NeverMore

So there he was, alone in the dark with the girl of his dreams. Her bodysuit clinging to every curve, her jeans a second skin. While they sat there talking and roasting marshmallows over the fire he had built on the beach, her red hair catching glints of light, her emerald eyes sparkling against the darkness of the sea, part of his brain ordered, put your arm around her, caress her leg, and when he started to act on these impulses his mind pulled his hand back, afraid of where it might lead. The years of being alone and being a gentleman making him be a 'good boy,' waiting, wondering, wanting, fearing. and so they sat. So there she was, alone in the dark with the guy of her dreams. She had been on dates like this before and was put off by the fact that all the guys ever wanted was sex. But this one was different, the first one where she truly felt love towards him. The way he joked, the way he accepted his fate, the way he roasted marshmallows. The fire was reflected in his glasses, shadows from his long dirty blond hair, playing over his understanding face, made part of her mind wonder what she had ever seen in this unkempt photographer. But the sound of his voice and the though behind his words always reminded her of a saying her mother would recite every time she got involved with some handsome guy, "The best things come in plain wrapping, while those with expensive wrapping, tend to be cheap gifts." Sometimes she was amazed at the wisdom of her mother. And so they sat laughing, talking, with marshmallows in hand, until she could no longer stand the suspense and put her arm around him. He could not believe that she did it, but she had so he wrapped his arm around her, the feel of her shoulders, firm, yet inviting. He caressed he shoulder, and she moved her hand up and down his back, from the flab at the sides to the strong spinal column. They rocked back and forth silently this way until he turned to face her, she looked into his eyes as he took off his glasses, seeing the question that was burning his mind and answered, "Yes," to the disbelief of all concerned. He started to turn his head, and she turned hers and their lips met. Filled with joy, elation, doubt and fear, he wondered, what do I do? use tongue? Don't? How do you do this? How am I supposed to know the first time? For he had never kissed before, the pit of his stomach knotted and unknotted a thousand times before she answered all for him. His hands moved along her as she began using her tongue, and he reciprocated. And they kissed for the longest time. His kiss is so different, so hesitant, yet willing, so loving, yet so worried, she thought, her heart beating at a million miles per minute. She loved his kiss, only slightly suspicious that it might be his first, but she didn't care. Her days as a 'bad girl' had seen many kisses, yet none were the same as this. They all demanded so much, were harsh, forced, dominant. Here there was compassion, trust, gentleness that she had never felt before. She enjoyed this kiss and hated the fact that she had to breathe, to separate their lips. She broke off first, and put her head on his shoulder, whispering, "That was great." He was speechless, just nodding gently as they again began swaying to the rhythm of the ocean, it was amazing how their heartbeats coincided with the crashing of the waves on the shore. Just at this moment, his mind opened to limitless possibilities, lots of reality that had been so glaringly obvious that had he not been so calm he would have hit himself. Instead he just rocked, his hands still, trying to make this moment last forever. Just at that moment, she saw all of her life, and all of her choices, how things would have changed, who was real and who wasn't. It had been so glaringly obvious that had she not been so calm and relaxed she would have screamed. Instead she just whispered, "Everything, all of it," her hands still, trying to make this moment last forever.

History Rewritten

They had been friends for a year, but that wasn't much as they had only been together 25 days, for he could only visit Hawaii so often. He first saw her at the family reunion, she was gophering for the caterers and he was the photographer, although he was there with his parents. As he snapped away roll after roll of film, he spotted her carrying the main course to the table and was in love. During the dinner he managed to get her to talk to him and acquired her address. Through their letters they became fast friends, and he managed to get a job there in Hawaii working as a gopher/photographer for his great-uncle who owned a hotel. On his off days (and those days she came and he was able to slip away), they talked, swam, and had fun. But she told him that he was only a friend, even though she felt differently. She was afraid of where those feelings would take her, of what he might try to do. He had to leave, for school was about to start back in California, and the afternoon before his morning flight she finally told him about the feelings she has for him, and he confessed the same for her. Overhead a storm was brewing. She called her parents and told them that the caterers were pulling an all-niter at the hotel. The clouds burst and rain poured down, pounding the land. He shut the door of his room behind them and she kissed him, long and fully, something that she had been wanting to do since she had met a longhaired photog months before. "Why does this always happen near the end?" He asked as he massaged her back some time later. "I was scared, I was afraid you would try and make me do something I wasn't ready for." His hands loosened her muscles and touched her in ways she thought was only possible in books. "I never knew how strong you felt for me" his hands stop and moved to her head as he lies beside her. "I hope this is an appropriate answer," He murmured into her ear as he brushed her short black hair away from her mouth and kissed her. She moaned and kissed him back, and her hands fell all over his chest and down to his ass and caressed him, falling into the thrall of their kiss. His hands move over her almost bare back and fall around her waist, where she moved them to her butt. Minutes and many movements later, she starts to pull away. "I can't, Ryo, I'm still confused, and I'm saving myself for marriage," she explained as he lay next to her, staring deeply into her dark brown eyes, like pools of cool liquid stone. Ryo kissed her forehead lightly, and returned to gazing into her eyes, "That's okay, I respect your decision, Jenny, I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want, or anything you're not ready for." "Thank you, Ryo, that means a lot to me," she whispered as she got up, and he followed her into the kitchenette. He kissed her neck and encircled her waist, pulling her close to him. She relaxed and he kissed her ear she moved his hands up to her breasts, tenderly cupping them through her shirt. She started to moan as on of his hands went down to her thigh and came up her side. After a few moments of this she gently pushed him off, "Gotta eat, you know," she sighed. They ate and they watched TV from the bed where she occasionally stole a caress and he a kiss, but mostly they lay back, until she got up to get something and he followed her to where his stack of luggage sat. She turned and he took the opportunity to kiss her. He ran his hands all over her body, then moved slightly to kiss her neck, she sighed loudly and started to unbutton her shirt to where her bra ended and pointed to a breast which Ryo kissed as he held the other, she started to moan, but wouldn't let him take it out of the cup. He continued to unbutton her shirt and began softly rubbing her belly. Jenny gently kissed his neck, then harder, and got into the rhythm. He began to kiss her belly when she pulled him off. "I hear something Ryo," she said after glancing into his questioning eyes. He checked the door, the window, and the AC vent and found nothing. But it was late at night and the hotel was prone to groaning late at night, when there is almost silence. She showered and changed into a long T-shirt that clung to her torso. She found him gazing at the clear night sky through a camera lens, snapping here and there at the night skyline over the island. She turned off the lights and sneaked up behind him. In the still of the night, she heard birds chirping and his breathing speed up and stop as he snapped a frame. She whispered "Time for bed," into his ear and he turned with the lens still pointed to the window and kissed her chin. He turned to and stepped away from the window to put his camera away as he saw her silhouette in the starlight, he shot another. He stripped off his camera and shorts, and Jenny led him to bed. "Does this mean you've changed your mind?" Ryo asked when she slung her arm around his waist. Jenny just shook her head slowly as he curled his arm around her chest. He laid down and she curled up next to him, running her hands under his shirt which she then pulled over his head and off. "We're going to sleep together, JUST sleep," she mumbled as his hands cupped her and pulled her close, and she kissed him, and they fell asleep kissing. When she awoke, he was in the shower and came out wearing his robe she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He walked over to her and she stood up. "You wouldn't believe how long I just laid next to you, watching you breathe, watching you sleep. There is nothing more beautiful," he whispered into her ear, her hands wrapped around him. She started to say something, but he brushed the thought from her mouth with his tongue and down her cheek and onto her neck. He held her close, and she grabbed him, sighing and moaning. Ryo pulled her closer to him and ran his hands all over her. They went into another kissing frenzy. Later, he was checking out and shaking hands with his great uncle. She came with him to the airport. Just before he boarded, Ryo asked, "Are you still confused?" "Is this an answer?" She asked as she kissed him. "A good one, I love you," he said reverently, "Hope to be back soon." "I can't wait," she replied. He boarded as he must, and the whole trip back his mind was filled with Jenny and their time together, he slept until landing and there were tear tracks down his face when he awoke. The same tracks the Jenny wore the rest of the day, back in Hawaii. Their love was like the storm, quick and without warning it struck, and just as quick, just as they were used to the rain, it stopped.

