Day in the life

            Pain boils over, every inch of his body screams out for the end of it all, for sweet eternal sleep that will stop they wretched struggle of being alive. His body shook as his limbs twisted and writhed. A lights and sound rush past him, strange voices are heard. Then he feels piercing pain in his arm. He winces but then feels a flood of calmness wash over his body. Calm and relaxation in liquid form rushes through his veins. Everything becomes peaceful and the world goes dark. This is not the first time he has had such an experience and it wont be the last time. His name is Joe and he is nine years old.

            Joe was born with illness and will live the rest of his life with it. Pain, followed by surgery or long hospital visits then weeks of recovery. Joe thinks about his father’s old car. His dad had the car for so long it was mostly made out of spare parts. Joe feels like that car. Always breaking down and made of spare parts. He wasn’t born lucky enough to have a powerful engine or a dent resistant frame, Joe feels more like a beat up old sedan. This nine year old feels more aches and pains and has a longer medical history than his parents and rivals his grandparents.

            Many found it impressive that a child could handle such a huge burden and they couldn’t even grasp how he dealt with the pain. Joe couldn’t understand or grasp what it felt like to not be in pain. This was life and he knew no other way of being.

            In the weeks of recovery that followed a big flare up, Joe had a lot of free time at home, more than a normal child would have. He would spend hours in his room and think or sometimes read his little books. But this favorite thing was playing video games.

            He heard a large round man acting important and saying bad things about video games. “They corrupt today’s youth” and “all games are violent and lead to more violence”. Joe didn’t understand most of this. The games he played were wonderful. One afternoon he saved the world, or at least made a lot of progress toward saving the world. “Saving the world is a big job to do all before dinner” Joe said to his parents one evening during dinner when asked about his games.

            His games let him fly airplanes and drive fast cars. He could help people and find magical gems. He beat up bad guys, solved puzzles and one time built a city. Some games even let him hang out with his favorite super heroes from the comics. Video games were pure joy to him. In a world where a nine year old is fighting against his own body because of disease and illness sometimes it was nice to leave and visit a different world. A world where the rules were fair and everyone had a chance if they tried hard enough. A world where you were important and powerful and evil didn’t win.

            Joe grew up playing games. They gave him hope and set in his mind a subconscious will to fight. He began to see his illness like the evil wizard of one of his games. A thing that made people sad that he could fight against. Something that could be beaten and lead him to a happily ever after.

            Years passed and there was always some fool who had a problem with video games, but luckily the games stayed and Joe had another world to escape to and a fight he always felt like he could win.

You, me and the rain

            Its been raining for hours. Day turned to night and the rain continued. I think of you as I sit on my porch listening to the rain. Soft music echoes from inside the house, the patter of rain sounds outside and on the roof. I watch as a seemingly endless supply of rain pelts the trees, sidewalk and street.

            The world changes when it rains. The sound of rain is almost hypnotic, sending you back into your deepest memories. My body relaxes as I watch and listen. A cool breeze drifts past me. I sip from my glass and I think back.

            Rainy days always make me a little sentimental and nostalgic, every chill in the air mixed with the warmth coming from my house makes me think of you. Cuddling on the couch as we watched the rain. I get lonely and think of those days. I miss you, eternally. On warm days its easier, the sun makes me too warm and I can distract myself from my feelings. But on cool nights and especially when it rains, I feel so relaxed and happy and think, the only way this could be better is if you were here with me.

            So I sit and sip my drink, Scotch on the rocks. It lets me sleep and when I sleep I dream of your face and your gentle touch. With the rain, the wind and my thoughts of you, if I could make this night go on forever I would. A peaceful evening and a night of pleasant dreams, the light of morning comes too soon, but for now it’s just You, Me and the rain.

Memories of a Stranger - Yuri

Henry sat in the “Good Times bar”, smoke filled the room and he clutched his glass of scotch. It was a pretty quiet night at the bar. On weekends it got crowded and rowdy, but on weeknights, it was only the sad old bastards that lingered. Blues and rock style music played in the background. The music mixed with the whispered conversations from the patrons at the tables toward the back, all of this mixed together and just sounded like noise.

