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I am Wild Boy – Part 1


Forest (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn DeLight (back again))

I am Wild Boy – Part 1

My mother’s face was a blurry smudge within my memory; luckily I don’t remember her; Dad spoke in his sleep and what he did to that poor woman… He didn’t leave her with much of one when we fled from her murder scene. I do remember the car trip though; I sat in the back seat swaying side to side while he drank bourbon driving away into a permanent foggy madness. I sat clutching a half eaten cookie in my toddler Parker jacket next to a duffel bag of Pistols, Rifles and enough ammo to put shame on any small war faction.

We were on the run from our old life to build a new-one off the grid, way to the backend of vast frozen nothingness which was our destination and where we were to begin our survival training. He told me he built this cabin for me and mom to come to when the world had gotten too much for us. It was tacky and crooked but it kept the rain and snow at bay and held warmth when the cold-rolled in. Dad evolved into a bedraggled ragamuffin, me, I transformed into a wild boy. Our own filth and stench was covered by rotten animal carcasses.

There was only so much I could do as a child but he took me hand in hand on hunts, sometimes he even allowed me to deliver the killer-blow to our prey. As the years shredded the photo memories of me and my dad, I grew into a routine machine; he called me his ‘special weapon’. Up before dawn crept upon the valley of forestry shadows, the aim was to kill, train, hydrate, train, eat and rest. I know nothing else.

We agreed to put off the childish treatment, so when hand to hand combat was the training for our afternoon, he laid into face until I bled and swelled. But he was getting on in life so when my muscle formed harder, I made sure I put him on his ass. Knife throwing, dismantling and assembling Guns and Rifles, martial arts, body and mind endurance, hunting, tracking; I became a black-belt in it all. In all honesty, I forgot about the world which scurried along beyond our tree line, when I hit my mid-teens I did think and wonder if there was anything else within my world as I sat on the edge of a mountainside or stood at the top of the trees gazing at the sunset.

One winter my father fell down with a bout with what he called pneumonia, he stopped his training, sleeping and eating; his breathing became erratic and body shifted to weakness. He couldn’t do much, so I trained by myself, hunted by myself, ate by myself, he died and then I started talking to myself.

I left his body within his room, I never stepped foot beyond the nail jagged door frame. I was now the King of this vast plant and animal life; the routine was I had and knew, so I pushed on further into the year of kill or be killed by the unknown.

Several Years Later

If I knew what depression was I would find it happily. Before ever daybreak I would sit in a couch position at the edge of my father’s bedroom door, perhaps he will wake up today. I wait until the sun’s ritual breath edged over the window ledge before I would do my daily bidding until the eyes of the dark skies blinked at me. Fearless to the predators and elements, they must sense something dark within me. The morning was skin nipping from the cold but the idea of victorious kill kept my blood steamy. I head towards the feet of the humongous wet-white hill, the deer huddle and graze within this area. A family a nestled nicely next to small stream which lines through my land. I would never think of harming something scrawny or motherly, I have my sights set on the papa-deer. I clutch my hunter’s blade in my hand; my eyes do not stray, before I move a muscle I think of the kill in every way, good or bad. Small rocks which collect at my feet, I pick one up and I subtly throw it away from the deer, so their attention would be towards the possible predator.

At the last few seconds before I sliced into my prey, a thunderous roar echoes throughout my valley. There are no storm clouds wandering above the trees. The deer scamper far into the tree line. A gargantuan wheeled hog type creature hurtles into my view at the other side of the trickling stream. Is this a new animal I have never seen?

Four men heavily armed with shotguns exit the hog. They are each dressed like greenery, perhaps to blend in. I scurry on my belly closer to get a better look. Dad always said people may be after him, could this be them? Could they be here for me? Are have they come to disrupt my kingdom and steal my food? One thing is certain, if they have, no four shotguns will stop be defending what I know.

I will recon for now and make a decision when the time is right. Keep your knife to your side Nick, it’s all you have.

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Part 2 of ‘I am Wild Boy’ Coming soon to www.youngadultfictionblog.com

Young Adult Fiction Blog.com

Keep your pens busy,

Regards Alex.

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Filed under 2014, Author, Blog, Blogging, Books, Creative Writing, Entertainment, Fiction, Literacy, Literary Agent, Misc, Novel, Random, Story, Teen, Uncategorized, Writer, Writing, Writing #2, Young Adult Fiction Short Story

How We All Write

I am taking that you have clicked on my blog link or you have stumbled upon here by complete accident, or because you are here because you love words like I do. I see words in complete different way from the layman writer who sees what everyone else see, but I take all forms of writing in to consideration before I put fingertips to keyboard. But it’s a great way to stretch my writers-legs. Let’s see if we write similar, if not I would love to see what you scribble.  Read this and give it a like and come follow me, there is plenty more to read.

Microsoft Word

Microsoft Word (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

How We All Write

He was a broken writer, out of luck, bedraggled in and out of the tangles of life. His Ralph Lauren hoodie pulled over his head and his Amilo laptop opened and set to the blink of the pages cursors starting line, he stares into the abyss of the whiteness of the Microsoft Word Document, snarling with his eyes wishing for something to be produced by his unmanned thinking. The four walls he is surrounded by falls away to a disintegrated texture of nonexistence, his mother ironing clothes in the middle of the cluttered living room slips to blurry, passed the lines of his focus and distaste of his own writing talent.

“C’mon you stupid piece of paper, help me, help me write something, you douche.”

The young man bangs on the buttons of his laptop and writes Monsters create fear, fear creates nightmares and nightmares create more monsters. He sits back and basks in the idea of perhaps an influential but horrific piece of writing the whole world can remember on his WordPress.com blog.

“Where are my words?? I should give up this writing lark, mom; I’m not getting anywhere and I have no clue if people are actually getting to my website and like it.” He prays for hope that may rest behind his mother’s mindset.

“Well I know for a fact that all great writers have that exact same sentiment, they over critique their own work and believe that they are going nowhere with their words and don’t believe they are… How you kids say, awesome enough? Anyway, keep going, I believe in you, I do put up with you clicking the keys on your computer in your little trying to create something, don’t think about it too much, just go with where your head is at and I’m sure the words will find you.” Urging the confidence through her speech, I analyse all she has to say and construct it into a push into the colourlessness of the first page.

Write, Read & Die

Sometimes in life you have to fight, those are the rules and this is my time to hold my fists up. Can you hear that? The voices are laughing at me behind my back; it’s surprising you cannot heed their hysterical cackles. I pretend I hear nothing as I try to focus on the dialogue of this movie. It’s not about how much I can build; it’s about how much this world can build upon me until I crumble at the knees. Skyscrapers are mere scraps of paper, monumental mountains are minuscule mites. Life is a game show, we all need to observe and learn from the losers to become winners. The best self-help is the hand you show to help yourself to life.

Lend me your eyes and I shall whisk you away with the wish of my magic pen to a far away parallel world adjacent to the one you stomp upon now. Welcome to Hell friend, this is where I live; wipe your feet before you leave. My life is cookbook, I’ve found the perfect recipe for disaster, become a fiction writer to shook shock this world into being force-fed my words, you will consume this, now open those eyes and shut your mouth. The voices are laughing so thunderous within my head; everyone in the hospital waiting room can hear them also. This is how a mental patient has the ability to let his writings blossom, a little miracle-grow always helps.

I can’t differentiate the difference between good and bad, the rules seem to belong to others, unlike myself. But I am trying at life, I am writing my thoughts so you can understand where this man stands. My thoughts have an insane manmade disease; please contain yourselves everyone, my evil form of writing is the cure for all the malevolence within me. Literally Literacy lit up me and Lives in me illicitly but until those Literary Agencies appear licking at my feet, I’ll pretend to be an inbred breed with pen on his sheets.