And Forevermore

He had waited all his life for this moment. Through the jokes and the pity he wondered what to do. A life where nothing ever happened to him had made him afraid of the only thing he wanted, all he needed. So he tried; not knowing what to do or how to act, he followed his emotions. It was her first time too, but that didn't matter, finally someone he could touch, kiss, talk to, and would do the same for him. Luck has a habit of being ironic, though, and the irony was that he had to leave in the morning, but hopefully they could fulfill the time they had. Time passed, as it must, and they met again , slightly older, but no less in love. And this time they had eternity to be together.

Meeting the future A mountain bike was rested against the garage door of my house. That was extremely odd, as it wasn't one of our bikes. I stopped in the driveway, took off my helmet and almost fell on my bicycle in awe at the sight that came around the corner. Glowing red hair, that hurt to look at, deep jade eyes, that were so expressive, that I was completely lost within them. A slender figure, though not especially tall, was still wonderful, in the tied off shirt and tight jeans, her helmet hanging from a belt loop. While stunned out of my mind I heard her ask if Roy was home, and I heard myself reply that that was me. And the time will come... I am here, thinking only of her, hands waiting for the next word, mind racing to try and express these feelings that I have inside me. I wish I could tell her everything I felt, all that I am, but that is more than words can ever express. She is the first thing in my mind when I awake, the last thing I think about before I fall into the chaos of sleep. She is the fire that glows inside me, she is the basis of my feelings, and the thought that I cannot contain. My walls finally came crashing down and it was her lips that crumbled the stone and steel. She breathed life into the human being in the belly of the beast, and now it is the beast who is locked in a cage in the deepest part of my soul. The feel of us together was like nothing I knew, and I hunger for the sensation and the emotion, and the freedom of souls that comes in the meeting of hands and lips. I look at my hands now, under the soft red light of my reading lamp, and they look forlorn, and lonely. But fear of never feeling those feelings loses its foothold, for I know that soon we shall meet again. And the time will come when we will be together again for longer then a few hours, and our embrace will not be shortened in fear of discovery. Now I can feel her presence on my hands, just a light stroking, and I'm glad she's here, for I don't know what I am without her.

Like a unicorn she travels through the streets, blowing past all the paper dolls that walk and call themselves people. She travels looking for another of her kind. She sees him down the sidewalk, a lonely looking man among the false paper cutouts. She blows him a kiss and all the paper dolls fly away, like leaves caught in a storm. She is left alone now with her love, who has a lump on his head. The lump grows, and his face lengthens, the fuzz that he called a beard covered his body. He grows in moments becomes like his love, a winged unicorn. He can finally see that what he thought was honey was vinegar, and the gingerbread houses where his idols secluded themselves were rotten to pieces. So he flew away with his love, into the dawn that he always was told was a sunset. (Behind him fly the dragons that are those he called true friends, they follow because he is more than he will know, he is the Leader, he is He Who Will Fly the Sun.)

There are many more stories to tell, stories of me and my love, but not even pictures can do them justice, only the true feelings of love. I am not the only storyteller here, weave your own stories of your own love, and remember that love is always nearby.

Shower?

The cold air from outside lost its bite as she held me in her arms. I rest my head on her shoulder, the long red hair wet and matted from the walk in the rain. We walked over to the couch in silence, where we sat, and engaged in a passionate kiss. My hands move over her soaked body, until I almost sneezed. She insisted that I take a long warm shower, while she put my clothes in the dryer with hers. "Yours? What will you wear?" I asked nervously. "Don't be silly, I have lots of clothes, I'll towel off and put on clean ones. See you soon." She smiled in that way the made me very happy. Later I stood in her robe, trying to comb the knots out of my hair. "Here, silly, let me get that for you," And so she grabbed a brush and started pulling my hair. We talked and..... Elsewhere... "Yours? What will you wear?" I asked nervously. "Don't be silly, you don't wear anything in a shower, unless you're really uptight" she said, like I had expected her to offer to get naked with me. Five minutes later I was in the shower and she stepped in. "Hi! I told you I'd be here in a minute." I knew that the human body was beautiful, that it was poetry in motion to see, but didn't understand until I saw her. "Wow, um, uh," she ended my speechlessness with a long kiss and the bathroom got a lot steamier. "Uh, I don't know if I can go through with this, I mean, I love you and all, but I don't think I'm quite ready for this," she put a finger to my lips. "Shhh, even though it is obvious that your body thinks otherwise," I blushed, "We don't have to do anything but take a shower, so just relax." The Morn of Tomorrow We woke up in each other's arms, she brushed the hair from her eyes and smiles softly at me. I smile back and kiss her forehead. She giggles before she leans over to kiss me and our embrace tightens. Between us our pajamas rub together and our hands run everywhere. An alarm goes off, and I pull out of bed to shut it off. "We have to get up now, or we'll miss breakfast." She mumbled and rolled over, pulling the covers over her head. I walk back to the bed and lightly shake her shoulder. She rolls over grabs my shirt and pulls me down onto the bed, we kiss and hold eachother and I pull her out of bed while she giggles.

Trembling hands can't type

We stood together, after our first kiss in each others arms. My mind was racing, with her head on my shoulder. I thought on all those songs and stories that could never do justice to the feelings of the moment. Who I was, her family and my parents were forgotten. The camera lay forlorn on the table just paces away, near her paper and her pen. As I stood there taking all of this in, I felt my hands shaking. A fear that never was a problem before, I was afraid this moment would end and we would just be 'friends' again. She let go of my waist and took my hand between hers and it steadied. We gazed into each others eyes for what seemed like hours.

Last Bus Out of Omaha

In the dark, in the back, they snuggle close. He's running from his abusive father, she's running from a family that wants to drive her into the ground. Coming from New York, he knows all about the dark side of the streets, having hid there with some friends till the cops broke up the abandoned apartments, some of his friends didn't make it to the bus station, he did. Boarding the first bus anywhere, he got off in Chicago. Without friends, he wandered, setting up spots in the sewers, on rooftops, anywhere he wouldn't be found, for if he was found they would send him back to his father and a painful death. The next bus out he stopped in Omaha, where he saw a fellow street rat being accosted by the local punks. He helped her, and found that she was new to the game. Her mother trying to force her to conform, her father badgering her to get better grades then the Honors As she was. she had had it with their narrow suffocating zelotry, so she gathered her stuff and left one night. Duffel and backpack she set off into a world that was much harsher than she had imagined. Her first night out, it snowed, the next she was attacked by an old wino, barely escaping with her pants. The next day is when she found him, helping her beat off three gangsters form the local Bloods. She needed a guide and he needed a friend, so she took half of her emergency funds to buy a ticket next to his. Before the bus left, he told her his story, she relayed hers. He taught her how to dress for the coldsnaps, the ways of the underground, places and people to trust and how to find cheap good stuff. Once the bus started rolling, they sat back and slept, till around 11 PM, when she woke up because of his nightmares. She shook him awake, it only took a touch, and he looking like a rabbit after seeing a fox. He reached into his trench coat for a stick of gum, and she asked him what happened. He showed her the scars on his arm from his dad using him for an ashtray. The slits on his wrists from the razors, the burn on his hand from when his dad tried to cook him. She holds him, he finally stops shivering. In the dark of the night, the low hum of the engine, lulls them to sleep, in each others arms, ready to fight the world.

Won't you stop and listen?

The old man on the corner sells more than pencils. He is a writer of lives past lived and a storyteller of no renown. He never made it big, never fell in love, never got a career or a house. He's lived in the back corner of all our minds and he has seen all the stories that we have lived, known that he is the reader of dreams and has seen destiny fly like a flitting sparrow. He has lived our futures and knows our past. For a quarter and a kind word he will tell you a story that will thrill you, scare you, make you laugh or cry, or make you laugh out loud. His stories are always the best, because they are your stories. For all his insight, all his genius, he cannot write his own stories, for he is only the vessel, the storyteller. You are the writer. Won't you buy your story? A life in a verse From the first day she saw him, she was in love. But he had to leave, and she thought nothing more of it than another fantasy. When he came back and professed his love she had all but forgotten him, and now looked back and wondered what she had seen in him. She told him that they were only friends, and he accepted that, even though his feelings remained the same. Some time passed and she felt a knot in her stomach when he was near, and the fact that he was coming would send her into a frenzy of cleaning. She finally deduced the she loved him as he was telling her about his feelings and she felt the same way. She told him so, and he was overcome. After all this time of trying to hide his emotions and needs because she felt the same way! But when they gave in to the urge to kiss she stopped short, she just couldn't do it, her heart said yes but her head said no. He was confused, to start kissing and then pull away, he didn't get it, but he respected her wishes. And they loved each other, they held hands. Some time passed, and they grew older. He was committed to her, but she kept holding back, just short of admitting that she truly loved him. she said that she loved their time together, they both wished that it was forever, and they stayed together. Still holding hands, nothing more. Despite the best efforts of both their guardians, Fate and Lady Death, played their part in this romance, they struck her down while she was driving to work. They called him to her bedside, and she told him that she could see her time running short, and asked him to come near. "I have always loved you," she whispered. They kissed and Lady Death struck her last blow, a blow that echoed in his head for the rest of his life.