Henry was thirty, hardly an old bastard, well hardly old. He came to this bar every night for two reasons, his love of scotch whiskey and the information and gossip he would hear around the bar. People were always so loose with their secrets, especially on slow nights when it seems like no one is listening. Henry was an freelance investigative journalist. He would risk his neck for the top stories and sell them to the highest bidder. He made a good living off of this and found it was better than sitting at a desk all day.

Henry wore an old trench coat and a matching fedora, he had shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. He always looked like he needed a shower and a shave, though he did bathe regularly and shaved occasionally…and never flossed.

On this particular night, Henry heard two old men talking. ‘old’ is so relative. So instead of using it to describe an actual number like 70, he used the term to describe appearance. For instance, Henry wasn’t old, but he seemed old. So he often referred to himself as an old bastard. So Henry was watching these two old guys and listening in on their conversation. At first it sounded like they were talking about catching fish. These men looked like they could be fishermen. Not ‘Sunday morning fishing with your son’ kind of fishermen, the real kind. The kind that go out into the ocean and catch all the fish in the ocean so the humans on land can gorge themselves on more types of food. So anyway, back to the fish. These sly old geezers who were probably not any older than sixty, talked about fish and for an hour it sounded like they were just talking about fish. But then Henry heard something interesting. The term fish used in the wrong context or in the wrong way. Henry was pretty drunk by this point but as the conversation went on, it sounded like the word ‘fish’ was code for something else and when someone says. “The fish drop is tonight” it starts to sound like someone is talking about drugs.

Henry began scribbling in his note pad that he keeps in his coat. he wanted to make sure he didn’t forget any of the details. Henry wrote as the men talked. “The fish will be at the warehouse. Someone needs to come and get it” Said one of the men. Henry scribbled furiously. The weather that night was in the fifties and it was sprinkling rain. Cool weather, but not cold enough to keep fish fresh in some warehouse. “Wouldn’t they refer to the fish as ‘them’ not ‘it’?” Henry thought. He was pretty drunk though and wondered if he was just getting suspicious for no reason.

Then something happened that no one would ever expect to happen in a million years. A girl walked into the “Good Times” bar. The door opened and shut and the customers casually turned their heads to see who it was, as they did every time someone entered. This time though, the customer’s eyes were fixed on the newcomer. “Hey how can I help y-“ The bartender started to say then saw the girl standing at the bar. “-You?”  He finished his sentence and smiled. The girl looked to be about 25 was 5’6, thin but with subtle sexy curves. She wore a short-sleeved dress shirt un-tucked, black slacks and black dress shoes. Her hair was short and styled and dyed purple. Any skin showing showed lean toned muscle. She walked in with confidence and a sense of purpose. “Scotch neat” The girl said flatly. The bartender smiled and fixed her drink. Henry looked at the girl, he was the only one at the bar who hadn’t been staring at her like an idiot this whole time. He only looked because she ordered the same thing he had been drinking. He looked and she looked back. He smiled and held up his glass to show he had the same drink. Then he went back to drinking.

Henry was trying to listen to these ‘fishermen’ talk, but they stopped because they were too busy staring at the attractive young girl in the bar. “Old perverts” Henry grumbled. He wrote down most of the information he needed already, but could have used a few more details. “Whatcha working on?” asked the girl as she said down next to Henry. “Just some notes. So I see you like scotch” Henry said, changing the subject. The girl brushed a bit of purple hair out of her eyes and smiled “Yeah, its what my dad drank and he was tough as nails. So when I was a teenager I tried it and now I’m just used to it. Its like comfort food” The girl replied. Henry laughed. It was one of those laughs that came out so unexpectedly, like it forced its way out. “Heheh, scotch sure is comfort food for me too” he said. “My names Yuri” the girl said as she reached out her hand for a shake. Henry wiped his hands on his pants to get rid of any booze or sweat then shook her hand. “Names Henry. Yuri, that’s a strange name. No offense though” Henry said

Yuri chuckled “My father was Japanese. But I grew up in America. We settled in this city when I was a kid” Yuri explained. “Poor kid, having to grow up here” Henry replied without thinking. “I mean, Im sure you lived in a fine part of…” Henry added but Yuri stopped him. “Its fine. Don’t worry about it.” She said with a smile.