If you’re being bullied, fight with all your might. News Flash, if your streets are war zones and you want out, walk away. If you are hungry, go in search for food. If you want something, go get it. We forget we are all tools for our own design. If you would like to make history, you must be willing to incorporate the past for future reference.  I’m tearing up my work because I am a no one, Jack the Ripper.  All my oppositions are waving guns and blades at me; I reach into my Levi jeans pocket and wield my pen, smiles turn to shrieks.

I’m keeping up with the best writers to have ever lived; Once upon a time there lived a schizophrenic and instead of being Jekyll & Hyde he found respect to write. I am the devil wearing Edgar Allen Poe’s Skin, I am the true definition of writersblock… put your pens down and stop squiggling; resistance is futile. Reality has wriggle and wrestled into my head and has meddled this vessel, I am awake in my bed scared to sleep encase I end up dead. Am simply showing this planet the pain I must claw over and the super human ability I fight evil with, Alex, exact your Superman pose now.

I am begging and pleading with the powers that be, I need out, I am looking for a writing career. Have I not proven myself? If not show me what I must do to entail greatness. I do not wish for Ferrari’s or Mustang’s. I do not wish for Celebrity friends. I do not even wish to the best all of my time, but I will try my hardest in doing so.

Be afraid of me! Hasn’t your mother every told you not to feed the animals, the same rules apply for me.  This mirror is pushing his luck, cracking every one of them in my home; is this why no wonder wondrous wonders can find me? I’m saving the best until last; the rest of my work will fall into the wrong hands and burst into flames. I’m a writer; life for me is black and white, neither shades of grey nor gloom of colour.

I don’t know what is real or not, this is what I get for living amongst people who would rather act fake than themselves. As long as I stay true to myself and to my writing I cannot lose. Go down-down-deeper and down to see my more black. A cracked window to my soul, ooze out these words through life’s battle holes. Smitten towards the dark side, all I am doing is light searching.

A regular job, conventional living, typical relationships, uniformed and all but underneath the ordinary, I don’t work, I am out-of-order.

My work will be cryptic when I snooze in my crypt, laughing all the way to the grave, My B-day jumps down the alphabet to D-day. But on these weaving streets the police can’t unravel crimes; I am the king of this jumble. No one is a patch on me, the closest they get to me is wet patches when they see me writing. Haha!

What am I writing? How do I write? Who is the best literary agent? How do I get a Book Deal? What do people like to read? How to become a great writer? What are the best pieces of writing? Google-God, please answer me! I beg and plead to the almighty Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and other social networks I look upwards for guidance in my quest.

I babble sometimes, stemming from coherent to believe it or not. I don’t live in your world, I live in these words. So please keep up, as I have millions upon millions where this came from.

I care less as this world has treated me careless. I’m chasings legends while trailing questions but the meds wedding date is set for Feb. My play on words along with my wayward ways equals bad school days. For you; so who is the loser of the class now? Riddle me that. You’re all the class clowns. It’s the slim line between genius and madness I always trip over when I’m sleepwalking in my own darkness. I’m writing akin to giving a great white shark a kiss, sinking my teeth into this pad for bad bliss. As I’m feeling a little red riding in the hood, I’m embarrassed.

Chasing dreams while nightmares are chasing me, poetic justice, in the eyes of thee. I’m channelling this brutal beautiful baleful attitude before you accuse me with your poison arrow looks. This pen can feel, my pain, use your eyes, this instrument of writing will be my bane; before long you will no longer read the same. You’re bargaining as I’m barging into writers with a pad full of words, I’m on a rampage, I should belong in a glass cage or the bat cave, master of my craft, one day to the bank I shall be laughing, grasping my sword, so watch your work become ravished in invisible ink, I can write you all to vanish is such anguish in which you tarnish your own page.

Blench and bench your pens, this time is mine. I’m coming for it all, plus one. What do I need to do? I NEED TO SHOCK AND INSPIRE!!! I can do this… I can… Now can you hear me screaming? I’m transforming, the true birth of a writer is painful. I’m reaching for light with both hands, I will get burned; a little melted flesh is nothing to me. So bring forth the unemployment line, I will wait my turn to get paid, I can wait a lifetime as I am a mental patient with eternal patience. Times are hard, writings soft, life is sorrowful, what else am I to do but go after what I want. Bleach your words.

Unlovable, in one word, outcast and unknown, would three more.  I have to be this way; a certain side of me cannot sustain the natural laws I am born chained too. Monster or freak would sum up your feelings towards me if you had gotten to know this stranger I see deep within this mirror. I have an attribute of possession, possessed by a demon named Crowl. How I came to possess this possessor is a British Horror Story Asylum I’d rather forget but as my story unfolds you will question your own dark side I know you yourself possess. I am nobody, this is not my body, bloody and boldly I write slowly cold, whilst I’m holding my soul, folding these pages and getting back to work, I want to walk and blow. I’m going to hell!

Deliver me to the underworld, I’m ready for death. Geronimo! Bullets and knives make my halo; I stand with my horns held high as this world must witness both my points; my own and my pens. Charge! Bind my soul in hellfire, masochistically speaking this will be the best time of my life. Lit torches and pitchforks melt my skin, marvel at the screams for more. The strong stay strong and the weak get eaten. This is amazing, I’m no longer human I am devilishly makeshift inside, I see a bad moon rising. I’ll be a troublemaker, shaking hands with undertakers so I can outwit extraordinary wonderfully strangers. I feast on devils and angels, a wing or a trotter, nibble along with this sinner.

I’ve had it with this world, start dispensing the oil; don’t worry everyone! I have hacksaws and a matchbox. I’m sitting on my throne of animal bones and alien skin. Can you feel my anger yet? Warm your hands from this page. Welcome to the new age; Thugs have had their shots and Vampires have had their bites, now give mental patients a slice of legendary, I promise we will not disappoint. I’m not possessed by an entity, but I am full of demons. Plug-ugly!

I’ll be running around down here killing killers, a psychopath’s wet dream. A knife in one hand and a pen in the other, if I can’t catch and kill you I’ll destroy your soul within my fiction. I’m bringing the world to its knees, how can you beg for forgiveness with your mouth full? Swallow my pride. I’m a forgotten evil; I told this world I will be back as I remember every detail of what you have all done to me. Feeding my hell-hounds all which have fell from shuddering grounds, hell bound, fresh meat, fetch their flesh for me once I ring the dinner bell. I’m a male dictionary and a malediction. Seven deadly sins in seven seconds flat, seven levels of hell and a head-full of hellish schedules, life can try its hardest to take me back.

My phraseology is impeccable but so is my unnatural nature which natters in my noggin. Look on the Brightside of life, everything over there is settle snug when I set it alight. You say I am a sheer handful, perhaps yes, of fire, please hold me a little longer. I’m bucking up my ideas; penny for my thoughts means money for my fury. I’m living in a home where everything I do is wrong, a correctional house. Burn it, burn it all!

I demand a modicum of respect whilst tied down to this bed; this is not for my protection, it’s for your safety encase I get my hands on the murder weapon, my pen. I learnt to write what is carved on my chest from Tupac and The Notorious BIG, two shooting stars, I wish to you when your music blears loud. This world isn’t full of humans, your all antipsychotics; I am popping two a day now. So bring forth cataclysms and pitch black padded prisons, battery in my back; one cell per patient.

He takes drags his fingers from his keyboard and clenched the tension in his knuckles.

“There you go world, no let us see if this makes any difference to my blog.” A sigh of relief is exhaled.

His mother walks over, slinking and chasing his work on his laptop.

“That seems like a lot of writing, I told you if you kept at it a focused properly, you would conjure up something.” She winks and she hands him a wad of piled clothes.

“Yeah, but I don’t think they are on the same wave length as me when I scribble stuff down, to them it’s just nonsense.” A sigh of disbelief is acquired.

“Listen to me, if you write it people will read it and in time they will get the gist of how you write. Its complicated process and most writers go through it. Write for greatness and great things happen. Remember, what is for you shall not go by you.” She speculates in her motherly ambitious tone.