Irony

I looked up from the puddle of vomit which I had just graced the mortuary floor with. The eyes that I could stare into for hours, were now closed forever. The long red hair that had consumed many a hour of grooming, was now dirty and speckled with blood. The wonderful lips that had graced mine less than 72 hours ago, were never to let another tongue past. The body, the wonderfully trim and petite body which would take stares from anything else, was mutilated, crushed and bloodied, naked beneath a crimson sheet. The clothes that she took such good care of, thrown into a 'Hazardous Waste' bin, mingled with bloodied scalpels, rags and needles. I told the policeman, and the mortician next to him, "Yes, yes, that is Kathleen Hartford." One day before, two people met. Their love hopeful and eternal. They knew they loved eachother the very day they met. He could stare into those ever-changing eyes forever, braid that long black hair until it bled. The lips that were to be gracing his forevermore were painted the deepest red he had ever known, even though hidden by layers of oversized clothes, he could make out the trim strength of her body. When prodded by his mind in years to come, he answered, "Yes, yes that is the one I shall love forever."

I played with model trains...

In the darkness he can just make out the outlines of the sound wall and the fence. Gravel and trash accompany him near by. He had worn his darkest clothes, and could see the glint of light that was the oncoming freight train. His life was without meaning, he had no one to love, and no one loved him. Family dead, and no friends, he had managed to alienate everyone with his outrageous beliefs and stubborn refusal to accept help. Not that many tried to help. Even the nonconformists and the outcasts shunned him, when he sat down at a desk, the seats around him were always the last to be filled. Living out of a group home, failing school, his delusional world came crashing down when someone finally had the guts to say what everyone had thought for years. Faced with the truth, he decided that there was nothing left, and to be true to his beliefs, he had to go away, forever. "The good of the many outweighs the good of the one." and that night he sneaked out for the first and last time. The glowing point is growing and a faint rumble proved his hope. On his desk, he had left a note, not that anyone will care, but maybe someone will realize who he was. A cold breeze blows through his thin T-shirt, chilling him to the bone, but in a minute that growing headlight will make that unimportant. In a minute, nothing will concern him. The train's horn blows and the conductor finally sees him at less than 30 feet away. And he sees the headlight of the freight train coming closer, closer, closer... And when he was hit, he was just standing there quietly, his glasses in his hands, facing the train as the conductor frantically blew the horn and screamed at the sickening impact.

Go A Little Faster...

Faster, Faster, pumping his legs up the hill, seeing the sign, turning around and coasting down. Faster, faster. The Speedometer he bought last month reading 35, 45, 60 mph. Speeding down the hill, he reaches up and feels the stubble of 2 weeks neglect and realizes no one will care, he goes straight into the intersection at the bottom of the hill, timed to the second for a bus to be there. He turns into the front of the bus, and hears the driver scream.

The Rain Doesn't Care...

In a dark morning the rain came down in sheets, sprinkled with hail. The crazy kid rode on with nothing between his bicycle and the cars but a yellow jacket. He left that morning with offers on the table for a ride. He declined, thinking that he was invincible. He dodged traffic as he remembered her face. He turned and braked as he remembered her kiss, and her leaving him. Those damn coincidences created the problem. A car whose brakes had gone that morning, the rain, his inattentiveness, the slick roads. She was thinking of calling him that day, to ask if they could be friends, but he would never answer. They all thought he was nuts at school. He skidded and swerved as the car barreled down on him, the impact sent him flying six feet and slipping four more. The ugly yellow slicker that had saved his life sent him careening into a car ahead. The rain pelted on when the motorists came out to see if he was alive, and the rain pelted on at his funeral the next week.

The evening was dark with thunderheads and they came into her house, thunder was booming. Sleet pelted the windows as they shivered in eachothers arms. They were dreaming of their future together. He hung up their soaking clothes as she started the fire. They kissed, as they sat in front of the fire, a blanket keeping them warm. Outside the rain kept up its steady rhythm.

She stood there, in a puddle, in the muddy field, praying to the gods of water and the sky. Praying for a lightening bolt to end her life. She had dumped him so long ago she thought she was over him. But when he left forever, off to that mud-hole war, she felt alone. When she heard he died from some ancient disease she snapped. First he was her lover, then her friend, and now he was gone, the rain sweeping him to some muddy grave forever unknown. A fellow bookworm trudged out to the field, in nothing more than a pair of running shorts. The sight of this guy with sleet in his long hair and ice hanging off his steel rimmed glasses, wearing little more than underwear made her laugh out loud. The rain pelted on as they talked, and poured as they walked to the dorms to get dry clothes, though neither was cold.

It was in the rain that they had met. Cold and wet waiting for their rides. He talked to her and she blew him off and he doggedly followed her around school. He was there when she said that she didn't want a relationship. He was there when they worked out together. And he was there when he tried to ask her out. In the rain he saw her upset. Not two days after he had almost asked her out she was crying with another friend. As he thought that it was his job to cheer up all his friends he walked over there. He asked what was wrong, and she told him between sobs that her ex-boyfriend had just proposed to her and she had said yes. The rain hid his tears as he choked back his pride to offer his support. The rain storms on, fueled by anger, sorrow, dragons and witches. And in the rain are more stories that can ever be told. The road muddies with the deluge and the path becomes hard to travel. Some slog on through the muck, while others sink into it, giving us stepping stones as their final gift, "What does not kill us makes us stronger."

School studies: Misunderstood

The party over, the hats collected, her only company the rows of empty chairs. She sits and thinks, ponders this tiny piece of paper in her hands. It doesn't look important, rolled into a tube, it certainly doesn't feel important, a cylinder of cheap parchment. She thinks back over what she gave up to get this unassuming document, four years, four years of hard study, of not going out on Saturday nights, of dating her homework and making out with her books. Is an ugly black hat and cheesy gown recompense for losing her childhood? Any friends she had as a freshman, vanished slowly as she traveled through her teenage years. No one really liked her, most boys couldn't compete with the history and precalculus books, the social girls couldn't convince her to leave the extra credit for once and have some fun. As usual the quiet monster in the corner was completely ignored, but he wouldn't live much longer anyway. She has five scholarships lined up, as well as standing invitations to several great colleges, but the hard work that had made that happen had drained her soul. And now she looks back, without pride, without happiness, but with regrets the no one else at the party had felt. The sound of folding chairs stirred her from her reverie, so she stood up and walked away, no one noticing the little tear on her cheek.

He wanders the halls, trapped in his own thoughts. Not really seeing the people who love him. He stumbles his way though his classes, hoping to die before he grows old. No plans, just random thoughts and he dwells on his pain, forgetting his friends, the joy he has. His teachers wonder how such a creative, and brilliant mind could be so apathetic about its own life. But he ignores them, like he ignores all those who try and help him. With no higher cause, and no faith to fall back on, he blends into obscurity, just another shadow.

She's been an angel every day of her life, and now she's wondering what it's like to be bad. Always on time, always doing the extra credit, always getting an A, or arguing the point until she does. But the work cannot make up for her other needs, she has never been touched with a loving hand, never kissed, never told that she was loved. She has been taught that to have that would be to sacrifice her future. And the fear of slinging burgers for the rest of her life, compels her to try and ignore these urges, to stay cold and aloof. But she still wonders, and it really hurts her to see these couples kissing and holding hands, hearing her friends talk about parties and dances and a chill shivers her body. She doesn't feel attractive, but she is quite pretty. Today at school, she found a gun, and after writing a 7 page note in her exquisite handwriting, she blew her brains all over her homework.

