Death watches over us

Boris stood in the shade and looked out over the field. This was his domain, his kingdom. He ruled with an iron fist, everyone followed his words and did what he said. Life was good for Boris, it was good to be king.

The shade of the tree protected Boris from the sun's harsh rays. His tail flicked only slightly, it seemed that even the cow flies knew better than to bother the king. Boris looked out over his herd, surveying his subjects. As the bull, they all had to obey him. He led them where he wanted to go. Whether to the stream, or to the tree, they followed him. Maybe tomorrow he would go to the far corner of his kingdom. "Yes," he thought, "I want some of the sweet clovers that grow there." His herd would be in for a sweet treat tomorrow. He was such a good ruler.

Bending his head down to graze a little, he saw the shadows flick by. The bane of his existence. He tried to ignore them, maybe they would go away today. Although, he had his doubts. Boris knew that there was only a slight possibility of this happening, and yet he still hoped.

Sure enough, they didn't go anywhere. As Boris continued to munch on his cud, he heard them call out, "Oh, Kingie-Poo, How are you? Do you feel that old age creeping up on you?" Boris really wasn't old for a bull, but he wasn't young either. He was still fertile, managing 43 calves this season, with 23 bulls. Boris was proud of his prowess. Some of the cows were real cows, and it was all Boris could do to do his kingly duties and service them. But he didn't like it any. "Sigh, the duties of a king," he thought morosely.

But the taunting didn't end there, those vultures liked to draw blood, so to speak. Boris knew the taunting wasn't over, he was doing his best to ignore it. "Hey, Bull-King, don't eat so much, you will get fat and die from a heart attack. That will do us no good, we like a good heart!" Boris swallowed hard. "Damn," he muttered. Now he couldn't finish eating without more taunts about being fat.

Boris didn't think that he was fat, but he was real sensitive to criticism. Which is why those vultures taunted him. They knew it would piss him off eventually, and then they would roll in hysterics while he just got madder and stormed off. "And the problem with storming off," Boris thought, "was that the only place he could go in his kingdom where they wouldn't bother him was out to the arid land. The middle of his domain, where no trees grew and no water ran. The grass was always dry and brittle from the constant exposure to the sun and other elements. It was always so hot there, Boris' delicate skin just didn't do well with lots of sunlight. It got all dry and ragged. Which then became more fodder for those damn birds when he did retreat to the comfort of the shade. They would just taunt him endlessly.

Boris sat there, staring at the ground, listening to their jeers. The vultures were going on and on about how if Boris didn't eat, then he would waste away to nothing and die, and kind of meal that would be for them. Boris sometimes wished he was deaf, so he could just shut them out. You couldn't win with those two. If you did one thing you were wrong, but if you did the opposite, you were still wrong.

Boris wondered how he was going to get rid of those vultures. He lowered his head and ripped up a mouthful of grass. He pondered this issue as he chewed. "Oh," he whined inside, "if only I could get rid of those two, then life would be so much better."

To be continued....

The Writer

He stared at the blank pages in front of him. He knew he should be able to fill them. He had the words in his mind, the story unfolded before him. But when he looked down at the paper, nothing came. 

He looked up and out over the lake. It was so calm here, this was his favorite place to go to write. It allowed him to escape all the distractions of the modern world. Here, he could immerse himself in the story he was telling, giving it life - making the story real. 

Today, he had nothing. No words coming forth. He stared at the glassy calm of the lake. The way the still water reflected back the world reminded him of the empty page in front of him. 

Sigh, he had never had trouble like this. He knew what was causing it, but refused to dwell on it. And so his mind remained blank. Finally able to stand it no longer, he put on his earphones. Maybe the music would cause the words to come forth.

He turned on his iPod, and her song came on first thing. He could feel the sadness lurking in the background, waiting for the opportunity to pounce and cause him distress. The song played on, paying no attention to his inner turmoil. 

And with that, he understood the blank page. His inner turmoil was causing the words to stay inside. But to look at his face, you would see nothing but calm. There was no indication that he felt anything. No one knew the hell he lived through. And all because of a single question and the answer that followed. 

He watched a loon beat its wings as it attempted to achieve flight. It brought him back to the present. And the blank page before him. He knew that he needed to write so many pages while he was here. Yet, still nothing came. 

The iPod proceeded to another song. Just like life, it moved on without notice of our struggles. No one cared, no one bothered. Life just kept moving on. 

He stared at the calm lake. He missed her so. That was his real problem. Why he couldn't write. She had left and wasn't coming back. And he knew it. This was a fact of life as real as the sun rising. Life was never going to be the same. And this sadden him beyond measure.

He looked down at the paper, his hand was flying across the paper. His story was spilling out of him. It wasn't the story he intended, but it was a story he needed to write. It was the story of his life. 

He wondered how it would end. 

Eyes of a Stranger

Warlock story, part 2

She looked deep into his eyes. His vibrant blue eyes. She once felt she would lose herself in them. Knowing now what she did, she was sure she would lose herself in those eyes. She broke his gaze, casting her eyes to the floor. She knew she wasn't leaving. 

And she knew that he knew this as well. 

Staring at the table in front of her, she heard herself ask the question that had been hanging in the air ever since he told her his secret. "Did you put me under a spell?" she asked.

Silence greeted her. She found that she was suddenly scared of his answer. As if he were reading her thoughts, he spoke. "Don't be scared." he said calmly. 

