Blurbs

Blurb; noun:

  1. a short excerpt from a longer media
  2. an full or partial idea of a written work

Just a thought...

When it’s dark...are the white dots I see gradients of color my eyes don’t have the capacity to view?

Does that mean those who are more capable of seeing in the dark can comprehend more color pigments that others?

Supernaturally, would that imply someone could potentially be more prone to paranormal visions; working slightly similar to ultraviolet lights on recording devices?

That would also work as a scientific explanation for fictional creatures to have better eye sight than normal humans as it could all be traced back to each individual’s ability to perceive color.

I Had a Dream About a Mob

“Welcome to our establishment. We’ve heard so much about you three and are delighted you’ve come to hear our proposal.”

One smiled warmly.

One sighed, bored.

One stared.

“Yes, well, before we proceed, mother asks that we come to a bit of an arrangement so, if things don’t work out, nothing...regretful is done.”

“Is that a threat?” Bored turned into bloodlust. Things could go south fast.

“Of course not, it’s simply insurance for both parties to ensure no irredeemable decisions are made. On our part as well as yours. A simple agreement.”

“Okay, what is this “agreement”?“ The smile never faltered. It was much easier to deal with.

“Just your signatures on this here contract promising to protect our dearest mother. As you’ve no doubt heard, the threats and close-calls have been increasing and we’re not willing to risk certain lives for anything; even as world-changing as this opportunity. We can discuss such possibilities after we’ve gotten past this condition.”

One seemed to be in agreement.

One huffed in annoyance at the lengthy conversation.

One just stared.

The quiet one was...unnerving.

Pulling his collar, the leader kept his eyes from emerging that piercing gaze. Rather, he shifted his attention to the two on each side of it. His lackeys shifted in their seats on his flank, unnerved.

“Once this page is signed, we’ll be ready to proceed.” He pulled the paper out of his left grunt’s hand and slid it to the center of the table. An ink pen soon followed. “Whenever you’re ready to move onto more interesting business...”

The smiling one nodded and reached for the paper, only to have it pulled away suddenly, but the expression didn’t shift. Waiting paid off as, after a second, the paper was shoved back into range. It was taken and signed in loopy letters.

The angry one muttered a few choice words about this being “boring as all hell” and “just get it over with” as he snatched and scribbled harshly on the page before shoving it away.

The empty one didn’t move.

As the paper was being signed, the boss stood with a big smile towards the more pleasant of his visitors and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now that all the hard work is out of the way, let’s get to some entertainment before the others show up.”

Movement filled the room and the same grunt to give the paper was takes with retrieving it once the table had cleared. The boss walked with an arm around the shoulders of ‘the happy one’ (his head deemed) while the two others followed close behind; their entourage ending with the two grunts.

They arrived at a mostly-empty theatre with a large stage and several scatters of tables/chairs. It was dim, but the lights on the stage were still dark.

The group stepped purposefully over to one of the front tables but, just as the boss pulled out a chair for his visitor, something stilled him.

“Hey, We’re sitting over here!” It was a bark for all intents and purposes.

“Oh, alright!” Came the lighthearted reply.

Still caught off guard by the change in plans, the boss simply stood unresponsive as the man he’d had his arm around slipped away towards the other two who’d chosen a table in one of the darker front-corners. Where they could watch the crowd, but couldn’t be seen.

“Is this gonna be a problem?” The growl was a threat and no one was going to bother saying otherwise.

“We can move there if you insist, but we’d feel more comfortable over here.” That was about as nice of an offer as they were going to get without a fight.

The third one simply sat down and watched them interact.

“O-of course, of course! My apologies for assuming. I went for the best seat in the house without asking your go-to first. Please, forgive me and feel free to choose whatever table suites your fancy.”

“Thanks!”

“That’s what I thought.”

The answers came at simultaneously, but so vastly different. These three were, interesting, if nothing else.

A quiet conversation started up at the table once all three sat down. The boss couldn’t hear anything specific, but he did notice that the quiet one move his hands. Perhaps he was a mute, though the boss didn’t know any sign language to confirm that theory.

As much as he’d like to keep an eye on these three, he had more work to do. “Glad you boys are comfortable. I’m gonna be off for a bit to get everything ready to proceed with the evening, but if you need anything at all, you just holler.”

One nodded with a thankful grin.

One rolled his eyes and waved him away.

One simply watched him as he exited the room.

Creepy.