All the other seniors went on the picnic, he stayed at school. It was the anniversary of his awakening, and his death. Living only for himself until his sophomore year, when he met Ramona. He spent every moment he could with her, doing everything he could to make her happy. But he wasn't there when her car hurtled over a cliff, onto the concrete parking garage 300 meters below. "Mechanical failure," they said, "No one's fault," they shrugged. But he knew better, because they told him. "Take better care of your honey's brakes, Kid," he turned to see the voice, but all there was were people milling about on the street market. No one at school notices that he is doped out of his mind, trying to remember and trying to forget. But those six months will be forever ingrained. Now again and forever, Alone. "Again?" A pool of blood starts to congeal, a .38 revolver lies partly out of his mouth, limp hand around the grip. The computer in the corner is on and displaying a note, explaining it all away, a razor sharp bloody knife lays on top of its stone, an Edgar Allan Poe book lies open to "Annabelle Lee", under it War and Peace, and Calvin and Hobbes. Drawings abound, many of females and many of death and darkness. On a dry erase board is a list of things to do, all of them crossed out. Tissues and pencils surround a small open film container still burning the smell of burnt plastic slightly overpowering the odor of cannabis. Camera equipment and guitar put neatly away, and if it were not for the cluttered table and the body lying shrouded in black bleeding into the carpet you would think the occupant a neat freak. Out the door steals a young man, no older than 25 clutching his bleeding arm. Two days later, an exuberant child ran up the stairs, to be overpowered by a stench that he will never forget, blood and crap, and the lingering scent of marijuana and scorched plastic. He puked on the stairs and his parents came running up, knowing what those smells are. They found their oldest son, his eyes open and looking deep into the ceiling, blackened carpet where the blood had set in, maggots, ants and flies feeding off the lifeless body and the solid pool of what was once blood. The mother, ran back downstairs and called the hospital, needing a body cart. The father covered his son's face with the camouflage jacket hanging squarely in the closet, and proceeded to cry. There hand been talk around school about why Roy was absent the last four days, Mike and Kathleen had called his house, only getting an answering machine. The next day someone read the obituaries and spread it around that Roy was dead, committed suicide. You could feel the tension between the deceased few friends and the many enemies he had made in his few short years. But in the end, only three made it to the burial the next day. Kathleen and Neil, from that day on were inseparable, the death of one so close, reinforcing what Roy had said about life being short. And someone whom he had not known, A petite redhead with eyes of glowing jade, dressed from head to toe in black, her flaming red hair burning in the noonday sun of a clear day. She was there for she had secretly loved Roy, and had just been waiting for him to talk to her, now it was too late to do much more than mourn. There was no priest, and the coffin was simple, but the prose to be read that day was more beautiful than any poetry written before or since. But in the shadows of a mausoleum not so far away , spies the young man, arm scarred but bandaged.

The Story Of My Life

(4) I stood crying in the doorway, she kept going, walking away from me. I couldn't even gather the voice to call out to her, she never looked back. After she was long gone, I fell back inside and closed the door. (1) "Here it is, the 'Study Center', brought to you by the generous folks I like to call my parents," I joked as I showed her into my room. It had taken a lot of nerve for me to ask her to come study with me, but she agreed. She laughed and stepped inside the door I had opened. (3) "I like you, Roy, but just as a friend," she explained, shooting down hopes and dreams that had been developing ever since I had met her, and joining the ranks of many others. She gathered up her stuff silently as I complained and argued. But she still walked out the door. (2) And over time we laughed, read, typed and sweated into the work, often working deep into the night, a team with only school work on its mind, mostly. Although the door was always open. (5) So now I lay down, whiskey and pills dancing in my head, and that damn door was chopped into so many pieces by the paramedics who tried to save the life of one monster who didn't deserve to live.

I can't turn the corner (A story of betrayal)

(iii) A young man holds his camera in hand as he peeks around a corner. Just beyond is his 'True Love', or at least that is what she told him two months ago. Now the man in black sees her flirting with and kissing another. He turned back and hid behind the corner, slowly sobbing to himself. Feeling used, he leaves for home, takes his pistol from the locked safe, calmly loads one expanding bullet, sets his camera's timer, another timer set a second before the camera. At the buzzer he blew his brains out and the camera recorded it forever. (i) His head against the concrete and brick, the young photographer sees two of his best friends holding eachother just around the corner. There embrace on a crowded sidewalk and the man in black can see the energy of their love burning in the atmosphere. The instincts of the photographer tell him to get the picture, his heart and mind say that this is a moment between his friends and that he has no place taking pictures now. Yet, braced by the wall, he brings the camera up and snaps the picture. Having no love of his own, he lived off of the love of his friends. And this picture would ultimately cost him his friendships.

(ii) As he hid behind the corner, the girl he loved tossed her hair and walked toward him. This time I'll ask her out, he thought, as he had thought 50 times before. As soon as she turns the corner. She walked nearer, and nearer, and closer, when he was, called over by the girl who said she loved him. He came, and never got another chance to talk to the one he truly loved. She turned the corner, and walked past him and later to her death before he saw her again. Betrayed by fate and Time, he turns to her who deceives and they have a brief and fiery relationship, in which she uses him and crushes him like an empty can.

Thinking

I sit here wondering, my head resting on a wall, my hands moving slowly over the keys. I sit here, trying to think, the hum of the computers fan, the darkness that surrounds me, and how it cannot compare to the dark hollowness I've felt since, since forever. Not really breathing, not really sitting, I feel as though someone has ripped all the good in me away, leaving a FREAK. I know I have friends, and I know that they love me, in their own way. But it is small assurance against the absence of my love that was more than any love I've felt since. I remember eyes that I could stare into for hours at a time. Someone who felt with all her heart, and could read my feelings with a look across my face. Maybe I took her too much for granted, and that is why FATE, or CHANCE, or whoever took her away from me. I feel that I was undeserving of her love, for she gave me all of her heart and would follow me anywhere. Why she fell in love with me is the mystery of life. For I was, and am, nothing, nothing more that a FREAK, and she could of gone out with much more beautiful people than em. She could have gone out with people who are much smarter, funnier, cooler than me, but she still chose me. Why a goddess would chose to love a monster, is beyond my mind. But for those six months, Heaven visited me.

Can you see the real me?

I meditated two weeks ago on who I was. I cast off all of my armor, all of my jewelry, all of my protection and sat and thought. I thought about what I have done, what I will do, and why. Why I break all the rules, why I tell everyone everything. I bust all the myths apart to find the truth, I look for the hidden motive. I quest for knowledge, I try and help. I have advanced beyond my desires, and now I find I like it here near the top. I can see myself, I have evolved in purpose and form. The reasons and ways are unclear and unnecessary. I am a teacher, I must do whatever I can to educate, to find the truth and broadcast it to those who need it to survive. I must learn everything, I must know the facts before I can tell others. I have become this, I will get the job done.

Changing... Or Not?

I am what my reactions have made me. I am a killer because they have tried to kill me, I am a lover because others have loved me, I am a betrayer because not many have trusted me. I was an assassin because it was my destiny and my curse. I have learned to use my pain and their hate for my benefit. I wash my hair in the blood of fallen enemies. I arm myself with Jenel's damning dagger. I learn from the mistakes and missteps of my dragon friends, their age gives me youth. My armor is made of the broken blades of those who have attacked me. I bandage my wounds with the belt my father used to hang himself. I fly on the updrafts of contempt and hatred with wings made from my slain guardian angels. I lost my humanity to gain strength, I lost my strength to gain freedom. From one trade to the next, I live by dying. Plus ca change, plus meme chose, the more things change the more things stay the same. And now, The Silent Screamer. He came, as always. He came to the place where all his friends met. He came and dropped off his bag as he always did. He said his "Hello"s and "Gotta Run"s and went into the bathroom. It was a day of blue and green outside. Of bright sun and blushing grass with speeding squirrels. Of laughing friends and cheerful fighting. A day of hotsauce and Pepsi, blankets and longcoats, fun and plans. He waited for the toilet stall in the bathroom, He waited his turn, like a polite boy. He went into the toilet stall, and removed a tube from his baggy pockets. He put the tube in his mouth and slammed the button. The others in the restroom jumped or dropped. Outside the world turn to black. It became a day of horror and gore, of blood and screams. Of tears of rage and cries of death. Of turned heads and cold murmuring. In one instant, the birds stopped singing, the kids stopped laughing, and the Administration stopped caring. In that instant; the walls wept blood, the ground drank cleanser and the sky held its breath. For the boy who had screamed for justice, the man who had fought for respect and cried for pity, had used a homemade shotgun to distribute his mind all over a messy wall in a crappy school, surrounded by the most wonderful friends he could hope for. He had created a bloody mural with his own brains for all to see. He lay slumped, steel tube in his mouth, arm in the toilet, in a puddle of blood that started at what used to be the back of his skull. They came in droves to see the abomination, and someone even snapped a few pictures. The piled in high to look at the body, men women, it didn't matter until the cops got there They pulled everybody out and took their own pictures. And when they finally rolled the body out a group of mourners followed it to the body wagon. In his backpack a note was found that read:

"I can no longer be myself, and I will not become someone else. I have always screamed and hollered, so no one listened. Now I am quiet, I hope that the silence is as soothing as you thought it would be, for I will no longer yell."