Thanks mom.



I hope you guys liked this. PRESS THE LIKE BUTTON!!! (The button is right underneath here, or on the bar on the top of your page.) Also if you can circulate some of my work around your social websites, it would be a great help. And you can follow me too. I am coming to visit your blog soon, I promise.

Keep those pens busy!


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The Murder of Crows – Short Story

List of birds of Western Australia

List of birds of Western Australia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hey guys, sorry it has been a couple of weeks since my last confession with writing. I have been battling some personal demons, these things don’t know when to quit. But I am back with a short story for my fellow followers about one of my favourite animals, the crow. Hope you enjoy. Comment – rate and please like. Thanks. Your writer friend, me!

The Murder of Crows – Short Story

Peer pressure and wayward ways, we were called the Front yard boys. There was Jimmy “Pecker” Peck, he was our leader. The toughest kid in school but the weakest in his household, every time we met up he always had a fresh-cut or shining sable eye. He was always the first into conflict and last to leave our gang when the streetlights flicked on. Troy “Peeps” Epson, he was the brains of our operation, he let us copy his homework which he handed in on time and received full marks. Don’t let the thick rimmed glasses fool you; he takes them off every time we fight for school yard territory or rep.

Stevie “Ste” Banks, he was the fastest runner in our school and always excelled in every gym lesson we had. He was the only black kid in school, so he hung around with all of us so no one got the wrong impression to make fun of his colour when the adults weren’t around. And for the nineteen thirties Idaho, it was rather a big deal for some eyes.

And then there was me. Derek “Mazie” Maze, second in command to Pecker, we were that must have best friends we finished off each other’s sentences and usually saw eye to eye when it came to having fun and causing mayhem.

In a lined formation we four already bored on a gloriously saffron morning of the best day of the week, Saturday. We walk down the dust alley at the back of our neighbourhood, we hung out there, telling jokes, looking at saucy magazines one of us had stolen from our big brothers, or let Peeps come up with a great ways to cause havoc in our town without getting caught.

“God, I’m already bored and barely even weekend, tell me if this is what getting old means then life can keep it, cause I never want to be bored.” Pecker spat, chucking dust rocks at trash cans.

Peeps lay on the grass opposite the trash cans. I sat wracking my brains, trying to figure out how not to waste this perfect day with my friends. Ste dribbles a half crushed coca cola can with his feet.

I pipe up. “Peeps what’s on your mind buddy?” With his hands placed behind his head he stares up at circling birds.

“Did you know when birds hatch from their eggs they imprint on the first bird or creature they see.”

“That’s it!” I leap from the trash can. “I’ve always wanted a pet but my mom is allergic to cats and dogs and money is kind’a tight but she always said I could have a bird.”

With his arms opened in an order to us all. “Well lets go get Mazie a pet bird.” Pecker urges.

We all arrive at the Gershwin Tree, the biggest tree in all the state. My dad used to tell me the story of the Gershwin Tree before bed. Legend has it the tree only homes crows, crows help deliver souls to the other side once they had passed. Hundred of crows flock around the area where we stand; the tree is a shrine for them all. It feeds and homes them. Caws and flapped wings are all you can hear. More than a dozen birds a keeping watchful eyes on us from the floor as they forage in the ground for worms.

“You want it Mazie, go fetch.” Pecker commands with a pointed finger.

Is it a bad time to reveal this is a bad idea?

“Yeah Mazie, good luck teaching a stupid bird anything buddy, why not get a grass snake their probably hundreds in this field to feed this murder.” Ste amps his smirks comment at me.

One or two birds are fine to be around but when I am climbing up a prison full of these murders my thoughts will begin to race. One – two steps; I am standing in the shadow of the godlike conifer tree. The calls of the birds echo deep within my soul, a wild fear takes hold of my breaths. I reach my hands up and take hold of a furry terracotta branch and begin to hoist myself upwards. Every level of the colossal tree no less than five birds flees their homes from this unwary invader.

“Hurry up you wussy!” The hollered yells egg me onwards and upwards. “Just pick one all ready!”

Deep within the confines of overlapping corbeau branches sits a nest; the sunlight peers in ever so slightly to look upon the secret bird which tweets away chirpily to itself. I creep closer, hanging on for dear life.

“Hey there little guy.” I introduce my head, blocking out the rays of light. The tweeter stands shocked, facing away from me, his left eye glued to my motion. I hesitate for a sec before I unwittingly take which is not mine. My hands clamp around the body of the chirper whilst it squiggles his or her jerking head.

“Hey he’s got one, hurry bring it on down here!” Heckles make my mind made up.

I clamber down the maze of shedding bark and cobwebs with one hand, as I reach the last few meters there is a three meter drop blocking my freedom from this cell of bird droppings and screeches from beyond the grave.

“Just Jump it, don’t be a wimp now Mazie, you’re so close.” I can see in Peckers eyes that was an order. I take in a few breaths before I take a leap into gravity but just as I take flight downwards a blur of atrous feathers clouds my judgement and senses, I plunge down, wafting my arms in a frenzy of defence against my attacker from the sky.

“Mazie, are you okay? Damn bird tried to peck out your eyes.” Ste picks me up to my feet as I shake off the bad landing. “Look…” Peeps sputters crouching in the grass, his unblinking eyes fixed into his cupped hands.

“What is it, Peeps?” The boss ponders. We all gather around him and from up here we all see a lifeless crow chick, my mind musters and flutters into one thousand pieces.

“What have I done?” I confess my soul. “It was an accident Mazie, don’t worry about it, death happens” Pecker assures me with his arm slumped over my shoulders. “Let’s split guys.”

Peeps places the chick back on the fingers of grass gently and shuffles away. I stay staring at the bird; I have done a bad deed. The flaps of wings still circle, an immense fuliginous crow lands on an empty branch, the weight of the bird almost snaps the trees arm. The bird doesn’t break eye contact with me I can see her flammeous eyes burn through me. She begins to screech within her caw, it almost bloodies the ear. The clouds curdle and the suns candle is blown away, a storm is coming. I back away slowly, still in shock. The Front-yard Boys have walked on ahead. I cannot escape this ringing of the bird’s cries. I run.

I ravish the sheets; my mind has too much guilt to rest my soul for the night. I squeeze my eyes tight, hoping the discomfort would keep my eyes closed until daylight. I am too warm under my covers and too cold outside of them. All I can daydream about is the chick dying by my foolish actions.

A thud at my window makes me shoot to an upright position, my eyes widened to the possibility of fear. Clicks and taps at my window make me question to investigate or hide under my covers.

I sluggishly tiptoe from my bed to the window; the curtains hide my glass knocker. Shall I gradually open them or swiftly shift both sides. I stick with the second.  I promptly push the curtains aside. Sitting upon my windowsill sit the crow from earlier, my heart sinks to the depths of despair and my thoughts lead only to revenge upon me. I attempt to frighten off my terror, roaring and throwing plastic soldiers and socks at my window to make the bird take off. I look in her eyes and with her black eyes she glances into my blackened soul.

I give up.

The bird jumps to the centre of the window and turns around, she begins to caw out into the twinkle night sky. I look over the bird into the distance and see the night blur darker. I squint in scrutiny, what is that? The rumble of noise soon becomes apparent; hundreds of crows are coming for me. I stand in stagger; you cannot run from whatever the sky provides.

The claps of tinkered talons chip on my rooftop, creeks from the shabby ceiling and wood walls elongate through my ears as fingers of noise. All of the crows must be working together to unwrap the head of my house. The top corner comes away from my bedroom. I am opened to the elements of raining crows. The mother bird enters my bedroom from the gaping hole, perched on my chest-of-drawers next to my comics and figurines.

“I know why you’re here.” I caw at the crow, she talks back.