————

The moment the room was empty, the three continued their conversation.

“This is a nice room. It was great that Mr. Tanner agreed with us switching tables. I don’t think we’d be as relaxed in the middle on the room.”

“Not like we gave him a choice. I’m not going to just follow his orders; I’m no grunt. Plus, if he starts getting on our nerves now, he’s gonna have to work harder to get us to agree to anything else.”

“I wonder what he’s going to propose? After signing that contract about his mom, I’m curious what else he’s going to ask.”

“Whatever it is, he’s going to have to do more convincing to get me to sign it. I don’t like being a lapdog to Mark Tanner’s mommy. Protecting her is annoying enough.”

“I didn’t sign it.”

Two pairs of eyes were cast worryingly across the room as if expecting some eavesdropper no one noticed. Unsurprisingly, the room was empty save for them. After that confirmation, the words spoken finally settled.

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed. Why not? Did you not get a chance? We left the room pretty quick after I signed.”

“What do you mean you didn’t sign it!? I thought you said to agree with this guy so we could have more opportunities to...you know. I thought signing was the plan!”

“I’m sure he had a good reason if we let him explain.”

“I read it.”

...

“What the hell is that supposed to me you “read it”? If it wasn’t what the guy said it was, why did you let us sign it?!

Couldn’t.”

“We did grab it rather quickly...and if you’d read it and outwardly refused, we’d be in a bind. Sorry, Cal, next time we’ll wait for you.”

“Whatever. I’m not going to take blame when you should have sa-“ his words cut of abruptly with the sharp look his always-happy brother shot him. “Right. Sorry, Cal.”

There was a silent shrug, but his head was down and neither brother could see his expression; or lack thereof.

“If you didn’t sign it, don’t you think they’ll notice soon? Should we leave?”

“I’m fine with tapping out. This whole meet-up is boring anyway. We’ll swipe that contract on the way and rip it to shreds. Nor harm no foul.”

“We should stay.”

A loud sigh followed the answer. “Fine. As long as things pick up a bit. This sitting around in making me want to kill things.”

*a.n.- will probably, maybe do something with this at some point. Possibly. I don't make promises*

The hero has to win every battle.

The villain only had to win once.

And I am done losing.

Maybe there's more than one mask. Maybe not.

The deafening noise of the party muted as he closed the heavy door. His back thudded against the door, head soon following. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and let it out, soaking up what little peace he could find.

Muted as it was, the pulse of the music remained audible with an unsteady beating that shook the floor beneath him. He sighed in slight defeat and opened his eyes, curious as to where exactly he’d ended up.

The room was bare, a foyer, he guessed. With his back to the entrance, he faced another door that was built under stairs. Oddly enough, that was it. An entire room dedicated to the stairs and a small closet under them.

Pushing himself off the door, he slowly made his way over to the cupboard and noticed something off. The doorknob looked exactly like the doorknob he’d just used to come into this room.

He turned around to confirm that the knob on the inside of his escape-door was actually different than it should have been. Someone had switched the knobs. Weird.

It took little effort to pull the small door open when it’s knob didn’t fit the latch and it wasn’t any more of a challenge to continue exploring.

Inside the cupboard, though, was nothing more than an old, wooden chest sitting innocently at the back of the small space. Upon trying to open it, he found it locked and let out another sigh. So much for finding something interesting.

“And what do you thing you’re doing?”

The sharp words startled him enough that he jumped as he flung himself around to face the threat. Heart still hammering, he exhaled with his hands on his hips and a breathless laugh.

“You scared me.”

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, the newcomer observed the scene he stumbled upon. “Why are you trying to poke into things you shouldn’t be?”

Evan cast a look around him as understanding broke through. “This is yours...sorry I didn’t really think about it. I was just trying to get away from that-“ he gestured to the pounding door “-and got curious.”

“Sounds perfectly believable,” Mark said, dripping with sarcasm. His voice hardened again. “Let me sate you’re curiosity by saying there is nothing but boots in that chest. Now, then, we have a celebration to get back to and you have admirers who have been, no doubt, searching high and low since the moment you slipped away.”

“Yeah,” Evan agreed, disheartened.

This response caught the attention of the other. “Are you not enjoying yourself?” He scoffed. “Not enough action for you? Maybe you’d rather be out causing fights and wreaking havoc.” His words were harsh and meant to offend, but he’d expected the boy to glare or snap back or even agree. He didn’t expect the falling of shoulders and thick air of depression to emanate.