Another time, maybe.

How do you convince someone to fall in love with you when they don't believe in love? How do you reach out to touch those that are cold? I am here for all of them, for anything they need, they ask if I ever feel used, but I truly feel as if I'm not used enough. I want to help with so much more, but it is possible to spoil a friendship with love. I would, though, if it helped them in the long run. I want to make them all as happy as possible, but ignorance is bliss. And ignorance is our greatest enemy. Who knows if she's been burned, or is just more apathetic towards love than I thought. Power, unbridled is dangerous to all, harnessed is deadly to enemies. Love is the greatest power I have ever seen. It has toppled governments, built walls and destroyed them, forced truth and made lies. I wish to share this power again, why don't they want to share it with me? I play games, for fun and to live. And my friends play too, but I wonder, where is the line between playing and becoming a PLAYER? One of the scum that abuses the human heart, one of those I have sworn to hate and fight. I worry at every thought, and all the friendly actions I take.

Who I Am

The Writer sits at his computer in the dead of night. The sounds of night and a CD in the background. His eyes glance over his stones and his tools and he thinks of his love. Machines of war surround him, in books and in miniature, and he forsakes them to write of the woman he loves. He writes of her warmth, her kiss, her love, and her thoughts. He stops typing for a second to hear a verse of his favorite song. A ticking clock takes him back to a time when time was something he couldn't afford to waste. The song reminds him of her, and he starts to type faster, "You are the first thing on my mind when I awake, and the last thing I think of before I go to sleep...". The story come alive, envelopes him and his original ideas, he doesn't see the clock, or the screen, or the walls. The Writer becomes his story, he thinks the thoughts, he feels the caress, he is in the hotel. He becomes a channel between the story and the computer, he is only a link in the chain. And when finally the story is finished and saved, he feels a joy not unlike the end of childbirth, an orgasm, a huge sigh and relief that another one is now told and safe. Today, riding by myself Now the unnatural yellow light of my lamp pours over my sunburns. Pain for the trouble of trying to enjoy a lovely day. But beauty is sunburn deep. Before I left, I called Mike. He had come down with something yesterday, so he couldn't ride with me today, cool, I don't like to ride when I'm sick either. So I ride down to the Shoreline, and find a trail that goes off in a direction that I hadn't known before. Except that 30 meters into it the trail becomes so rutted that I have trouble riding in it, but I do, rattling my teeth. And I ride and it smoothes out, and there are all these people. Hikers, bikers, friends, lovers. Traveling in pairs or knots, but always having someone to talk to, but I don't so I rode on silently. It pains me more to see all these couples and families, as no one is with me. I reach the end of the trail, a bustling park full of people laughing and kissing and hoping and dreaming together, I had to speed out of there before I started crying. I rode back to an intersection, and when I was narrowly missed by a speeding bus, I thought, just two more feet, forward, and I wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.

They said that I was the Leader...

And they said that I could free the world. But they didn't tell me that I had to sell my soul to do it. Ever since I saw the truth I have waited for the demise of this system, and to be told that I could be the leader of the Revolution, was something I thought I would give anything for. I fought with my mentor side by side, back to back, every night. But I found out that fighting for his people was no better than fighting for the government. I almost became like a witch, relying on him and his superiors for my power. A friend showed me that I could end up gunning for my friends, and that was something I could not deal with, so I quit. A decision that cost me my health, a lot of power, and quite possibly my life. I will never become their leader of the Revolution, but I travel solo at night and I don't have to worry about gunning down my friends. The only problem is dueling with my mentor, whom I must kill, but I cannot. I swore him my body if I killed him, and a deal is the same as a pact. So we fight, but I can't kill him, and he will not kill me.

The sound of my voice soothes me.

I've screamed all my life and I've whined for so long that I can remember littler else. Worrying about all the little shit of my life, not seeing the big picture until too late. It is no longer on my shoulders to save the world, but I still try. It is not my place to lead, yet I dream of leading every night. I have fought many demons and the toughest to exorcise are the ones in my head. I cannot forgive myself for trying to kill all those I happen across. People who have helped me become free, armed me and fed me, I have attacked. I am not the leader, I mustn't count on anyone to follow me, I must become self-sufficient, able to pack my dreams and problems into one bag and walk. Cold and alone, I must plan for the day after next, for tomorrow is a myth. Time and time again I have proved I am not to be trusted by anyone. It is time to return to the shadows. I first came from the shadows, alone but unique. I found friends, but became a follower, not thinking for myself. I cannot let this go on. I must become myself, for soon there will be nobody to lean upon. I depend far too much on my friends, and offer too little in return. I feel I am a burden upon all of you and that I must relieve you of the worry of keeping me around. Don't ask why I did this, it isn't your fault, it's mine. You all are wonderful people and I am nowhere near your caliber. So with regret, I leave the tree, maybe to return when I become a better person. If you want to find me I shall be in plain sight. Gone, but not too far, Roy Garnet Bunting. Obsession? His mop of curly black hair is all that is recognizable. The black longcoat and Kathleen's head block the rest. They are worried about their friends, their future. But it is all unspoken. The teacher rambles on about fascism and liberals, but Neil does not hear, he is wondering how he was lucky enough to find love like this. I stand back and watch, my heart feeling like hydraulic press is in my chest. Just watching them love, happy for them, and mad at myself, a jealousy that should never be there, makes me turn away. And I see the beauty of another, and remember that she has turned my love down for friendship. So I am alone, standing against the wall. Wanting a shadow to hide in, to except the pain, all I want is to bury my head in my arms and cry. But I can't do that, I must be stronger, I must "be a rock." But no man should be an island, only monsters like me.

Her long dark hair, running down her back, or up in a bun, to me it will always be red. the changing eyes, the portrait face, a beauty that won't admit it. Copying notes from the board, or sitting on the counter, the face always picture perfect. She loves Neil, I can see that plain as day, but my heart aches for a kiss from her lips. She will probably always be my friend, and I should be content with that, I guess. But some human thought from deep within the monster, always dreams of more. Even if she didn't love him, I would still be her friend. For it is hard to believe anyone could love this shadow beast. Another pain for me is a friend who cannot decide her own fate. The straggly hair that is five different colors is piled on top of her head. The blue eyes tell of betrayal and pain. Nothing has gotten past her. She tells of her 'love(?)' of so many guys, and how she wants a guy that won't screw her over. I know she sees me, but she wants a guy, not a monster. Usually she has three boyfriends, breaking up with two, and breaking in the third. I can't blame her, she is what she is. Another friend to the monster, maybe she sees it as public service work, maybe she feels bound to me, I'll never know. I try to open her eyes, to show the opportunities before her. But the shadows are no comparison to the life she lives.

I am the Monster, a Shadow Beast. I see all that is obvious, and some that isn't. The few that see me are friends, and I would give my life to save any one of them. I lurk in the shadows, the nooks and crannies are my domain. Watching and observing, and wondering if I will ever be human again. I see my friends in love, and oblivious that I truly love them. So I watch, their pleasure causing me pain. I watch, until I can watch no longer. Maybe they know, but they show no sign. I won't tell them, it would do more damage to their relationships to eachother and to me than the pain I endure alone. I hope, in a dark corner of my heart, that they will someday love me back, but I know that that will never happen.