"I could have put a spell on you that would have you doing my bidding. You would jump to preform the slightest hint of a suggestion. But such a spell is evil for it removes your free will, it removes your soul. And then what kind of person would I be?" He paused, gathering his breath. "No, I chose to get to know you, to be able to assimilate into society. But the more I got to know you, the more I fell in love with you. So in love, that I have revealed my darkest secret to you."

She continued to stare at the table. They both knew that the ball was so totally in her court. She chose to stay and talk with him, but she wasn't sure of what her role was supposed to be. Hearing him profess his love for her, well, was an expected surprise. She knew he felt this way, but he had never expressed it, and with the bombshell he had dropped on her, she had forgotten about that aspect of their relationship entirely. Her mind was running circles, trying to figure out how this was going to affect her life. Nothing would be the same ever again. That she was positive of. 

He moved to the fireplace, and picking up the poker proceeded to play in the fire. She could tell he was choosing his words carefully. When he was silent like this, she had learned that he was deciding the best way to put his words together so as to concisely say what he wanted without leaving any room for argument. She hated it when he got like this, because he always was so damn logical, and she usually agreed with whatever he had to say. "It was so unfair," she fumed to herself. 

She stared at his wide shoulders and strong back. She couldn't help but smile slightly to herself. She knew this back so well, so intimately. "In fact," she mused, "I know him so well. This secret, this revelation about himself, was just another facet of him.? It didn't change her feelings, it didn't change her heart. The only thing she felt it changed was her perception of him. And the question now became, "Can I trust him?"

Turning slightly so that he could see her, he asked her that very question. "Do you trust me?" She didn't answer right away. Instead, she took in his profile. He was the furthest thing from one might expect from a warlock. He wasn't exceeding handsome, or charming. He wasn't very fit, and had many flaws. But his character shone through. He was one of the most genuine person she had ever met, and even though she wasn't completely sure herself, she responded slowly, "Yes."

He turned so that the glow of the fire cast a shadow across his face. He opened his arms in an embrace, beckoning her to him. She rose and walked into his arms. He pulled her in to his body, his arms holding her tight. He leaned his head into hers, touching forehead to forehead. Looking deep into her eyes, he spoke softly, "I promise you I will never intentionally hurt you, Emily. I love you so much. I need you to help me on my journey. I need you by my side." 

His need was so palatable, so full of yearning, it pulled at her heart. He was her master now, her everything. She looked into his eyes and felt so safe. 

"Yes" was all she could manage.

The look of Surprise

Part 1

She stared at the door. She had been told she could leave at any time. She wasn't sure she entirely believed him. Everything he had just told her was so foreign, so alien. It was so outlandish that she simply stared at the door, stunned. 

All she had to do was stand up and leave. She believed him on that much at least. The rest of it just seemed incredulous. There was no way it could be true. She was here because of her own free will. Or was she? She was no longer entirely sure. 

She looked down at the fire burning, pondering the situation. He had told her everything, bared his soul to him. She could get up and leave, and never have to worry about looking back. He would let her go, she would never have to worry about anything and she would never see him again. It would be so easy. 

But his words intrigued her. She wondered what life would be like if she stayed. If anything he had said were true, it would be a life she had never imagined. A life of fantasy made real. Her every wish, her every desire satisfied. His words still echoed in her mind. 

The little voice, the one that always refused to be silent at times like these, wondered if this was just not suave words on his part. People always lied. Maybe he was telling her all the things she wanted to hear. Was she lying to herself in hopes of her dreams coming true? She wanted to believe that it was possible. But it was so hard to give that hope life. 

She stared at the flames. The red glow of the coals, with the white ash on top. The orange and blue flames licking the sides, tickling the wood as it consumed. That was life. To live was to consume, to take from another. How was this any different? It was such a simple choice, yet so absurdly complicated. So many factors to weigh. 

She heard the kitchen door open, he was returning. She knew that she would have to give an answer very shortly. There was no exiting quietly now, if she still chose to go. Now she would have to look him in the eyes, and speak. Give an excuse. Assuming she chose to go.

He approached her. Standing over her, she slowly rose her eyes, taking in the drinks in his hand and rising to his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. She loved to stare into those eyes. Everything he had said came pounding back through her mind. 

She stared into his eyes, he spoke, "Well? Staying or going?" 

She could no longer meet his gaze, she dropped her gaze. She heard herself speak softly, "staying". She raised her eyes, searching his. The eyes of a warlock. Her master. 

wolf

He circled around his territory. Prowling, searching for something. Only he really knew what he was searching for, but that didn't slow his hunt. 

Old age had taken it's toil on him, making his skin sag a little, his hair turn white. He didn't move as fast as he used to, his mind wasn't as sharp. But you couldn't tell him that. He strutted like the biggest peacock showing it's plumage. He thought he was the king of the jungle. 

His old eyes didn't see as well as he used to. But his sense of smell was even stronger for it. He could smell the "rabbit" before it jumped, knew which way it was moving and would be waiting with his jaws open. He missed as much as he caught, but it was still enough to keep him going.

He searched still. This wasn't a search for food, but pleasure. 

He would talk to any female that would listen. It would be the same old song, droning on and on about how great he was. What prowess he had, vigor of strength, how much of a man he was. It was the buzz of an annoying gnat. Bothersome, but nothing to worry about.

He found the females he was searching for, his old nose had brought him to their presence. He rumbled on and on. A peacock strutting for all to see, a bee buzzing its noise. A wolf still hunting prey. A relic needing to pass on.

And still the wolf searched.