“Yeah,” he said again, weaker. Evan didn’t bother trying to hide his emotions, but it went without argument that it felt weird to be open with the once-rival. “You’re right. Sorry for wandering around your place.” He didn’t make eye contact as he passed by the taller man, but he didn’t gesture back to the cupboard. “The doorknob is broken.”

“What?” Mark blinked and, upon closer inspection, the boy was right. Who could have done that?

Hearing the other sound so confused, Evan turned back. “Want me to fix it? I’m a good handy-man.”

Suspicion creeped back into narrowed eyes as Mark regarded the boy. “And why exactly would you help me? What’s in it for you?”

Thin shoulders shrugged before dropping back into their slump. “Aren’t we all on the same team now?”

“Ah, I see. You’re only trying to keep me complacent to your ideals and decisions by catering to me and racking up debt in my name. No, I’d rather try to fix it myself.”

Mark’s scathing comment was met with confusion. “What are you talking about? I just offered to fix a doorknob.”

“Did you really?” His words were laced with disbelief and pride, but still, the boy didn’t react to them. Was this really the same kid who’d been so determined and righteous as to go head to head against him?

“Yes.”

The answer was simple and, to be honest, a bit lifeless. Mark couldn’t find it in himself to turn him down. His hand raised towards the closet door. “Then go right ahead.”

Evan nodded and retrieved the misplaced doorknob before turning towards the closet. He made quick work of replacing the correct knob and tightening the loose screw as best he could with his fingers. “Ta-da,” he said without inflection in his voice.

Mark stood silently, watching the boy move to return the doorknob in his hands to the entrance and fit it into place.

His hand remained on the door as a sign sunk his posture even farther. He really didn’t want to go back out there.

“Where did you learn to do that?”

It was a stupid question and Mark didn’t know why he’d asked it, but there was an aching feeling in his stomach demanding that the boy stay here.

Evan moved away from the door to face him, all evidence of the depression gone and a small, patient smile in its place. “I taught myself, I guess.”

“Broke too many doorknobs to replace? I assume your parents have gone bankrupt keeping up with your destruction.

The smile never wavered, but something in the boy’s expression instilled in Mark a heavy guilt.

The man sighed, uncomfortable with the odd feeling in the room. “I apologize. I shouldn’t try to antagonize you. We are allies, after all.”

Still, that smile remained. “Can I tell you a secret?” Even asked softly.

Caught off guard, it took Mark a moment to respond. With a slow nod. “Are you so sure I can be trusted with anything? It’s not like we’ve been honest with each other before.”

“You said it yourself,” Evan said. “We’re allies now.” He moved closer to the stairs and gestured for the man to follow him as he sat on one of the steps. It’s was a bit quieter. Perfect for quiet conversations.

Once Mark had taken a seat beside him, Evan began to fiddle with the bands on his arms.

“You know,” he said absently, “I never wanted to fight you. It’s funny, how someone’s parents’ battle becomes their own. A kid’d do anything to follow in the footsteps of people better than them, even if they don’t really want to grow up to be the same. They just want to make their parents proud and to prove that they’re worth all the trouble they cause.”

Mark staying silent, absorbing every slow admittance being uttered from the boy he thought at one point was his enemy. The puzzle pieces that were being shifted into place were revealing a...frightening picture, but he let the boy continue.

“I was so excited to tell them about my abilities. I didn’t even know what they were or how they worked, I just couldn’t wait to show them how useful I could be. They worked so hard and I was tired of being a burden. I wanted to help. That’s all.” Evan let out a bitter laugh. “Who knew that they were just looking for a target. All things considered, I made them proud. Don’t you think? I mean, you were fooled.”

He’d finally removed the brace from his wrist and began to roll the sleeve up his arm to reveal white bandages.

Mark sat for a moment wondering when their last row was and if he’d landed an attack on the boy’s wrist, but it was hard to consider when his mind was whirling with the new information. The heavy feeling in his stomach had solidified to a stone.

That stone became an anchor when the unrolled bandages revealed thin, purposeful marks cast from the boy’s wrist and up to his elbow; some scared several times over, others scabbed, a few still bleeding.

He didn’t consider his actions as he gently snatched the limb and pulled it to himself. Whether he did it to get a better look, confirm this wasn’t a nightmare, or to protect it from further harm; he wasn't sure.