An instant

No! Not again, Not this way! Not now, not again! Guardian thought as the horrible sound of a body bag zipper ran its way along the length of the body. Two angels floated down to greet the mourning spirit. You can't save them all, Guardian, you should know that by now. They consoled and the dark spirit shied away, growling, I can try. There are some places where they must die, our friend, the world could not be with them. The angels harmonized. Well then, why here? He would have lead a revolution, Freeing this entire planet from the tyranny of the man who was his teacher. Millions of lives will be made worse, because of this one accident. Guardian yelled psychically, as the body was thrown into the mortician's wagon. A child of the system, first of foster homes, then of institutions, and a front line warrior, shot down by some punks who would soon die in the riots. "No! Not another, not this way!" Roy yelled as the sickly sound of a body bag zipper reverberated through his skull. Neil and Kathleen ran up beside him. "It should have been me in that bag, why can't anyone hit me?!" He screamed. "You couldn't save him, Roy, there was no way," they try to console, but the light inside the darkened heart grabs them, to cry on. "I could've tried harder," Roy growled. "You will be avenged, my friend," he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"No! Not David! Not this way!" Alicia cried, the deafening emotion of sadness and anger flooding through her. All backed away from her, but for Lauren. She saw Roy across the way, held in the arms of Kathleen and Neil. "He's gone, Alicia, there's no way you could have saved him," Lauren tried to calm her, but it was of little use. "It should have been me, there on the ground, that should have been me shot full of holes," She began sobbing until she regained her composure. "You will be avenged, my lover," she whispered, menacingly.

"No! Not Dave! Not now, not again!" screamed, Jenelle, the unbearable sound of the body bag zipper hissing its way along the length of his lifeless body. Tiffany and Rosey ran up, not knowing what had happened, and Jenelle turned cry into their shoulders, "What happened?" Tiffany asked, and Jenelle was only able to point to the morticians tossing his carcass into the body cart. They began to sob with her. "We hadn't a chance to get together, really," the usually bright and happy senior cried, and her friends just held her.

"OP to Shooter, good hit, good hit, Target 7 is dead, over," stated a happy man, looking through a window across the street at all the children gathering around the black station wagon. Another target out of the way, he thought, just 14 more to go. "Shooter to OP, confirm that Target 7 is dead, congrats to Cagle and the gang, it would have been almost impossible if we didn't have them, over" the crackley voice of the gunman who had posed as a gang member said over the secured radio line. "OP to School Gang, thanks from all of us at 'Professional Cleaning Services', over," as he saw the small groups of friends crying and sobbing over the body of David... Target 7, he corrected himself. "Webster to OP, Thanks for getting rid of him, over," the sociological voice whispered into his handheld. "Davini to OP, Ditto, over," Muttered the principal of Mt. Eden High School, as he walked toward his office so he could sound sad and apologetic, it would also make great fodder for getting metal detectors and more guards, he thought. Davini always liked having lots of guards around him.

------------------------------------ The next day, the riots started, the friends of David uniting and awaking all the true believer's of truth to stand against the administration. Alicia put aside her hatred of Kathleen for the fight. Anarchists all over started to blow things up, Davini was killed by Roy, who had figured that it was a setup, Webster and Cagle fell just after that, and Roy became a leader. He grabbed a shotgun from the locker in which they were hid, and led the grisly riots and eventually the revolution. In its course, the Bay Area was leveled, the ruins left and forgotten by all. Eventually, the United States Of America was attacked with nuclear weapons, the government of the Russian republic seeing America torn apart by its civil war as ripe for the taking. The counter attack by the remains of the U.S. government destroyed all semblance of civilization in Asia. But the devastation caused by the war was just what the older Roy needed. The government destroyed in the war, the only things that the surviving Americans wanted was to live. And Roy put down the gun and picked up a shovel. Returning to what was once the place of his birth, he was surprised to find trees and plants growing among the decayed rubble. California was turned into farmland, Oregon and Washington reseeded with trees. Even in spite of his achievements, Roy and his friends, (Of which only Neil and Jenel remained, the rest killed or forsaking him for his deeds.) were blamed for all the destruction. At the age of 46 he and his friends, as they were planning to build a new center for learning, were killed by a man who just happened to be John Davini's son, leading a peaceful revolution to the way things were. See, Guardian, it didn't turn out so bad after all, thought a spirit who had seen the carnage and the pain. But the world will die within 16 years, of abuse under him, not much will survive, no human for sure. Retorted Guardian.

Another Time was the place

We sat around the fire, cooking the days bounty, honing arrowheads, whittling and telling stories. I was wrapped up in my cloak against the chill wind, my back against a giant tree, while listening to Orion tell of his great hunt. I ate rabbit skewered on a steel arrow and heard the roars of laughter as Orion retold how he outwitted a beast dragon and fed him his own tail. The master woodsman, he led our band on the trek through the wilderness from a place lost in the mists of time to a place lost in the mists of history. Like the rest of my existence, only the experience mattered, not the circumstance.

I recall sitting in an inn, around the hearth with my fellow adventurers; sipping ale and stouter drink, joking and laughing while displaying baubles from the hoard we had just stolen, I mean liberated, from some creatures lair. Weapons strapped to my body, a mug of ale in my hand watching the laughing elf dance and tumble as she retold the tale or our narrow escape. She was so beautiful when she laughed, but the thief had resigned herself to be alone forever, and forever brooding.

I remember when we hid in the hills, I remember when we snuck through the streets, I remember the brawls, the catcalls, the lynchings, the running. But I remember the parties and the campfires, and the friends that made it all worthwhile, and as I clean my talons, and wander tonight, I hope to remember the goodtimes, the good people.

RGB, former assassin.

And After It's All over...

He stood in his fatigue pants and sleeveless T-shirt, surveying the smoldering remains of civilization, seeing his followers and troops dancing in celebration, and he thought. He thought about when he was a young man, standing against SWAT teams with nothing more than a megaphone and courage. He remembered his friends and comrades who fought and died to accomplish this, to free the world. He thought that it was over, they had won. He remembered his wife who was executed for treason, only because she loved him. He clutched his rifle a little tighter, and let it drop to the ground, he shed the bandoleers that crossed his tattered shirt, he felt below the shirt to his own tatters. What remained of his body was sewed together so many times that he sometimes thought there must be more scar tissue and suture than skin. And he stood on that roof facing the East wind and finally the new day that had been promised him so long ago. And he realized that his part was over, his world of war was gone, and with it the need for young upstarts who start revolutions and fight for longer than life. That the rebels where now the government, and he didn't know what to do. He saw his friends enjoying the moment, and partying while they could, they all knew that the next step, was the tallest one yet. Fighting and dying for your Ideals isn't so tough, the hard part is putting those ideals to work. He knew that wasn't his job, so he picked up a knife, a sharpening stone, and a canteen, and walked into the rising sun to whatever awaited him between the dead devil and the calm, blue sea.

If I ever come back...

The way of the warrior is death, the death of your enemies, the death of your friends, and eventually your death. They who chose to live by the sword will die by the sword. Wars are often fought but never won. There are only survivors and the fallen. Never forget, Never AGAIN. We stand between the light and the shadow, we are grey. Everybody dies, it's just a matter of when. These are the thoughts that haunt me when I close my eyes and remember who I was. I can feel the terror, the confusion, the satisfaction and the faces. I have lived the way of the warrior. I learned to kill before I could heal. I was a danger to the enemies of my master. Then I obtained knowledge. The knowledge that I could do more, that I could be better. That knowledge made me a danger to everyone. Now I remember the hunts with shudders, not gleeful laughter. And I use these sayings to remind myself that what I am is better than what I was. "That night we came upon a Blue dragon. It was scared and tired, wondering how to leave. I opened up first and badly wounded the thing, as per standing orders concerning non-aligned dragons. Most of the rest of the squad followed suit and as this dragon was screaming for mercy and trying to escape, my apprentice/slave started in on my own squad! She killed half of us before we knocked her from the plane and finished the dragon. I recommend a temporary power strip to remind her that she is a Hunter, a Warrior by birth and education. And that there is no alternative to being on our side, except death. She'll fall in line, she knows we'll offer her the lifelong dream she's had since I started flippsiding her." -Master Assassin, demon lord. Excerpted from the post-op debriefing at my old headquarters.