An army of wings and black beaks swoop down and clasp on to my pyjamas. They lift me up into the air, through the bird made break. They carry me in through the clouds over the rooftops of my friend’s homes.  I can see the Gershwin Tree in the foreground.

I took her chick from their home and killed it, they kidnapped me to suffer the same fate. This is my own entire fault.


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Teen Heroes – Part 1 – First Flight


Teen Heroes

Part 1: First Flight

Generations ago the shield went up, separating our world in two, humans on one side and superhumans on the other. Our governments came to the conclusions to reside on either side of our planet, as jealousy began to play a major part from schools, winning all of the scholarships, to the workplace; the completion of tasks seconds after being told what to do was too much for us to catch-up with. We humans were the lower of species on our world. So for over two hundred and twenty-seven years we have lived separately. Until now.

The shield stands with a light whooshing sound of a purring engine which ripples from the ground to the sky. The mechanics of the walls generators are all buried meters under the ground.

“Don’t you just wonder about what they are like now? How do we know there is anyone even on the other side of the wall?” I roar with a dreaming tone as I look up into uncharted sky beyond the red shield on the super-side.

“Matty, we have all seen the human movies that portray all their powers, of course we have to use wires and special-effects but we get the idea of what they are. You always do this, dude. They are still over there; don’t worry about that, focus on your life on this side of the shield. My opinion from what I have read and seen, they’re all ass-clowns.” Dev takes another swig of pinched beer as he loafs on a raggedy sun-lounger; his cap drooped over his face. “C’mon Matt, let’s roll-out, I’m getting bored.”

“Go on without me, Dev.” I babble from my innards.

He looks over at me with his wavy-eyes, no hope there.

“Your rents still giving you jip?” He wipes the beer sweat from around his mouth. The sun is banishing quickly for another day. From his peepers to his feet my eyes are dragged down. “You know, you shouldn’t let them push you around, it’s not their life. You’re the smartest guy I know, make your own future. Forget what they say.”

I turn back to the shield and place my right hand on the red wall. My family’s demons rest within my eyes when I begin to talk about them.

“I guess we’re a lot more broken on this side of the shield. I’ll see you tomorrow, dude. “

He stands for a brief minute; eventually he throws his beer into the shield, smashing it. “You’ll figure it out, Matt. You always do.” He stumble strolls away over the loose clumps of rocks.

I’ll imagine a little more until I am surrounded by darkness, at this point I will go home and live within my nightmare. The wind picks up slightly, covering me in a chilly sand cloud.

I prop both my hands on the wall and look down at my feet, spitting at the sand, crestfallen.

“All my dreams will come true one day, pick-up you pride, Matty.” I close my eyes and try to wish for it.

I fall forward and land side-first on the dirt.

“Okay, that hurt.” I turn onto my back, brushing off the dust soil from my clothes. “I’m on the super-side.” I rise to my feet swiftly and race to the wall, trying my hardest to push back through. “Dev! Dev, I’m on the other side of the wall, I need help. Dev!” No use, he has beaten it. Out of breath I sit on a massive boulder and stare at my campsite, where I have sat with Dev since we were kids.

“A glitch, they’ve only ever been seen; no person from either side has ever fallen through one. Yeah, I am one of the unlucky ones, now not only on my side of the world.”

There’s only one thing for it, wait for Dev to come back, get our government involved and probably start an out-international incident. First time for everything. Or I could find a kind Super who can fly me back home.

The trek is on for life. I walk unknowingly on uncharted ground; even though I am desert-bound the night air still brings on cold-goosebumps to my upper-arms. I check my watch 02:13 am. I think it’s time to rest up shop, I prop my back up against a dead almost-fossilized tree, with a pulsating pain, I believe I have broken a rib when I fell earlier. Shiver yourself to sleep, Matt, it will all make sense when the sun comes up.

I shoot myself awake to the sound of a snap-pop of thunder and the screech of wind, but no breeze rubs arms with me.

“What the hell was that?” I bark to the cacti and dung-beetles that scurry across the floor. Readjusting my spine from a terrible and short night’s sleep I gain bearings, it wasn’t a dream, I’m still here.

I stand, looking around for signs of enhanced living, nothing. I do hear poppy-music far-familiar to the ones I hear on the human radio. I sceptically jog up a hillock and try to hide behind a few mass of rocks.

A small town, no roads leading neither in nor out; none the less a community has flourished in the dry eyes of the deserts mirage. On one of the streets an undersized blonde girl is standing at the end of a road looking out onto a plot of land. From out of nowhere the skeleton of a huge apartment building is materialized, from thin-air the exterior of the building is wrapped in brick. Lastly windows, doors and guttering are imagined into reality, right before my very eyes, a building is made; the young girl skips off down the street.

“What you doing skulking up here?” An observed female’s voice puts out.

I slip in scare; falling backwards onto my bed of sand. From blur to focused, she must be an angel if angels were real. Wavy black hair; she is Goth mirrored but her eyes were as peaceful as the rebellion statement she wears.

“I was looking at the young girl make that building from nothing, like with her thoughts.” I sang with grog-voice.

“Her name is Cassie; she lives next door to me. And her job is making things with her thoughts. It’s a better job that I have; she just made ten-thou-notes. Here give me your hand.”  I pull myself up to her level. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“Well no, I kind of fell through a glitch in the shield and couldn’t get back through.” In shock the strange girl takes a step backwards.

“You’re human. No – No this is bad, this is really bad. Oh my God, they will kill you if they find out a human has crossed over. You’re such a div! I can’t protect you from them, I can only fly.”

I interrupt her meltdown. “You can fly?” She looks at me with lightning then her seas calms.

“Yeah, I’m a delivery girl. It’s the only thing fliers are good for; taking things from A to B, that’s if you’re not a teleporter. Low money but second-hand things needed to be shifted too.”

“That’s so awesome. I just have a question.” She nods. “What’s a div?” She laughs from her nose.

“A div is a stupid person; I wasn’t calling you stupid, I’m sorry. The whole situation is messed-up. You need to listen; there is a special part of our government here called the N.S.A.A.H. The National Security Association against Humans. This branch wants to eradicate all humans from this world so we can live as a whole not as equals, they look at you as a threat.” I see the look of fear in her eyes.

“Damn, well can’t you do your supergirl thing and fly me over the shield?”

She sits on a rock looking for her next move in the sand.

“It won’t do any good if I took you up there, it ends on the outskirts of space, that’s the reason why no of us have ever stepped foot on your side. There might be one way.” A light bulb is switched on.

“Name it! I haven’t even been here one day and my life is at stake and I am bringing more people or supers into my trouble. It’s fine you don’t have to help me, I’ll find a way by myself.” I look out into the horizon.

“Hey, if I were to leave you and something happened to you then I would be a sucky hero, wouldn’t I? There may be one way but it’s going to be hard and we will have to walk through government territories, which if they find you with me, my ass is worm food also. So we’re going to need help, come with me.”

She grabs hold of my hand and runs me down the side of the sand hill onto the street.

“This is where I live, Superville, excuse the name. Act natural, do not act like a human I mean because all it takes is for one nosey neighbour or mind-reader to get in your head and figure out what you are, game over. I have a couple of friends that mind be able to help with our little problem.”

She leads on entering into a garden, walking up to what looks to a 50’s ranch house. She rings the bell. “What’s the password?” A voice from the other side commands.

“Open the door Butt-hole!” She grins into the peeper of the door. “Close enough, Blondie” The door swings open to a nerdy teen, around my age of seventeen, dressed in close to a mix of a doctors scrubs and casual clothing; a box of popcorn gripped tight. “C’mon in. Butch and I are about to watch When Humans Attack four. Who’s your friend?” He states throwing popcorn into his mouth.

“This is….” She didn’t even ask my name, I jump forward with an open hand. “I’m Matty, nice to meet you, man.”

With a full mouth of popcorn. “Hi Matty. I’m Jensen but everyone calls me Brains. Alicia has never mentioned you before.” She stands in front of me.