Evan continued talking as if he hadn’t just uncovered something so important. “It was fun at first, feeling useful, feeling worthy. I can’t really remember when that changed. When fights- our fights -became more one-sided. I just...I don’t want to fight anymore. I never did to begin with. I’ve hurt people and, you’re right, I break everything I touch. I don’t want to,” another heavy laugh, “isn’t it ironic that the more power I got, the less power I had? The more control I built over my abilities, the less control I had over everything else? That’s what irony is, isn’t it?”

A small sound escaped when the boy took his next breath and Mark’s wide eyes caught a tear running down the boy’s thin cheek. Gods, how had he never notice how small his rival was?

The whole thing seemed like nothing out of the ordinary in the beginning.

An unsteady stream of rain escaping the clogged gutters over the window.

Occasional clicks and pops down the dark hall.

A methodical huff every time the cat exhaled.

Fairly distant gunshots coming in sets of six.

None of that worked to disrupt the normality of the weeknight.

The rumbling, however, drew attention to itself. It came, at first, in a low and easily ignored pulse, but didn’t remain that way. When next it sounded, it was louder or closer maybe.

More gunshots broke through the anticipating silence followed by the new auditory interruption. But this time, there were far more gunshots and the windows shook with the growing growl.

By the time any alarm had been raised, the once written-off grumble had become a fully formed roar, getting less and less distant. That and the gunshots.

Something was coming.

Traits

This is a 3-part blurb, so I stuck them together.

Your Trait is Intellect

Enhancing what you already know by accelerating thought processes.

For example:

You’re locked in a room with a single door and a task-find the key.

This room is an office or study, if you will, containing a wall of bookshelves, a large portrait over an unlit fireplace, several table and chairs, and an ornate desk.

With your objective at the forefront of your mind, Intellect sweeps over the room like a visual scanner for your eyes only. The room is divided into colors.

It’s easy to surmise that the tables, chairs, and fireplace would not be adequate hiding spots for a key so these areas are tinted monochromatically; set aside.

This leaves the portrait, the bookshelves, and the desk to inspect.

You focus on the desk. The two former fade ever-so slightly into the background.

Intellect provides clear data about the desk in seconds that might otherwise take several minutes to compile.

Such as: one of the four drawers requires a key.

Two of the remaining drawers contain average office materials made obvious by the ink and lead marks along the one as if repeatedly opened with a pen in hand. The other has the corner of a paper sticking out of the edge at an angle that confirms it to be sat atop a flat pile of similar pages. These two drawers are immediately plunged into shades of black and white.

While it is unlikely that this puzzle include more than one key to solve, inconclusive evidence keeps the locked drawer in mind.

The final drawer sits at the lowest point, touching the floor and deeper than the afore mentioned. Further study shows the drawer is seldom used and would likely hold unnecessary, larger items that don’t hold much significance to their owner. This drawer is dismissed.

A quick glance at top of the desk reveals nothing more than a calendar that sits flush on the surface, so it is also discolored by the Trait.

Possible locations for the key are now: the portrait, the bookshelves, or the one locked drawer of the desk.

You choose the portrait next.

This observation goes much quicker when you notice the heavy frame, the spotless edges, and slight off-alignment it sits at. With a weighted frame, any movement it makes would scuff the wall around it or knock it off of its single point it hangs on. Conclusion: there is no key hidden behind the portrait.

Locations are narrowed down to the drawer and the bookshelves.

Your Trait notices two details that stand out beyond your first survey. Despite a regular dusting, several books are clearly used more frequently than the rest. And, while the books are arranged into series as well as author, there is no specific method of organization to follow.

Three books, however, are noticeably out of place. One is a part of a trilogy that sits several tomes away. Another is a full case apart from other books by the same author. A third towers over every other book on its shelf even with books in similar size segregated to the tier above it.

Further data is needed.

Intellect focuses on the first. It is in the same group of novels as the other parts to the story and doesn’t stand apart from the second of its author. It’s set firmly in place with the hint of a bookmark peeking out of the middle. It must have been put back after a quick chapter. Disqualified.

The second book looks worn. Odd for such an off-place novel that has seen so much handling. Separated from others by the author, it doesn’t stand out as much as it should. One would think a tome so heavily used would, after being retrieved so often, make it back to its place rather easily. Considered.

Finally, the tall book, while out of place in its spot amongst shorter surroundings, remains in the group of author it’s meant to. It also appears to be in the midst of a series it shares a title font with. Disqualified.