In The Shadow of Destiny (a eulogy)

She ran from her feelings, her friends, her fate. She was to be the next leader, a woman for change, for the freedom of the forbidden knowledge. A practitioner of magic and someone the rest would follow. But before the revolution was to begin, the society got to her. The nightly hunts that she could not remember tired her for the mundane 'realworld' things that she needed, like school and work. She had never doubted her power, but she had no one to talk to, her mentor having to keep the secret to herself. Roy was gone, having left for another world to fight the demons and raise the sun. She often wondered lately if it was all coincidence, and made the mistake of talking about it to a spy. Then the Stalkers came. Day and night she was watched, hounded, and drained so that her abilities would falter, causing more self-doubt. The time came when even the drugs that could induce power stopped working, and she started running scared. A dragon had warned her that she was being hunted, and her mentor was forced off the plane because there was not enough power to be sustained. Without her mentor she was unable to be assigned to battles and her travels became more vague. She started to run, trying to run to the nearest nexus to contact me. I didn't make it. Three Stalkers ripped her limb from limb before I was able to tear myself away. Her shadow was unable to materialize and without her magic she was almost helpless. The Revolt begins, and another has risen to her place, but he doesn't command the forces that he fights for, and the fighters slowly fall from his army. If not for me she should be alive now, preparing for the conclusion of this war. As it stands you will have to fight on without her. -Guardian

I'd love to turn away

I saw the news today, oh boy. Many died in the early morn. A madman derailed a train, into a schoolbus. 250 dead. Lucky in death, maybe. A wife kills her husband and kids. A kid kills his parents and counselor. A counselor kills all her clients. More died from an incurable disease, the survivors scream for a cure. A disease is wiped from the planet, no one cares. Two gangs fight for some overpriced chemical, 9 die. Man kills himself because his world falls apart around him, the world is killing itself so it can grow anew, we won't be there. It would be so easy to drop the paper, to forget the pictures of carnage it contains. But we read on, Reality won't go away.

But not all were Fated to Die...

The assassins sometimes miss. She had been born with her powers, and her shifting and ability were strong indeed. She grew up being able to read and cast. Always knowing she was different it was not hard to see that she would grow to hate the system that discredited her powers. She became a powerful freelance operative. She gained knowledge that was forbidden to all but the most powerful elders. She traveled all night and wore her beard during the day. Her home life was the definition of dysfunctional, So the assassin who was assigned to her decided to create a fight that would make it easy for society to blame her for her own death. As she ran from her house, a .21 caliber shot rang out, and another, and another. Two of the three shots hit, one in her leg, and one in her shoulder. The police found her unconscious from blood loss on the street, and there was hell to pay. Her record was filled with violations of the standing law. They chalked up her getting shot to another domestic disturbance. She survives and fights on, for freedom and for her causes waiting for the leader to start the revolution. Too bad he's already dead. They say that he shot himself 3 times in the chest with a sawed-off shotgun. So much for quiet assassinations.

Another Bystander

It was a bad neighborhood, she had always known that. And she had known that she didn't exactly dress as if she was innocent. But she wasn't a gangbanger, and she wasn't trouble, so she stayed quiet and didn't get hurt. Until she decided to walk through the park on her way home. Watching her back and keeping her eyes open for nasties, she walked through the grass near the shadows that edged the park. Up ahead she saw three toughs talking to another guy in the shadows. She told herself, "I know nothing, I don't see nothing," under her breath and veered away from the drug deal. The proper response form an instinctual "fortress" mentality. She walked past it and never looked back, never looked their way. She felt safer once she past them, thirty feet away. She again started to go close to the shadows, when she heard, "What the fuck is this shit?! I paid for the best, not this crap!" She kept walking, now almost forty feet away. "Fuck you, man, I want my money back!" The next sound wasn't new to her, it was the sound of a gun leaving its holster. She heard two shots, and tried to get down, but the third shot went wild and caught her in the back. She felt the burning and the impact taking her down to the ground, but nothing after that, ever. The police caught the dealer, who was the one that fired, and the recovered the bodies of two of the buyers, the third one got away, bleeding from a sucking gut wound, and is presumed dead. That girl, barely 16 died from a .45 Glaser shell, that, thankfully, she didn't really feel. It ripped away her lower spine and most of her abdomen. The medics covered her with a sheet and commented on how people always find a way to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her friends and family grieved, her family over the loss of a daughter, her friends over the loss of another front-line warrior, and standup gal. The dealer was never brought to trial, because he was shot, "Attempting escape." Now no one knows the truth, except maybe me, but Guardians who fail can never tell the tale, of how the assassins took down another leader. -Guardian

...But some turn to other powers.

His story is not much different than anyone else's. Born and raised in a small rural town, he was always chastised for being a nerd, and his studies of the old magics. Never having any friends this handsome young man spent most of his time reading, studying or gathering the materials for the ritual that will "bring forth Power". Depressed when the lesser spells he had tried to use for defense failed, he decided to see if he could blend into society. The night before the Winter Ball, he made his final attempt, a Call to a "Power of Powers". Late that night he drove to the major nexus, he burned the herbs, drew the circles, and placed the caged blackbird on the pentacle. he spoke the ancient incantations, drew the mystic symbols in the air, Called the name and number of the Beast. And nothing happened. He left that place that night an unbeliever, and decided to become like those he hated, to go to that dance, to be a fool in ignorance. He dressed the next morning, the nice preppy clothes he had always worn. He left the nice, normal room of a high school boy who read fantasy novels. He walked out of the house where his parents always were confounded by his quiet, accepting manner. And he drove his clean new car to his crime-free school. And knew all the answers in his honors classes. And had thoughts of bringing his fathers revolver to the dance that night to blow his brains out in a spectacular flourish. Then, at lunch, as he sat alone, eating his brown bagged, well balanced lunch, the top jocks decided to have a little fun with "the wizard". He saw them coming, and started gathering up his books, but was to late. As the idiot football players tossed his books and his papers back and forth, as he ran futility back and forth to try and get the diagrams before they were ruined, a girl showed up, slender in a red dress that was short and left little to the imagination. Everything stopped when she stared dead into the quarterbacks eyes. "Return his books and papers, and Leave," she intoned in a voice that demanded obedience, which they provided swiftly, just before they ran away. Ryan was just beginning to gather his stuff from the green grass when she turned to him. "Are you all right? Is your stuff OK?" "Yeah, uh, ah, thank you for helping, uh ,ah..." She helped him gather his papers and books. "My name is Jennifer Demont, I just transferred her today. Do you study magic too?" She asked as she held one of Ryan's oldest and most powerful books, there were only 24 copies in this dimension. "The Atlanteans did know quite a lot, didn't they?" "How did you know this book was from Atlantis, the time of the ancients? I haven't finished translating their language." "I have read their scripts before, and am one of the few who can speak it" She answered. Her answer awed him, he had never found someone who had even seen a book from the time of the ancients, much less could speak their language. Just on a fluke he sketched the sign for Dragon in the air, and she sketched the sign for wizard. "What's your next class? I would like to talk to you some more." "Trig, C-3." She answered, knowing that he had the same class. "Me too! Can I walk you there?" "Sure, I could use a friend here," She replied, holding out here hand. He took her hand and held his pack in the other, and they spent almost every moment together. He showed her all the books and scripts he had collected and she showed him how to channel power. He didn't know that the power came from her, the "Power of Powers" he had summoned. He didn't know she was tightening her control over him, that she was turning him evil. He did see that he was more confident, that he had been too constrained, too uptight. He was now equal to those sorry jocks that had always teased him, the snotty bitches who had laughed at him when he had made a half hearted attempt to become a social creature. He saw the good was wrong and normal was boring. He started wearing a cloak and robe, carrying a couple silver chains and a steel gauntlet. They tried to stop him, but lost enthusiasm after a glare, helped along by Jenny. Shunned, he decided that Jenny was right, these people were beneath him. They cowered when he came down the hall, and those who stood up to his arrogant ways, tended to feel poorly. One priest after another requested a different post after meeting "That Demont girl". He painted his room black, left for days at a time, off dimension hopping with Jenny, who had convinced him that he was a power to be jealous of. He was truly in love with her, and when she offered union, and revealed that she was more powerful than a Dragon, he sprung at the chance. Now his vulgar displays of power are infamous. The witch that he has become hurled his enemies across the room, or they had tragic accidents. She left, to corrupt another soul, I guess. Ryan's parents died after bringing a parapsychlogist in to look at the runes and the pentacles that were cut into the now dead grass around the house, the diagrams on his walls. Demont holds all his power, he is her pawn, another pawn of that devil. She is always in his mind, so he is never alone anymore. The dragons had left, for fear of the power of this witch would sniff them out. The people live in fear of their little monster. It is such a shame to have to destroy such a promising man, but he is now no more human then the Demon that created him. I have personally led the hunt against this witch, with two assistants and three dragons backing me. I caught him in a forest sacrificing a mage to his lover, and she appeared once the blade entered the chest of the sorceress. Ryo and Kathleen charged for Ryan, as my other assistant and the two other dragons opened fire on Jennifer. Ryan called for his lover to help him, to give him the strength to overcome those who opposed him, but she was enthralled at the power that he had liberated for her, and had to rip into the chest of the Lady Mage and eat her heart. I calmly walked over to him as Ryo and Neil held him and smashed his skull to a bloody pulp. Jennifer reeled and screamed at the shock of her link dying, and that is when I sent her back to the Hell she came from. -Guardian