“We need to talk Brains.” She hastily urges.

In Brains bedroom lays taken apart computers that have been reassembled to make a Frankenstein-computer. Mechanical objects have been given life, he must really have brains. Jensen sits in front of me, mouth resting in awe. In the corner sits a quiet girl, very introvert within herself wearing what can only be noticed as librarian clothes. She is the one they keep calling Butch.

“A human here, sitting right in front of me. I thought I would never see the day. Licia’ if the N.S.A.A.H finds out you know he’s a goner, right?”

Alicia sits down beside Jensen, placing a hand on his back.

“That’s why I have come to you. You are a marvel genius; you are the smartest guy I know. We need your help to make sure he gets back home or they will cut him up in a lab. And I can only do it if I have my friend on my side with me. Take a risk with me.”  She pleads.

He exhales the worry from his racing heartbeat within a blow, slicks back his head and nods in agreement. “What’s the plan?” He gives in.

“Sweet! Well, there is no actual way we can turn off the power to the shield but if we talked to Lady Helen and get us on our side, she may take Matty home without anyone even knowing.”

“I’m sorry; I’m feeling a little more human today than usual. Can someone tell me what is happening and why they call the girl sitting next to me, Butch?” I interject in a stern tone.

Jensen stands his eyes are moving like his is reading something, perhaps he is writing scenarios within his mind.

“They call her Butch because she is impervious to everything, she won’t even die, bullets, radiation nor even a common-super-cold could stop her but she is as quiet as a mouse. And Helen is the President of the Super-world’s daughter; she is the only living teleporter to have lived in over forty years. Now if we go there and manage to talk some sense into her, she may actually be able to take you home without tripping over bad grounds.” Alicia bites her bottom-lip.

“I’ve got it!” Jensen stammers with an eerie shriek. He stomps off through our huddle into his closet. “I made something when I was thirteen that might be able to help you, Matt.” Clothes, porn-magazines and old half dismantled machines are thrown out. “Tah-dah! I would like to introduce to you the static-human-flier. Which when turned on will harness the magnetic energy from our own world and resist our curse to it, which in theory should make you fly; no it will make you fly, Matt. Try it on, dude.”

I exit the bathroom; all the suit contains is some boots and gloves that have some circular holes within the base of each of them, wires from all four limbs lead under my clothing to a belt that has an on and off button and a volume knob.

“C’mon let’s go see if it still works.” Jensen inquires.

I stand in the middle of Jensen’s back garden the trio of heroes stand at his back door.

With one of his hands palms he holds around his mouth, Jensen asserts. “Okay, turn the belt on and turn up the volume knob to the halfway line.” I do that – Nothing.

I shrug my shoulders and begin to walk back. “I don’t think its working something must be wro…..” I shoot off like a rocket missing the homes chimney by centimetres. I climb higher and higher into the clouds, uncontrollably and dip and weave through clouds. I try to slow the speed by the volume knob but reaching for it I accidentally flick the off switch.

I plummet downwards like a rock, repeatedly turning on and off the switch in a frantic rage. “C’mon, turn on! Help!”

“I’m coming!” I hear Alicia’s voice come from the cloud I just fell through. She shoots out with an opened hand. She grabs my shirt and pulls me into her; she wraps her legs around me.

“I can’t hold your weight; brace yourself for a crash landing.” We crash down in the sand area close to where we met.

“That was close. Thanks Alicia, you saved my life.” She stands up and brushes herself off.

“I’m a superhero, its kind’o my thing. C’mon, let’s go get you home.”

Brains and Butch are cheering at the start of the street. “That was awesome!”

(Part 2 Coming Soon!)

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The Diary of an Immortal. Chapters 6 – 9

Chapter 6

We are on a rock held road which is the cause for me to be mildly thrown side to side in this fast paced box; I peek out of the curtain of the carriage. The sun is dangling on the mountain’s peak getting ready to plunge from its balance and hide behind the panorama, the stars are faint in the sky as nights sky is fitting into its clothing.

Suddenly, it jitters through me like being struck by a lightning bolts will, my motor functions become unmanned, unpredictable with a slight proportion of paralysis. My hands grab anything that I can constrict. The night has its hold, I snap back to the hell and tedium of this world with the gritting of my teeth, but Beth is still dancing in the back of my mind. The horse’s pants are every two gallops of their hooves.

“Ease up, ease it!” The driver chases at the horses ears.

The door flings open to show a gigantic home, clinging to the buildings skin is dying ivy, murdered by the weather.

I step closer to the building with a disruption of patience, I did not want to be here, I could leave, but I must keep up my appearance to these people. People descend from their carts, like rain drops from the skies. The women wore dresses of many colors, but some stuck to the traditional white, to me they all looked like upside-down flowers, with their honey located in their special of places, passing it out to whomever takes fancy to them, when the nectar of alcohol curses their extremities to sexual desirous acts. The men with them are no better, covering up their homosexuality with marriage and the search for an heir, in the wombs they had no pleasure in delivering life towards.

I stand out-of-place in front of the carriage watching the greedy hearts meet and greet one another, they do not take well to money, they do not suit even the pockets they inhabit, just like the dinner table they are full but still seeking more. I skim through the main window people are gathered, holding up glasses to one another; congratulating their greatness, in the bottom right window they are dancing in synchronize with turns and twirls. At the top, a couple are in the middle of a kissing contest, ravishing each other’s faces with the thought of what they are doing is named as passion. I turn my head only catching a glimpse of the last window in my withdrawal; I face my carriage and put my arm out to leave, with a peculiar notion. I spin around.

“Did I just see her, the girl from the market? I only caught her tone and smile, but it is unquestionable as the notion I feel was her.”

I retrace my backwards steps and walk up the path, to the doors, to the woman. The light from the main door unrolls over the ground, filching my steps and imagination. I pace through the arch way, making myself known to the There he is. I revolve, inspecting everything and one. The house was modern, oak flooring kept warm by ruby carpets that only took up parts of the walking space and ghost like walls with hanging ghosts.

“Special guest presiding – Lord Maze Celestial!” A speaker shouts from the top balcony.

Everyone stops, the music stops and the dancers halting their twirls, waiters and waitresses hold their platters and everyone else just their stares. The new money and quietly rich, get in their standpoint, just to claim a look at the most successful man ever to live, in their minds. I place the back of my hand at the lower of my spine and begin to float through the quietly spoken love and dislike “There he is…” and “How much money do you think he really has…?” and “I wonder what he is like under the sheets?” even “It is unlikely that someone who well-to-do became that prosperous by working inside the rules, he had to have stolen it or killed for it, they say that his father died of unknown circumstances, I am thinking he was probably sleeping and he came into his room with a pillow and held it over his father’s face, that should give you a great bank account number.” But with money comes envy.

I have to acknowledge them, I do with slight bows and smiles this has no longer become a banquet to praise me but to perhaps get a name from the kiss I received earlier.

“Maze, you are finally here, I would like to introduce you to a few well named people over here.” Verntro says while ushering me towards strangers with half a glass of scotch but by this morning climbs back I would have forgotten their faces and names, so they could not have been that well named.

“This is Lord and Lady…” Then I zone out staring through these people with smiles and nods looking for her.

Others adore me with pats on the back as they walk behind me. My patience was finally tested by all of this. Verntro stands on top of a chair.

“And here he is ladies and gentlemen, the man of the year, Lord Maze. I knew this young man’s father and I am not jesting, he has broken from his father’s shadow and forged a new destiny and surpassed his father in every ways of charity within our beautiful flourishing country. And in honor of us on this splendid evening of evenings, we or should I say all of us would like to give you a token of our appreciation.” Verntro says slurring his words; he must have had a few glasses of a vineyard’s finest before I arrived.