Current progress: the book contains a key either to the door or to the desk drawer where a second key will be found.

With your discoveries, the world fades back into full color, only a few seconds passing in real-time.

Upon opening the book, the pages willingly fall open to reveal an old, rusted key that is notionally smaller than the door’s lock.

The key fits perfectly into the desk drawer where a larger, silver key sits among several belongings that must have some measure of importance to their owner.

Your freedom is granted when the silver key unlocks the door.

*a.n.- I like to think I'm smart*

Your Trait Is Self-Preservation

Giving you every means available to ensure you survive.

For example:

You are running for your life.

The environment you find yourself in is one far more fit for an athlete than for you. Stairs stretch farther up than you can see. Doors line each floor with a short distance between each implying little to no hiding spots. And no clear exit.

You have nothing on your person to use in defense.

Assailers are approaching fast.

Your Trait provides options by, within a millisecond, plotting out courses for you to take.

In this scenario, let’s say it finds three.

The first has you running up the stairs and, using data provided, hoping the light cast from the upper levels is an accessible exit. This option is swiped away when it ends with a jump to your death. There’s no way that light is coming from anything but a window.

Second option is quickly dismissed when it offers you a chance to use the combat skills you have gained any confidence in. At times, this Trait requires manual management as flight or flight can be narrow-minded.

Your final choice utilizes the doors you can see. While they may be small and lacking proper cover, the doorway will funnel your pursuers enough to make them slightly more manageable in worse come to worse. If not, choosing a door at random may be what it takes to throw them off. It would also give you more time to come up with another plan.

So that’s what you do.

Self Preservation makes sure all probabilities of the door you choose are in your favor. No one would think to check this specific door first, but it’s within auditory range of several other more obvious options in hopes of hearing the search begin before being discovered.

You shut the door to your hideaway the second they arrive. There is nothing more than a bed and dresser in this room, but you make the best with what you have and crouch behind the dresser. You’d first think to choose under the bed, but your Trait shows a clear picture of you being immediately spotted and unable to get out fast enough.

Their footsteps pound past your door, assuming you’d made a break for the upper levels.

The moment the final pair of boots is on the next floor, your Trait provides your options.

Three more choices.

One: stay where you are and hope help comes before you’re discovered. They’ll realize once they reach the top that you’ve chosen to hide. It will only be a matter of time before your door is chosen. It won’t be the first, but even being the last night be too soon. Maybe.

Two: choose another door. They haven’t started searching yet, but the farther up they get, the less likely they are to think you’ve made it to the top levels. Choosing a door up higher and waiting for them to begin searching on the bottom floor would provide an opportunity to sneak up the to top and find another exit. Maybe.

Three: use the time you’ve been given to sneak out now. You came in through the door on the first level and know the way out from that point. There is a possibility of stragglers, but you picked up on several figures passing your hiding spot. Anyone left behind would be either by themselves or with one other. Maybe.

Unable to choose, your Trait takes away your ability to and forces you into motion.

Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

It takes you out of the room on light steps and soundlessly rushes you out of the building and back into the hallway.

No one is waiting for you as you sprint towards safety.

Your Trait releases control when you see the familiar faces of those who can protect you.

Your Trait Is Determination

Considered the strongest achievable, this Trait enables you to conquer anything you set your mind to.

However, it requires self-determination.

It is the only Trait with anything more than prerequisites. Lapse in this Trait are known to demote it to Bravery or Ornery.

You can’t just be. You must stay.

An example of this Trait:

You’re faced with a challenge; a puzzle, though you’ve never been the best at them, you must complete before your teammates can be set free.

You are determined to save them.

Several attempts fail and you are left searching for other options, retrying most of your first guesses to no avail.

You think of your friends and you are filled with Determination.

Your Trait empowers you with strength, bravery, and optimism as you stand before the obstacle once again.

Failure lingers, but you are stubborn. You keep trying until you gain understanding and, soon after, the upper-hand.

With victory in sight, you find your Trait swelling up inside you and pushing you to succeed.

You do.

Your team slips through the enemy’s fingers.

You’re filled with Determination.

Fix This

*a.n. - based off of / another take on "Chaos Comes Easier" (located further down), but can be its own thing. A bit of a downer.*

I want to forget. God, I need to forget; to escape these claws that are tearing at my brain!

All the hate. The rage. The blame. The fear. It’s all aimed at me and it burns! It hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before; like nothing I could’ve ever imagined. 