            Meanwhile one of the bar patrons didn’t like how chummy Henry was getting with the new girl. He was mad because this hot young girl came into the bar and sat right down next to the biggest bum in the whole bar. “Hey, Buddy. Yer bothering the lady” Said a muscular man that looked to be in his late thirties. “I was sitting here first. She sat next to me. Maybe she is the one bothering me! I don’t see you defending my honor. Am I not pretty enough?” Henry told the guy. Yuri chuckled. Henry hadn’t even turned around in his chair to say this to the man’s face. The muscular man grabbed onto the back of Henry’s coat and tried to pull him off his barstool. Before he could though, Yuri had jumped out of her seat and slammed a fist down onto the bully’s wrist, breaking his wrist. She then moved in front of him and gave him a right and left hook to the face.

The muscular man only had a chance to grab Henries coat before he was dispatched. He laid on the ground with a broken wrist and two black eyes.

Yuri sat back down and sipped her drink. Henry was smiling ear to ear. “Your quick, I should hire you to be my bodyguard” He said. “Well I could use the money and no one seems to like you around here” Yuri replied. Henry meant it as a joke, but once he thought about it, he realized it might be a good deal. “You’re hired.” He said. Yuri gave a little cheer in Japanese. Henry smiled and then looked over at the old ‘fishermen’ by this point they had run off, Probably from all the commotion. Henry might have lost the rest of his lead, but he did gain a bodyguard. So that is almost as good. He just hoped She didn’t bring more trouble with her. Henry had as much excitement as he could take for a while.

Mysterious Stranger

    In the cold of the night a lone figure stood under a street lamp. It was midnight and the city streets were empty. The surrounding houses and buildings were run down and old and litter blew around with every winter wind that rolled through. The figure of a man was wearing a black trench coat and a hat. He was trying hard to conceal his face, but while doing so looked like the most suspicious character anyone can imagine. He also seemed out of place, not only was the trench coat fairly new looking but his shoes looked expensive and his hat was clean and well cared for.
    The man stood motionless by the street lamp, he didn’t even flinch or shiver when the cold wind blew through the city. It was the kind of wind that would cut through your layers of clothes and chill you to the bone, yet the man did not move. He stood unaffected by the cold and the wind. He didn’t seem restless or bored from standing around nor was he nervous about looking so suspicious. He was like a phantom or the image of a man caste on the sidewalk.
    A car pulled up and a tall man in a suit stepped out. He didn’t speak, instead stood next to the figure like he was waiting for a bus. The man in the suit set down a brief case and adjusted his tie. “The deadline is Saturday” said the suited man. Then he stepped back into the car and the car drove off.
    The mysterious figure stood stern and imposing, unflinching at the transaction. He seemed to be a man that was so used to these kinds of meetings that they seemed mundane. Then with a loud snort the mysterious man woke up. Albert Lewis was a business man who had been waiting for the bus. He had been working twelve hours a day for the last eight days and often had to take the late bus home. Albert rustled in his coat and shook his arms to further wake up. He checked his watch and smiled. “Must of dozed off” he said. Then the bus pulled up, right on time. Albert stepped up onto the bus and took a seat. He felt silly for falling asleep standing up and was happy he hadn’t fallen over or been robbed or worse, missed his bus.
    The bus pulled away and drove off. The mysterious briefcase was left sitting on the sidewalk with no one to claim it and the ‘mysterious’ stranger was just a sleepy business man.
In the cold of the night a lone briefcase stood under a street lamp….

Windmill in the rain

            The rain poured down in buckets, the wind kicked up and rushed through the blades of the windmill. The windmill turned. The windmill blades turned and inside the grinding wheel spun. Around and around did the wheel spin. The windmill was empty, no one was there to grind wheat or corn, but still the wheel spun. Weather waits for no man and the wind blew harder and the rain poured down. Huge amounts of energy and motion poured through this old device. A towering building made with giant fans all just to turn one grinding wheel. A wheel that was small by comparison to the building and all of the effect it needed.