A young woman, it is her, walks over to Verntro and hands him a darkened wood box with a glass lid, he takes the box from her and indicates his hands outwards towards my space. My eye shift to the box, in the back of my mind I don’t want this box in my hand just her in my eyes, trying my hardest not to glance up. I take the box and stand in near death to be taking a gift from the lowlife that were made from the money and effort of the true workers of the communities. Inside the box was a medal with a lion crest pressed into the metal.

“Thank you all so much, from the deepest gorge of my heart, I am a little lost for words at the moment but thank you all, I will treasure it always.” I manage to throw out.

A round of applause circulates through the main room, I stand in smoke and mirrors with my smile, I look through the crowds, market girl is pressed against the wall at the back of the room with the largest applaud, she stood out to me as if she truly meant it, hers was the only one I counted.

I had dealt with the escape from Verntro with ease introducing him to someone more intoxicated than him. I diagonally walk through the other drinkers; she has her back to me with a silver platter, carrying booze for the unthankful guests of Verntro’s. She is wearing a grey blouse and long black skirt, down to her feet, in her hair she has a white cloth that keeps her hair back and her face exposed.

I am right behind her, should I tap her on her shoulder? Excuse me, Miss, but do you remember me? I cannot say that, it implies that she should remember me. I could always ask her how the ring fits. That’s awful; it has only been a few hours.

She spins around, at first she does not know my face; there is just a blank stare that she had shown to perhaps one hundred people tonight. She stops her thoughts that she would like to speak.

“Would you like a beverage, sir?” She asks.

“No, but I would like to talk like we did today in the market place, miss.” I say hoping for a positive response.

“We met today sir? I’m working, the only thing I am allowed to do is ask if you would like a drink, Master Maze.”

“Don’t call me that ever, it is just Maze to you, I do not care about your job title or how any person in this building thinks. I just want to talk.” She is deterrent still and walks away with no answer.

“Today in the marketplace, no woman at any time in my life has challenged my word and finished it with a kiss, a friend is all I want, I pledge, you will not get in trouble.” holding my hands together in a praying action. She stands rubbing the frustration from her brow and begins to nod.

“But we have to go upstairs to the balcony, so I don’t get caught. There is fewer people up there.” She says.

“Lead the way.” Holding out my palm to show her the direction to the stairs, she looks around to see if she would be seen. The working woman in her is saying, no, do your job, but the market girl in her tells her, yes, have some fun. I traipse up the stairs and walk behind the woman to the outside balcony.

We both post ourselves at the wall, staring out towards an endless black sky, sharing the stars and seconds of silence together. The wind quiets down.

“I am Bethany Sampson, but people around here just call me Beth.” She tells me.

“I am guessing I don’t need an introduction, but it’s such a great relief I now know your name.” I say, she laughs.

“I did not think for a second you were, Lord Maze, perhaps a banker or solicitor, but nothing close to the richest man ever to walk these lands.”

She has a slight disappointment in her eyes.

“Believe it, but to tell you the truth, I do not want this life, I feel poverty and failure coursing through me, but when you have a lot of money, it’s hard to get rid of it than to attain it.”

“I will have it, if you do not want it” We both laugh at her joke.

“I won’t give away my money, but if you let me I will show you the effects of happiness it can bring, if you let me.”

“What do you mean?” She is confused with a stare.

Embarrassment drips waterfalls over me, Just say it, Maze.

“Have dinner with me, any food your heart desires, any wine your tongue requests, it will be yours.”

She stands stunned, picking up her empty silver platter and walking in a runaway, did I say something wrong? I quickly grab her dangling arm. She tries her hardest not to share eyes.

“No, I can’t, the results could be real bad for me, if it was to go wrong, I… I don’t think I can.” She pleads for mercy from what I want.

The ring, I see it wrapped around her neck on a piece of string. I hold it in-between my fingers.

“It kept on falling off, every time I put on my finger, so I put it around my neck to keep it close to me.” She says.

I remove her head-scarf and comb back her black hair, removing it from her face to see her blossom in my memory. Her thoughts are giving into submission, she lifts her head, her bottom lips tries its hardest not to quiver in a nervous fit, either that or the cold had really gotten to her. I remove one of my gloves and blow warmth into it and place it on the side of her face, her head moves into it with her eyes closed, she tries to hide an exhale, it prolongs from her as it was her first and last. Her hand cases mine keeping me there for as long as possible, we are here forever it feels.

“Oh, my lord, you are chasing after the help, I would never have taking you for loving, dirties, Maze; if you wanted a woman, I could have arranged one that didn’t wear a head-scarf, by the way, where is yours?” Verntro had come looking for me, glass in hand, feathers on his feet and no order in his movement.

Beth stands back from me; her eyes are hooked to the floor. Verntro stares at her and her two smudged sisters.

“I think you better get back to work, my little slave girl.” Verntro sights rest upon Beth’s position in this world.

“Verntro, it is not her fault, she is who she is, just leave her be. I was the one who instigated our meeting, do not blame her.” I implore to him.

Beth takes back her scarf and grabs her empty platter and speeds away downstairs, back to the gathering, she strikes at the tears that slid down her face and hangs on her top lip. Verntro slithers up to me.

“I now know that you are not better than me, because I have something you want and I promise you that I am not willing to part with my possessions, like you, oh, Beth told me about the ring you had given her, extremely charming.”

I throw my face in front of his.

“I am not in the mood for this Verntro, I will be partial to whomever I am attracted too and you and no one else will tell me different.” I say with ferociousness, its evil hold slowly tiptoeing its way back to my imagination. I could pluck out his eyeballs so he could never put his ugly look upon Beth again, I could heave out his tongue so he could not speak wrong words of her again, take his fingers from his hands so the last thing he felt was his own fear. His eyes are blood hounding me but are being led away by the devil whispers of alcohol.

“I will let your words go as you are not of sober mind, Verntro, consider this your warning, do not underestimate me because of my sober actions.” I say to him, bringing myself back to tranquility. Verntro’s head bobs in midair like waste in water, he is not worth my effortless hunt.

I break our eye exchange and pace slowly away with clenched fists I keep by my side, undeterred in each step to lastly let him know that he has unaffected me, trailing his red carpet I reach the edge of the stairway, finally I turn and have a look at my enemy for the night. He sways like a tree in the wind, with a bowed head and angry narrowed eyes that tear strips from me and my intentions, but it is no longer my intentions that I am fretting over, it is shown in the corner of his small smile; he has a plan. I must forget about him.

I trudge down the stairs almost in a stampede; I must get out, not letting this atmosphere on my behalf hold me here any longer than I need to be. I reach the bottom step; Beth is nowhere in sight, just the reality that these people are ugliest of the low, not in beauty but nature. The under-toned women stand behind their spouses against the wall areas, ghost whispering about their bedroom brawls and unsatisfied sexual antics. The women pan the room trapping with sexual desire young adolescent men who have recently been established as wealthy as a passed away relative has left them their inheritance, plus into the bargain the women would always disgrace their marriage when their husbands are working, leaving them with a young man’s body upon their used skin.

The low laughing men gather in groups in the middle of the rooms, strangling their brandy glasses in one hand and attached to their fingers are imported cigars, their stance is power filled and uncaring, badmouthing the world that has giving them everything, but never enough, hiding the fact they have homosexual feelings for one another, I am still farfetched from the root to their attraction to other men but I have come to the conclusion that it is either their own vanity and have fallen in love with the mirrors of themselves or just their penises against another’s penis.

I barge by the crowds; they notice the dwindling tone of my mood and lack of eye contact by my vertically aimed eyebrows. I break out in a burst for freedom to the outdoors, the cold air calms me, the unsightly try to entice me back with supple looks to lure me back to their cave of eternal darkness, no. My heartbeats were galloping and I couldn’t slow the shakes of what I should have said and done. I speed walk towards the carriage, Benjamin flicks away a cigarette.

“Sir, has the banquet finished already?” He says replacing the smoke with fresh air.

“Yes, the company I keep should be better thought out, because you never know what they are truly thinking.” I reply.