I’ve tried. So hard. I’ve tried, but nothing helps; nothing works; nothing I do can ever fix what they’ve broken. 

I want it to stop! I need it to stop...it...won’t just stop...it keeps beating- pulsing -and I don’t want it to!

I can’t! I want to...I want to, but I...can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I...I ca...I can’t do anything right.

That’s why I need you! You can do it - you can finish this in a way I never could!

Please. 

Please, I’m begging you to make it stop. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be this anymore. I never wanted to do this; I never wanted to become this; I never...I never wanted...

I never wanted to hurt anyone.

I wanted to be better.

Please.

I wanted to be better.

Random Poem

His eyes are windows 

weathered by age;

showing the monkey bars

he grew up climbing.

Summer playgrounds,

dancing in sunsets,

shining with mischief.

 

His hands are tools

wrinkled by the rain;

scarred with reminders

that would never go away.

Sword fighting with sticks,

falling to the ground,

building his childhood.

 

His smile is laughter

still playing on his face;

happiness marked in lines

like the age on a tree.

Jokes shared in abundance,

pranks in good health,

friends being friends.

 

His heart is memory

that he shares freely;

his family old and new

treasured all the same.

Loved ones,

hugs and kisses,

time well spent.

Fun With Stanzas

It was horror standing there in the clearing.

Ashes surrounded hide dark as night

as it set fire to everything it touched.

I was a coward; hiding behind bushes 

not yet scorched

by the fire’s ever stretching reach.

Eager flames licking; relentless at the edges

of the forest- once so lush .

Its creator prepared for more.

Memory began stumbling through mind.

Actions returned to view

to remind me of grave mistakes

Heat came searing across my face behind my shield.

No longer was my barricade protecting.

The death toll mounted.

Brave soldiers shouting in the clearing

clothed in armor; armed with steel

stood firm against their enemy.

Only death was awaiting them there,

hidden behind gleaming scales.

They suffered by its hand.

Alone. Suffocating by graves

darkened by hell’s kiss.

I hid no longer.

Fear and rage forcing me to rise

in the destruction of my lost friends.

I made my final stand.

Resignation moved me toward the beast.

Dragon scales dark as hate.

It laughed as I burned.

Prison Guard

Up and down I trace;

row after row of cells.

I go slowly, this is no race;

a march to the prison bells.

Their mantra is as usual,

“I didn’t do it!” “I’m innocent!”

after causing someone’s funeral.

Here they'll stay 'til time's spent.

More often than not comes

the threat of their revenge,

but the fear long since numbs;

I ignore their promised avenge.

I whistle a tune or hum a song

up and down the rows of cage.

I wander around till I come along

my favorite prison sage.

He was here before even I,

who have worked my life away.

I’ll be honest, I will not lie,

I’ve listened to what he had to say.

His words are soft, kind, and sure;

offering advice or a tale.

I’ve no idea what he’s in here for,

but he’s most noble in this jail.

Chaos comes easier.

You want to know something funny? I always wanted to be a hero.

To be the one who jumped in front of a speeding car to save the old lady crossing the street. The one who dived headfirst into an ocean to rescue the overconfident cliff jumper. Burst out of a burning building with a child in my arms.

I’ve always desired that feeling of fulfillment, knowing I’d done something no one else could.

I’d have done it for someone else’s benefit and been left with no regret. I would have waved away reporters naming my heroism for what it was and focused on the smiling faces of those whose fate I changed.

I’d never have done it for myself, but I longed for that warmth in my chest I’ve heard others talk about when reminiscing their good deeds.

Of course, I’m not a natural when it comes to goodness.

The car I stopped, the woman was injured when I couldn’t stop it fast enough leaving me with the blame.

The cliff jumper didn’t want to be saved. A lack of confidence did not send them over the edge.

The child...turns out I’m more resistant to fire. I did not make it out of the flames in time. I’d never seen the face of a mourning mother before.

I wanted to save people. I did.

But chaos comes easier.

I know I’ll never feel that glowing smile I’d try to hide behind a face of humility when being thanked for something I’d done. That warm feeling could never break through the ice everyone has built around me.

I won’t understand why my actions were never good enough, but I do understand that they were.

Plus, there’s less of a price to pay when there’s nothing relying on me. When no one believes in me anyway.

Why fight it, after all? If I was created a shade darker than everyone else, I don’t see much of a point in pretending to be someone I could never live up to.

So, if no one wants my help, I’ll give them someone else.

