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.

bars

It was days like today that made him wonder if the world was really real, or was this simply a dream he couldn't seem to wake from? He sat down on the curb and stared at the sky. Nothing ever went the way it was planned. Of course, it never did. That was probably one of the few realities of his life.


He looked at the moon high above. It was so full and clear. It was a perfect fall night. A slight chill to the air, cool enough to warrant a long shirt, but not so cold as to need a jacket. He couldn't have asked for better weather. A better night, that was a different story.

The people walked past him, oblivious to him. He didn't exist, they had their own problems, their own worries. He missed the intimacy of his small town. Where people asked you how you were doing, and actually cared about the answer. Or at least, in his memories they did. It had been so long since he had been back home, he had no real idea.

He watched the women walk by, dressed appropriate for the hot sticky weather, short shorts or skirts, skimpy shirts.  The seductive wrap of the clothe, the way it accentuated their curves. His eyes roamed at will, following every inch of their contours. He wasn't sure when, but somewhere along the way, he lost his ability to care. 


He let his gaze wander around, not really paying attention to what he saw, just roaming at will, his mind completely lost in thought. This wasn't what he had intended, but then nothing goes according to plan. He was starting to hate that phrase.


The air was sticky with humidity. He could see the thunder clouds moving in, the lightning flashing in the distance. Soon enough the rain would come and it would cool off considerably. But for now, right now, it was just nasty. 


He knew this wasn't the way it was supposed to be, but he didn't know how to change it or how it was supposed to be different. "Shit," he muttered. He looked down at his feet. He could hear the people walk by, but he was locked in his own prison. 


He had no idea how long he sat there. When he came back to himself, he had no idea where he was, no idea where he had been. And he was fairly sure he had no idea where he was going. 


So, he sat and stared, watching. Trapped in the prison of his own making.

Love, it ain't no big thing

He told her,"I love you."
She just sipped her coffee.
He told her, "You are my world."
She turned the newspaper. Oblivious.
He said to her, "I can't live without you."
She looked up at him, "Go try." was her reply.

Days went by without talking.
He sent her flowers at her work place.
It had a card that read, "I would give you the moon, if that is what you wanted, I love you so."
She told him that night, "If you love me so, I want the moon."
He just stared at her.
"Love is overrated," she said. "You do all sorts of stupid things for someone in the hopes that the other person notices, and feels the same way. Love invites in a stranger, and hands them your heart on a platter. It makes you silly and full of nonsense."

He stared at her for hours while she slept.
"What are you doing?" she queried upon waking.
He had strewn the room in rose petals, lit scented candles, and had soft romantic music playing.
"I want to show you how much I love you." he responded.
"Leave," she replied. "I don't love you." She turned away and closed her eyes.

He was gone when she woke. At first, she was happy. Then she started to miss him. It satarted with the little things he had done for her. Small things to tell her he loved her. He would make her coffee, and her breakfast, just the way she wanted it. He would clean the apartment, she never had to worry. All the small things in her life, gone.

After a few weeks, she could stand it no longer. She called his phone.
He answered. "Hello?"
"I miss you. I love you. I am sorry." she cried.
"I don't know you." he replied coldly.
 And hung up.

Silent

The rain fell oddly. Silently, and yet a total downpour.
Strange to be so silent, he simply wasn't used to this. And yet, it had been this way for years. He was an early riser. He loved the quiet of morning. His time for peace.
So strange, silent rain. Inside was nothing but turmoil. His inner emotions were boiling. He knew not what the outcome was. He just knew the reality. This silence was life. Guess it was time to make the most of it.
The light was the pale light of winter. He knew it well. His entire life was winter. That's the way he felt. To live was to be distant, be cold. Nothing satisfied anymore, nothing had taste, nothing mattered. He spoke rough with people, didn't put up with nonsense.
He knew it was time to fade away. Become the ghost. Man with no past, man with no present. A whisper, a dream. He didn't belong, he didn't exist.

Whispers of a memory, it what was always destined, time to stop fighting what was, and give in. And while this saddened him, it was simply what was. There is only so long that you can live your life in a dream that doesn't exist.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4