“Home?” He says; fasten up the buttons on his overcoat.

“No, not for me, you go, I will get a horse from Verntro; just need some cold air to settle my frame of mind. Have a nice night.”

“Thank you, sir… Come on, lads!” He climbs on to the seat of the carriage and begins to whip the leather harnesses and trots away.

I stare back, I finally realize I do not need this world, this world needs me. Smile blessed and free, a breath living within my lung and saved wealth within my bank, what more could I want… Beth.

I walk in the opposite direction to my detention named, Verntro Manor, towards a wooden fence, the moss on it has grown and evolved in to its own nature. I jump it and walk until I am in the void of the valley that is infested with grass that rises to the waist. Not even the sharpest of eyes could see me from here, I stare back anyway as history has always caught up to the present, time and time again for not being cautious when I feel untouchable. Verntro’s home was a black jewelry box that emanated light to the forests around it. I reach into my overcoat and pull out a pair of black gloves and a large piece of cloth; I kneel and fold and re-fold the cloth on my knee, then wrap it around the bottom part of my face, nose and mouth, tying it behind my head, I slip on the gloves. I spin around and charge for the heavens with both fists, the cold airs pincers latch on to my visible skin, the sky seems endless as I glare into its millions of eyes but beneath me seemed empty to the movers of the world. I slow to a halt; I can see the glow of Kingston lodged in-between two monstrous mountains; the churches steeple gives it away as it is the only building I can place my vision upon. A black sheet of secret kept the ground asleep.

The calmness of the world scares me; it reminds me of my third wife, Amyala, a true beauty.

Chapter 7

Brown hair, wide wild brown eyes that pull you towards her, she was like a love poem that you had to read four or five lines before the plot became apparent. It was about three thousand years ago in Greece, the weather for the time of year was especially warm, the country had just gotten over a drought that had taken a few lives, but we were in the midst of a long needed storm that had been like a vengeful God in the sky for three whole days, throwing lightening everywhere and shaking the floor with his genuine voice. The sun had been dragged by ropes beneath the end of the world’s line. I lived on a cliffs edge next to the sea, which was often raged with Poseidon’s wrath.

The home I lived in was only a wooden box, with one obscure hole in the wall for windows, a dining room, bedroom and a cooking area. I was a sheep farmer and was enjoying life. My memory of this time had faded and details of her had just been overtaken by time.

I come bursting through the door, ragged and filthy, with a leaking bucket of water; I waddle to a ceramic bowl and pour the water in.

“Petra, you’re home; I thought you had gotten swept away by the current.” she shows her head from the bedroom.

“Lucky for you, I did not” I say out of breath.

“Yes, lucky for me…” She says in a sarcasm tone.

“Does my love bestow a joke on me?”

Amyala runs over to me throwing her arms around my neck and locks it with a kiss from her warm lips.

“Jokes and kisses… I must have done something right, for a change.”

“No, nothing, just for you being you, plus you need all the love you can get as your wife of twenty-three days may steal it and run with it forever.”

“She would not dare… But as I think about it, she does seem like the sort.” I put on the face of a scary mythical creature that haunts caves and eats virgin girls. She is impervious to the laughable mask.

“Have you brought in the herd? I don’t want them to wander in to Eldorado’s land again.” She asks.

“Done and dusted, do not worry, I have taken care of everything, we shall eat then go to bed, without a worry on our minds.”

She kisses me again and releases her grip, turning and walking into the kitchen, I stare at her perfectly made body, her skin had been breathed on by the sun, her beautiful backend swayed like a butterfly on a gentle wind, I cannot help but stare. I walk over to a cylinder pot and pull out two spoons.

I take hold of my chest, my heart attempts to bash through my chest, I feel the tears rush to my eye line, the animal behind my ribs were thrashing and snapping at all of my other insides. The two spoons fall to their doom and my breath becomes cursed by the evil within my heart, which leads me to the idea of food. I hadn’t eaten in one and a half moons. Amyala was silent in the dark of my secret, the reason was she was an innocent and I longed for normal.

Amyala retreats back to the main room with two bowls of soup, she see me in agony and quickly places the bowls on the old dried-out wooden table.

“What happened?” She says, holding up my head so we were eye to deranged eye. I manage to catch one breath that sets my lungs back into their rightful place.

“I lost my footing.” She wraps her arms around me once again, picking me up to my feet, I cannot blink, the frenzy had taken shape as a thought I had banished to the recesses of me, I did not want to hurt her, but there are forces within my world more powerful than love. Half of me wanted to run but the other needed its taste of love before death.

I bury my head tenderly into her hair until I am nestled in her neck. My body quivers as I unbolt my doors from myself. I place my hands on her shoulders and push her back; she takes a few back steps and is stopped by the wall. I fall back to my knees.

“Do not you come near me, you run, run now!” I shout at her sight, I must hate her.

“I will stay by you, I can help.” She replies.

I look up; she is still beautiful in her worried state. My eyes begin to build up and send tears to their suicide and turning my pupils black with truth.

“Please tell me what to do, Petra?” She asks with tears and a quiet voice. Petra? …Not anymore. I jitter and jerk, trying to hold back myself.

Nothingness is my strength but love has no place within me, she is not love, she is but routine, a face I have placed in my memory enough times to think she is my one. Trickery is her technique, which she shines on a fragile man’s heart. A favor gifted to this world, if you do what is in my nature. I am strong enough to conquer but not to say no, making my nothingness also my weakness.

It stops, moisture hangs on a line from my bottom lip. I raise my right hand up above me and use the table as my support to bring myself back to my feet. She looks on in cower, should she help? Should she get help? Should she heed my words and run? These things troubled her as they dart into one another inside her final judgment.

I collapse in tire; my chin is bowed into my chest, closed eyes, my nose touching a rock dusted floor. My hands are covering my head as my spine jilts me forwards with spasms, every other second. Suddenly it stops; she kneels with watchfulness, a warm hand of hers takes a steep to my level. As if her hands can heal this hurt, I shoot up until her eternal tears reflecting in her eyes mirror the hell within mine. I run through the opened door, I run and run and I ran, through the branches and jagged stones that attack my feet’s bottom. I am brought down and down again by this inhumane famine pain, crashing me into plant life and rocks, that cut, spread blood and open me, I bleed on the elements. The clouds begin to brew in the sky with the dark colors of black, blues and purples; the ocean is the first to lose his temper throwing punches at the cliff side.

I lose ground as I come to an edge; I stare down, blackened razor-sharp fingers stick out from the water. If I end this now, I cannot have her. My world bypasses my eyes; it just sits in distortion, I know it’s still in motion but its gathering dust. My murderer’s breath is shared with the sea air.

“Life or death, neither would survive within me if only I had committed to my true nature.” I stand, giving guilt to the sky.

There is no one in sight, with a world so large and with so many born and walking, why do I live with this feeling of loneliness. My arms and eyelids seem heavy and my legs want to snap with my evil weight. I take a leap with no faith or effort; I fall towards the rocks, hoping for impalement. The clouds shift together and cover up the stars; this fall seems like forever to end.

I hit the rocks, no impalement, just immense pain, ripped and broken, half in the water and half not, unable to move. The water comes in and drags me with its waving hands, pulling me in with its shift then throwing me forward back into the rocks. Black…

I am awakened by screaming birds and a seething light that wheedles its way through an opening in the twig roofing. How did I get back home? It is peculiar, I feel normal as normal would give. I lift up my hands, clothed in dry blood. No, I couldn’t have, could I? Not Amyala. This is not possible; I was dying in the water. There is no way in this world’s hell I could have brought myself back from the brink of Hades. This maybe a dream or perhaps last night was a dream? Then whose blood is this. I thrash my hands all over my body to see if I was wounded, nothing. I sit up from my hay bed that has been bagged in cloth for a sleep. I climb off from the rustles, the floor was damp the house must have gained a leak as the roof wasn’t that able to hold off all the water because of the gaps. I peer around the corner in to the main room. Blood, red, insides, body parts, scarlet drips, Amyala was everywhere, nothing was recognizable. Her blood was in puddles on the floor and smears on the walls. The main wall to the hut had been reduced to rubble, only a demon from Hades could have done this diabolical act, It must have been me, I was that demon… Forgive me Amyala.