I’ll be the villain in this story.

You want to save them; to be the hero? Go ahead, I won’t challenge you for the title. Of course, I’m not going to make your job any easier.

They wanted an antagonist and they got one. Made from their own oversight and selfishness. What better evil could you face than one your precious people created for you?

it all begins in a field

Perfection is its only description. Soft grass speckled with boundless colors of flowers stretching on to the eternity past trees that seclude this safe haven. Lush, full-bloom leaves surround the endless-cloudless-blue sky reflecting breathless peace that has so often been sought. Nothing left to be desired as even the bark of the encompassing towers and the brush of foliage at their base are so full of life that any bearing witness can only be humbled.

A friendly breeze brushes across your skin as picturesque as the fresh scent of untouched nature it carries. Songs of dancing blades of grass and playful leaves fill the air with the smile you cannot wipe from you face.

Your heart is lifted from your chest as if pulled by the very call of Serenity that is so plentiful in this place.

The wind urges you to dance, lifting your hair from your shoulders and cascading around you to teach you the rhythm; following its own lead into circles, twirls, light leaps into the pillowing grass. Laughter escapes the calming silence for a time before you realize it is your own, but this world joins each steady breath until the very sky rings with Happiness.

With a single breath it is gone and the once companionable, whispering breeze falls away as you are left alone.

But you are not.

You had not seen her before; so caught up in relief you must have been and yet you know better. She had not always been there- standing before you across the clearing. Barefooted in a white dress that caught in the air at her knees; her brown hair flitted around her as it fell in lengths down her back. Something in you longed to see her face though it was bent into a bouquet of flowers that could only have come from such a place as this.

As if reaching to your unsaid calling, her eyes- you find they are the blue of the sky as night falls –lift to meet your own.

In that moment; everything stops.

Frozen in time as with the wind, the bouncing leaves, the waving grass and fawning flowers; you cannot break the spell.

She blinks and the world is restarted again.

But this is not the place you once were.

Where there were once welcoming trees that whistled with the playful breeze; there was not only an impenetrable barricade of fire. The flames burst out in every direction and licked at the ground in a perfect circle around the both of you. Grass that felt as if you walked on air began to harden, crumble at the heat’s continuous waves; discolored and wilting as the darkened flowers that couldn’t last. Air became as thick as the smoke that swallowed the sky in a whirl of clouding darkness.

You found yourself catching your breath on the stench of death and decay that fire sought as companions, but your sight of the girl was never interrupted.

Nor was her piercing gaze. It, instead, bore deeply into your eyes as if she was searching for the soul inside you.

It was comforting. A feeling of Companionship calmed you in this maelstrom of hate and cruelty pressing in around you; like even now, surrounded, you were not alone.

A tentative smile ghosted on your face to pull the edges of dried lips. It was becoming hot, oppressive, heavy, hard to breathe and yet she remained- loyal -by your side.

Hesitantly, she seems tempted to return the assurance, the slightest of twitches at her mouth's corner, but a movement within the writhing, burning flower behind her catches your eyes and the shift brings with it a sudden Fear.

No other warning can prepare you for the horror following such a simple revelation. The billowing flames part for sharp, cruel claws; their color only found in the heartless black of shadows.

Shouts of warning shove forcefully against the cement brick in your throat. Legs are locked in place, unable to move forward. Tears form in your eyes from the building smoke pulling the breath from your lungs in turn with the unstoppable situation unfolding before you.

You watch. Her fear becomes palpable as she bursts into movement.

The bouquet- the only remaining proof of the heaven taken from you -is thrown to the ground with the first step she sets towards you. Hands now free to reach stretch to you.

Flames eagerly swallow the ground she leaves behind with each lifted foot. Bare feet race the merciless coals in a desperation that is all too plain on her face.

The darkness follows; it’s warped claws teasing the edges of her dress as the fabric withers at its touch.

Blue eyes become magnified behind the tears forming with the pleas cried out to you in the uninterrupted silence. The roaring thunder remains prevalent as her voice is buried in its malicious chant.

An unfamiliar hand lifts from you in an aborted stretch towards hers; breath caught in witnessing what lies ahead. Pulse rising, painfully pressing your very heart against the ribs encasing it. You can’t reach her. You can’t hear her. You can’t speak to her.

You can’t save her.

Nothing can.

The relentless shadow coils around her ever reaching form.

Her hand is mere inches from what must be your own.

The searing burn is closing in around you.

