my fault.”

Flynn whirled around. “But those are senseless! Prophecies are senseless! Useless! Propaganda!” he blurted. “You’re not even supposed to know Alexis took the scroll!”

“I didn’t know she found the scroll,” Quintilian said calmly, fingering his staff. A milky orb sat at its top, glowing white. “She only said she knew the prophecy somehow. Interesting she chose the scroll route.” He stroked his beard. “I would’ve tried to use a spell on one of the ship masters, but youth always tend to surprise us, don’t they?”

Flynn groaned and smacked his head against the hourglass. Great, the one thing Alexis told them to keep a secret, and he’d already blown it.

“Ah, I’m sure she’ll forgive you,” Quintilian said with a wink, as if he could tell what Flynn was thinking. The Wizard tapped his staff on the ground, and the entire room lit up with a soft green glow from the orb. “Much better. Green is softer on the eyes than white, you know.”

Flynn watched as Quintilian approached the hourglass and knocked his knuckles against it. Knock knock. “Hmm. Quite solid. I’d say... about a two percent change of breaking it with the kind of magic you can perform.”

“Alexis said three,” Flynn grumbled, now thoroughly hoping the old Wizard would leave him to think in peace. He tapped his foot impatiently, hoping Quintilian would get the message.

But it was Quintilian, so of course he didn’t go.

“Never fear, my dear boy, a Star Wizard never comes without a purpose,” he proclaimed, snapping his fingers to turn the green glow to purple. “Purple’s better for thinking. Now where were we? Ah yes, Esmerelda. I hope you know I am technically not permitted by the Council to give the prophecy to you.”

“Uh huh,” Flynn mumbled, not entirely caring about the prophecy when it was the hourglass he needed to be thinking about.

“I could go to jail, in fact,” Quintilian continued, “For even uttering it.”

“Right.”

“It’s forbidden to even the most sacred council members, you know.”

“Mhm.”

“And,” he added, “It contains very CLASSIFIED information.”

Flynn didn’t look up, agitated.

“Also,” the Wizard continued loudly. “A certain SOMEONE seems to have already wheedled it out of me.”

Flynn went ghost white and snapped to attention. “She didn’t.”

“Indeed she did,” Quintilian’s eyes twinkled. “And as soon as I mention the girl, he perks up. A young man in love, indeed.”

“Just tell me the prophecy,” Flynn snapped, burning red.

Quintilian smiled. “It involves a valiant Hero.”

“It always involves a valiant Hero,” Flynn said impatiently, “And an evil villain and a daring Quest, blah blah blah. I mean tell me the part about Esmerelda. Tell me what she knows.”

The Wizard nodded sagely. He snapped his fingers, and the purple glow turned to a hazy red. Quintilian touched the glass orb atop his staff, a milky gas swirling around inside.

“As you wish,” Quintilian said. “But I don’t think the Hero is who you might expect it to be.”

“And why’s that?” Flynn said, already thinking of the answer—

“The Hero,” the Wizard said darkly, “Is... not you.”

Flynn backed up in surprise. “What?” he said. “Then who...” His voice caught as his eyes settled on the blurry face appearing in Quintilian’s staff. “Oh my God. It’s her, isn’t it?”

Quintilian nodded, his eyes aflame in the red glow of the orb. “Yes.”

“Okay... so.... but that makes me...”

The Wizard glanced at the hourglass, the sand falling through it looking much more ominous. His face suddenly seemed... apologetic.

Quintilian met Flynn’s eyes. “The villian, my boy.”

And suddenly the red glow faltered, and the entire room went dark.