Chapter 8

I come back to the now. Still airborne from Verntros banquet, still with disgust for Verntro, to this day I ask for forgiveness from Amyala, she just never knew. A gust of wind slams against me, a cold fear was carried on it and it was coming from Kingston. My eyes fix and I shoot like a bolt towards the town, passing clouds and night birds, weaving through them. Once I reach the town, I slow just so I can either see the trouble or hear the screams.

“HELP!” A scream comes from a few narrow streets away. Chimneys are at full burn and make fake clouds; I land on a pubs roof, stepping on the edge, staring down at the street. I hear the hard breath of a woman; I run over to the other side and glance down, am I in time to do my job? A young woman has been cornered like a wild animal by two drunken poachers. They both are taunting her with their hands, trying to grab hold of her dress but she is strong and knows she must put up the fight.

“Get away from me, please, get….!” She fights with her words.

One man manages to get hold of her, he head butts her; she falls to the ground with a crack to the back of the head due to the cobbles, dazed eyes and blooded face. The two men circle and shadow her, staring at both of them, she knows their next move but which one will do the evil first? Both men look at each other with the idea of rape; one speedily kneels, already grunting to the idea of forced sex as holds the young woman’s arms down, while the other wriggles with his belt with one hand and with the other ripping and trying to pull up the woman’s dress.

She screams her hardest.

No more, I leap from the buildings top with opened arms with a somersault roll before I land a few yards from the culprits and the young woman. The man waiting his turn, picks his head up slowly to my direction, mouth opened with no teeth. He is kneeling, watching the war in my eye, the other man is still figuring out how to undo his belt buckle, so I am unnoticed by him. I run in for battle with so much rage in each footstep. The knelt man is shock-stunned to my advance, too bad he had no teeth as I kick him full pelt at the bottom part of his jaw, something’s broken, sending him flying from the ground like a paper ball, through a glass window of the pub. By this time I am seen by the other, he had finally gotten his trousers down to his ankles but after he had seen what I had done to his partner in crime, sex was off the menu for him.

He stands and about turns without lifting his feet, trying to gather his trousers up to his waist. I run after him, grabbing his jumper behind his neck and carrying him off in flight across the street, threw the opposite alleyway into the darkness, now he is the one who is screaming for help, I climb higher and higher and he cries harder. I am about half a mountain side up in the air when I let go, fear must have cut off his tongue as there was no scream going back down from him.

I stare back, is that woman in good health to make it home? I better check… I speed back to the alleyway where she laid and land on the street in front. She is still lying there, shaking. I stare closer as familiarity grips me. I know her, it is the street-walker from a few days ago, the one who propositioned me and I had told her this would happen. I will not gloat to her, she may remember my face and that is the last thing I need.

I pace up to her, she tries to shuffle away with the balls of her feet on the wet ground, through puddles.

“My dear, are you in health to make it back to your home by yourself?” I ask in a deepened voice.

She stops and looks at me queer, she nods, her lips quivers with the gash.

“Yes, I think so, yes… Are you going to kill me, like those men? Please, please don’t.” She says, with tears on her speech.

“You have nothing to fear, my dear, if I wanted you dead, I would have let the scum take you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Another nod, I bow back, my service is done. I stare back up to the sky and leave the ground, my long coat trails behind me, flickering like a rouge flame and cracking at my feet.

Bethany, if she knew me, the true me, she would not want to know me. I shouldn’t even try, one day she will die and I would be left with the lost gap again. It would save a lot of hassle if I just made sure I never went near her, let her live her life without the pain. She doesn’t need any trouble like that. And what would happen if one month I could not control myself and take her, like I did Amyala? A woman like that is not meant for such a fulfillment. Beth, stay away, you will be far safer…

I fly home, back to my guilt; back with Verntro’s circulating words, back to my world, back in the black…

Chapter 9

Sitting at the table, I should eat myself. When will I put this knife down trying to put an end to this endless life? Drunk spits at my mirrors reflections. Pick up your whiskey and toast to death. Congratulations, you are now evil. You can now let your soul fall from your mouth and lock it in a jar with no air, shake it and threaten it with fire. I need a sharper knife. You have opened your armor, dumb wittingly within the moonlight, showing this world a beast, and also your love within the same mouth. Howl at the sun to make sure there is no night. Spiral your fingers around your throat like a suicide snake. Lash another wrist. What came first in my life? Time or death, time or death, can’t have one without the other. I guess they come from the same cut.

A pleasant knock comes from the door.

“Maze, are you here?” Arthur softly asks.

“Yes, for the time being, but not for long.” I chuck my words.

I put my feet on my table and take another mouthful.

“There is a young woman at the door for you. She said her name is Beth. Do you know her?” He comes in closer.

“Tell her I am not up for visitors at this time, too ill with this world to make host today.”

“You have been drinking?” He exclaims as I pour another drink and down it in one.

“Vey observant, it doesn’t stop this pain, but it makes me numb to its jab.”

He walks in closer to with a shame shot from his eyes.

“I am going to tell you this because you know I care, let it go, stop feeling sorry for yourself, it does not become you. You have had more chances than anyone to conquer what is inside. Grow up, sober up. You can tell her that you do not wish to have her in your company yourself, she will be waiting downstairs.”

Arthur storms out the room with a thud of the door. I didn’t even look at him once and I won’t be chasing his shadow, just take another drink and deal with the problem of emotions that is waiting downstairs for you.

I stand at the top of the staircase with intentions of battling love on its own battle field. But I am so drunk I have to hold on to the banister to make sure it does not look that obvious.

“Miss Beth! How is one of my most favorite persons today?” I cheerfully shout.

“I am good, all the better to see you actually, Maze.” She says with her hands cupped at her waist.

I have beaten the mountain of stairs and all I must conquer now is to keep Beth still in my sight.

“Why is it better? Has this day produced something that any other could not? Have all your hopes and dreams come to pass? Or perhaps all of your enemies have been slain and slaughtered by another’s blade.”

“No, I am just doing some shopping for the house.”

“Ah Verntro, he is such a prick, don’t you think? He just lacks that push, you know, a push-off a cliff.” I stumble to the right.

“What is the matter with you?” She asks.

“Nothing is the matter with me; it is this world full of bastards that’s the problem.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Of course I am, wouldn’t you be when you live in such a place like this one?”

“Well perhaps I can change your view of this world and carry on our conversation from the other night.”

“No need. I know. I know what has to be done.” I slur more saliva than words and rub my sleeve over my mouth.

“And that would be?”

“Terrific question, see you’re so smart, so so smart. And the answer is… I can’t see you anymore or talk. You see we are two different people living in the same world.”

Her facial expressions change so drastically from happy to what is happening?

“You mean you’re rich and I am poor and you are afraid of what people may think. I knew it was a mistake coming here.”

“No! It is nothing like that; I’m just not allowed to love you. That is all. Just scratch me from your memory, it would be safer.”

“What do you mean you are not allowed to love?” She comes in closer for a feel of my hand.

“They made me so I could not love anyone, not allowed. Eventually it’s taken from me.”

“What? Who are they, Maze? You are the richest and most powerful person to ever step foot on this world; you should not be intimidated by those who are not here now.”

I fall to my knees, this heap suits me good as I try to cry.

“You just don’t understand. You don’t, do you? Please just go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“For now I will go, and when you have lost your drunkenness I will not be far, you hear me?” She let’s go of my hand and walks to and through the door. Please come back. I didn’t tell you I need you. Even for a wee while. Save me, save me, please. Black.

(The other chapters are below:)

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