Darkness has her in its grasp and you are helpless to the pure terror in that gaze; the waterfall of tears.

Time stops again.

Her voice remains soundless in the nothingness, but you can read the plea on her dry lips.

I don't want to go.

She is torn away into the fire that bares no mercy to the screams echoing around you. Her absence extinguishes the fire in an instant sweep of wind.

What follows fire is ice.

Shivering at the suddenly frigid air, you spin frightened eyes around you at the wasteland that has been left behind.

Frozen shards hang in dangerous spikes from barren branches of dead wood encompassed by twisted vines prickled with thorns. An empty, voided sky of gray falls into the biting fog trapping you in its senseless grasp as it casts its own monotonous- almost blinding -gray. Grass blackened and cutting, blanketed by frost presses sharply into your feet.

Hopeless. Empty.

There is nothing here for you.

Silence grips your heart even as it gasps for air covered by your trembling hands attempting to guard the beating warmth; the only sign of life in this void. Quiet, Endless, Punishing, Painful, Scourging-your-very-soul, Deafening, Silence.

Nothing.

But that’s not true. There’s a light; color in the torturing emptiness.

The bouquet.

It lie abandoned on the frozen floor and yet, you can so easily recall the fire greedily devouring it before the first leaf could brush the ground.

You don’t know what calls you to it and cannot resist the pull urging you to lightly grasp the untouched stems that had once been engulfed inflames.

As you reach for the sole color in the gray wasteland, you once again catch sight of the unfamiliar hand that is your own along with the white dress, singed at its edges just above your knees. Bare. soot-covered feet shift to lift you from your bend; flowers in hand.

They are just as beautiful as you remember. Your mind drifts longingly back to the fading meadow before another shiver harshly forces you back into the silence-silence-endless-silence.

Tighter, your grip clutches the memory of what once was; what you would do anything to return to.

Your heart steadies when you heed the call to breathe. Hints of what the breeze first carried teases your senses and you thoughtlessly bury your nose in the colors. Letting your tears water them.

Close your eyes. Maybe you’ll remember. Maybe it’s not lost. Maybe you’re not lost too.

Too soon- too soon to have remembered please let me remember -there is an interruption of the forced haven you created that causes your attention to shift.

It is with merely a peak that you cast your glance ahead; unwilling to fully let go of the stolen memory of only slightly tainted nature still swirling in you lungs.

She is there. Where you once stood. She is there.

You are not alone.

Your mind can barely recall what that Loyalty and Companionship felt like, but you held tightly to those whispers as you did the flowers in your hand.

But they were no longer there.

Frantic eyes find them almost instantly in her hold.

Betrayal.

Black and writhing and confusing and why.

There is nothing in her midnight blue gaze that reflected the sun setting in yours. No innocent joke. No explanation. No remorse. No mirthful laughter. No hateful glare. No. No No. Nothing.

But why? You don’t understand. You can't understand. You don't want to.

As if to feed the rising Panic within you while facing what you didn’t know you feared, the fire returned with heat and rolling thunder to shame its previous visit.

Hatred fueled the twisting, rigid flames. It filled your heart in the hole Betrayal created by shattering your Hope.

You felt the unbridled Rage cast fury into your gaze. It consumed you completely.

Almost.

Hope is not so easily crushed.

But Maybe it should be.

Anger faded into Regret, but that faded even faster as shadows caught the edges of your tear-blurred vision. Realization hit you as hard, if not more so than the suffocating hold of the warped hand that now had you in its grasp.

Screams tore from your throat as you cried out for the one you once trusted. Hope fought with such ferocity, it put your own bid for freedom to shame.

Struggling with everything you have despite the absence of the air that had always been there for you.

The coiling shadows were relentless in your capture even as you reached towards what you prayed was salvation, tears being dried before even leaving your eyes.

She stands emotionless. Her once expressive eyes empty; observant as she kept a light grip on the bouquet.

You are drug towards the unknown behind you.

The world is devoured by the Hatred that is stealing you away.

You're torn off your feet at you last effort to escape and are pulled into the searing reds and oranges and yellows.

She watches.

Then she speaks.

The world ends with her voice and becomes darkness.

Nothing surrounds you; void in every direction. Soundless. Scentless. Sightless. Silent. Touching only air. No heat. No cold. No breeze.

Numb...

All that is left is gone...Numb.

Her words come back to you even as you drift.

Don’t worry. You’re already dead.

Numb.