Darkness reborn,

They found him by the roadside, they found him 20 feet from the car that was torn and burning. They found the scorched pavement and the bodies in the car. He was naked and shivering and untouched by fire, dirt or anything else. His skin was flawless an natural, his hair short and red, his eyes staring at some unknown horror. The paramedics covered him and took him to the hospital. They examined him. Poked him, prodded him. When he could talk, after 2 months, he knew nothing of how he got there, how he ended up naked and alone 20 feet from a fatal car accident. He knew nothing of his past. They searched and searched but found his fingerprints nowhere on file. He found that he knew enough to get a job. So he left the bewildered shrinks and doctors and called himself Fredric Mustang, Fred for short. He worked, and he became moderately successful, he found he could see things. and after a while thoughts would come into his head, thoughts like, Where's my knife, where's my squad? He disregarded these and lived his life not knowing. Not knowing that he was one of the ones who killed the foursome in the car those many years ago. That he was a dragon, a mercenary, that he had been destroyed and reduced to human, when he found the he had just flamed his best friends, and destroyed them forever.

The Jacket

She holds his jacket close, all she has left of him. She looks around and counts her memories, the good times, the bad times, times that she wishes for again. Her life was never quite normal, as the smell of the red twill reminds her. An oil stain here from the time when he had tried to fix her Volkswagen...

"Got a wrench?" he asked after skinning his knuckles trying to unscrew a loose nut. "You know you really don't have to do this, Ryo," she started as she looked down from the red cliff upon the teal sea meeting the cerulean sky. "I want to, I could never leave a lady in distress, now could I?" he answered nonchalantly as he accepted the wrench. "Thank you," and he delved back into the stubborn motor. "I mean AAA will be here any minute.." she stopped mid-sentence as he stood up again and looked her in the eyes. It was a meaningful look, but then michieviousness flashed into his eyes and a humongous friendly smile widened across his lips, "Don't worry, this crappy engine is almost good as new." And with that pronouncement, he tapped the carburetors, and the engine started, squirting dirty oil onto the jacket that he was using to ward off the fall breezes. She laughed and.... She smiled, and looked down at the shiny puddle of antifreeze that Ryo had spilt over the cliff in his hurry to fix the damn engine. Then she looked out upon the ocean again, this time the cliff was grey and looming, dirty thunderheads over the midnight blue water. She kept on falling as she remembered a faint orange stain down the chest from the time at the pizza place in Berkeley... ...And that's way Davini's head is so shiny." he finished another hilarious story about the wonderful world of high school. They were both laughing as Ryo almost knocked over his humongous Coke and she tried to repeat between hysterical laughs, "Starting to think..., Crumaba Wax!" and with that she fell onto Ryo's lap flipping his pizza onto his red jacket...

Yes, she had good times with him but that ended too quick for the new bride... his life was taken by a runaway bus on one of his crazy bike rides, that was the bloodstain on the torn red jacket. Just before hitting the sharp rocks below her, she cried, "Guardian! Meet me!"

Maybe, Maybe not.

Somewhere out there, I once met someone who liked this writer of bad poetry, and sometimes student. She loved me with all her heart, and I with mine. For the short while we were together, we knew happiness beyond bounds. But it was not to be, maybe it was me, or maybe she was afraid. It ended badly, for all.

Meeting

<Clatter> -Oops, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to run into you like that...

-It's okay, I couldn't think of a nicer person to bump into. Hi I'm Roy.

-Ramona. What class do you have next, Roy.

-Pain in a Trig Book, Vous?

-Ha, I have Bio with Condran.

-I feel sorry for you. Try and have a good Time, Ramona.

<School Bell ringing> -Where are you going to be for lunch, Roy?

-Here. I gotta go, See you later. Later

-You wrote this, Roy? It's great!

-I just write what I feel, what I see.

-I love it! You say you write stories too?

-Yeah. They're kind of lame.

-I'd love to read them, Roy.

-I'll print a few of them up tonight, and bring them over tomorrow

... Two nights later...

-That was your first kiss, I don't believe it.

-Trust me, I've never kissed another girl I my life, except my mom...

-Care to try again, your not like those boys who just want to get into my pants.

-Oh, I do, it's just not the top priority on my list.

-Oh, and what would that be, Roy?

-Making you as happy as possible.

<Kissing> <Key turning In lock>

-Oh, no! My mom! Get out of here Roy, if she finds out I had a boy in the house she'll never trust me again.

-See you later.

<Window shutting>

Three nights after that... -Please, Ramona, if you'd just give me a chance, I could be anything you want.

-I'm sorry, Roy, but the plain truth is that you aren't what I want in a boyfriend. We could still be friends...

-NO! I mean everyone's my friend, I need more than that, so do you. Please Ramona, give me a chance...

<Dial Tone> If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and tr--- -BOOM.

Swan Dive

It's just like flying, she thought as she sped towards the ground, seeing the horrified masses below her staring up at the night sky. I wonder if I will feel the impact, I wonder if Adam felt the bullet, I wonder if my family will understand, I wonder why all these people are staring at me, she pondered over ten stories of acceleration. She flipped and somersaulted in the air, swooping faster and faster toward the asphalt. I'm coming Adam, she screamed in her mind, I'm coming! -THUD.

It's cold out here...

The stories are over, all the jokes have been told. The pictures have all been taken, and all the film is gone. All my facts are outdated, all my advice expended. The stupid tricks don't impress anyone, and now my head hurts. Sans money, food, weapons or words, I cannot help those who have helped me. All of what I have been is gone, all of what I could be is nothing. I am more of a hindrance than a help, a sponge, a hanger-on. Why bother? Everyone is used to me, but the passing won't be a serious, lasting blow. They will recover, stronger than before. It is the worst feeling, to be lonely in a crowd of friends. I am a selfish asshole, only concerned with myself. No matter how much I prattle on about "The good of the many..." and "I shall give my life...", I cannot live up to my own ideals. Maybe I can die up to them. I'm sorry everyone, but I cannot tolerate myself any longer. How you tolerated me is a wondrous tribute to your self control. Good-bye.

Ryo Arthur Lecher

"Tell us what you see in that mirror!"

I looked into the mirror tonight, and I saw a horrible figure. Scars, pimples, a permanent scowl, and I realize why I have been unable to find love. Indeed, it is hard to believe that at one time someone kissed this face, took the time to see beneath the skin, but late at night I lie on my back and I wonder if I dreamed the whole thing. Whether it was just a figment of an imagination running with a severe lack of relationships. I remember her first kiss, soft and wanting, as desperate as I was. What am I supposed to do? I have built great friendships, but I have always made friends, not lovers. Sex is not as important as I make it seem, and sex is not the goal. The goal is to find someone who'll love me as I love them. Someone I can hold without fear of jealous reprisal, or destroying a long friendship. Someone with whom I can spend hours of silence that seem like moments. I know it exists, I have seen it in others, But it is not fore me, I guess. A leader must not have a consort, wife or lover, lest the enemy use her to get to him. I care for them all, I do love them dearly, but I can never really kiss them, I cannot be what they already have, I can only lead them and try to help them as often as I can. As I doubt my sanity, wondering where the dreams end and where reality begins. I remember her touch, careful and smooth, and I wonder how such a beautiful being could love, could bring herself to TOUCH a hideous monster, an uncouth freak, the ugliness that I am. I truly remember her for that forgiveness, for the unconditional love that was. But all things come to an end. The ramblings of this demented writer will most likely be found locked in the cold computer memory banks, or on a sheet of paper, the words desecrating the tree that died to create the paper. As I have probably bored the audience to sleep with my unconnected thoughts, I shall retire to the dim obscurity of eternal sleep,

Yours till the end of time, Garnet William's

If you have comments or suggestions, email me at [email protected]

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