            The wind blew on all night and the windmill continued to turn without rest. The stone wheel grinded and sparked and embers began to fly off. Stone grinding on stone, in a building made of wood. The sparks flew and embers found a cozy home in a pile of unused wheat. The embers burned brightly, eating up the oxygen and burning the wheat. The fire burned and produced energy and heat. But there was no one around to feel its warmth or to tame it. So the fire burned on. Flames flicked the air and slowly rose up. Getting bigger and stronger. The ember turned into fire and now formed flames that burned brightly as it ate all the wheat. The fire was large now and burning bright, it crackled and flicked. Now it was so large it spread to the wood in the building, lumber and planks of wood keeping the large structure together. The fire had become greedy and ate and ate as it spread. The flames grew bigger and produced more flames as it went.

            The rain poured down and the wind kicked up. The windmill turned and the flames spread. The fire continued to grow and it burned everything in its path. Now the flames were huge and unforgiving. None could stand in its way. The flames burned the wood and destroyed the beam turning the wheel. The grinding wheel slowed down then stopped. The fire climbed higher and higher until it reached the ceiling. In its mindless hunger it consumed the ceiling too. The windmill had been protecting the flames within from the rain and the wind. Now the roof had a hole burned through it and the windmill fan blades even caught fire. The rain poured down and battled the flames but the fire was stubborn and clung onto the windmill for life. The rain beat down on the fire as the fire burned down the Windmill.

            Morning finally arrived and the storm had passed. The rain had moved on, leaving only soggy earth, the windmill burned down and the flames were extinguished, now leaving only ash. Nature can produce such fierce elements that rage on and produce infinite energy and power, but then the next moment it could all be gone, like the passing of the storm, the turning of the windmill or the burning of the flame.

Ghosts of the past

Brian lived in a one bedroom flat. He had a cat named Archimedes. But Brian usually just called his cat “Meow face”. Brian sat back in his armchair and watched television. His apartment was almost devoid of furniture, all except the TV, armchair, fridge and a mattress on the floor that he used as a bed. “Come here meow face” Brian said as he patted his lap. Archimedes purred and trotted over. The cat jumped up into Brian’s lap and instantly fell asleep. “Good meow face” He said softly as he patted his cat on the head.

Brian felt so relaxed that he began to drift off to sleep. His breathing slowed and he closed his eyes. He was so comfortable and Archimedes purring was very soothing. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep he heard loud banging noise come from his closet. Brian jumped and so did Archimedes. The two walked carefully toward the closet. No further sounds were heard. Brian leaned in and slowly opened his closet. His pulse raced as the door slowly opened. He looked inside and didn’t see anything unusual. Just his coats and a bowling ball he had been meaning to use one day. Then another loud bang was heard from the closet door. Brian jumped and then looked at the door itself. The closet was open, but something was banging on the door. “Whose there?” Brian asked. Archimedes looked up at Brian. Maybe to say “Are you talking to a door?” or maybe the cat was simply a cat and looked up because he heard his master speak.

Brian could hear whispers coming from inside the door, or rather on the other side of the door. As if the closet door was still closed. Which it wasn’t. Brian closed the door and now stared in amazement and shock an opened glowing door. The closet door could open a closet or it could open a floating door into another world. Brian put his hand through the new opened door. When he pulled his hand out a light flashed and transparent people began walking into Brian’s apartment. From the corner of his eye he could almost recognize their faces. They all looked like people he knew. Brian’s peripheral vision picked up all sorts of details on these transparent figures. Clothes, faces, hair color, skin color, it was all slightly transparent but still very vivid, but every time he looked right at them they would lack any features at all.

“Who are you?” Brian asked. A few of the figures tried to answer but they spoke only in whispers. “who are you?” Brian asked again. One the figures walked over and touched Brian’s head. Brian had a sudden flashback to playing softball as a kid. His team lost and on top of that he hurt his leg. His coach came up and comforted Brian. The mild injury and lost game didn’t seem so important because of how supportive the coach was and eventually seeing how supportive his parents were.

Brian snapped out of it but now suddenly saw that one of the figures was his coach. When looked at head on, the coach figure didn’t loose his features. “Are you all ghosts? I thought you were still alive, Coach!” Brian said. The coach smiled “We are memories, ghosts of your past. You have to sort your memories out kid, you bottle too much up,” Said the kindly coach.

Brian nodded. It was true, he bottled up a lot of his emotions and even tried to bury his most unpleasant memories. But he wondered if he was having some kind of mental break down. His memories glided around the room. Some of them seemed to be commenting on his lack of furniture. Brian knew that it was probably one of his old girlfriends. Then he got a flashback from thinking about the girl. “Your not going to buy THAT are you?” Asked Susie. The flashback ended abruptly. Brian looked annoyed now. “There is a reason I was trying to forget most of you!” He shouted. “Except you coach, not sure why I forgot about that one time you helped me” Brian quickly added, as if the coach was a real person with real feelings. “Everyone out!” He shouted. The figures swirled up in the air and Brian began having flashbacks one after another. His memories were becoming unorganized. Old Jobs, past relationships, dead pets and dead relatives, all of these memories came swirling back.

Brian’s head spun and he fell to the floor. His life had been a long path of twists and turns, some good and some bad, but when he tried to stuff the bad away and try not to think the bad memories it eventually built up. “So what if my ex-girlfriend was a bitch. That was her personality. I don’t need to beat myself up over the break up.” Brian muttered to himself as his memories flashed before his eyes. “I didn’t know unscrewing pieces of grandma’s wheel chair would be dangerous. I was five! I was FIVE!!!” Brian shouted, as guilt tried to grip at his every memory. “That’s enough!” He finally shouted and then stood up. He was ready to yell and scream at those annoying transparent figures, but they had all disappeared. Brian looked over and noticed the door was gone too. Then he looked down and noticed he was still in his chair. He assumed it was a dream and he had just woken up abruptly “What a crazy dream” Brian told Archimedes, who responded with a long yawn.

Though it was a brief event, it affected Brian. He remembered so much of his past, both good and bad. The good memories made him feel a little happier and his mistakes made him a little wiser. He started to try and learn from his mistakes instead of tormenting himself with guilt and obsessing over what could have been different. Though Brian dismissed the event as a dream, it still stuck with him. the rest of his life was a little better because of the lesson he learned. Meanwhile, Archimedes didn’t learn any lessons, but instead was just always content and was happy for the rest of his life, because he was a cat.

Malak and the Dreadmist

         Malak Wrathborn sat in a sleepy little tavern, the only sound was the crackling of the fireplace and the quiet murmurs of the people sitting at the next table. Malak was covered in a tan cloak with the hood up. He kept his head down and sipped on a large glass of beer. He had medium length white hair that he kept back in a messy ponytail. He wore light armor, a mix of plate and chain mail. This was for defense and mobility. Over his armor he wore a tan and red shirt. The shirt had a ripped spot on the arm where a symbol or crest used to be.

            Malak was in the Dreadmist lands, a land that was equal parts swamp and forest and the land looked as gloomy as someone would expect from a place called Dreadmist. Luckily Malak was just passing through Dreadmist, so he wouldn't have to deal with the landscape for very long. The warmth of the bar was a nice comfort against the cold winter winds that waited just outside. Malak was enjoying the comfort of the tavern, but knew he couldn't stay. to keep from lingering any longer, he quickly paid his tab, bundled up and walked for the door. Just as he reached for the handle, the door swung open. A cold winter wind blew into the tavern and everyone shivered. The wind hit Malak and his cloak became unbundled. It now hung loosely over his shoulders. Soldiers from the Dreadmist ‘empire’ were going into the tavern to warm up, but instead of warm beverages they found Malak standing in front of them wearing an old imperial soldier uniform. “Imperials” One of the soldiers said in a low growl. Malak knew this would be trouble unless he could sort it out.

            “Be calm, Its an old uniform. I am not a soldier” Malak said calmly, then showed his arm. The royal crest of the imperial army was torn from the shirt. The three Dreadmist soldiers grabbed Malak and threw him outside. They went outside and began moving in close. “Imperials aren’t welcome in the Dreadmist Empire. We don’t want their trash either” Said the first soldier. Malak looked at the three soldiers. They were dressed in all black leather armor, with plate armor hidden under the leather chest piece, both the front and back. The soldiers had dark purple hoods and black face maskes that came up over their mouths. This made them look more threatening and also helped against wind and cold.

            Malak used to be part of the Imperial army, an army that protected the largest kingdom in the land, but he was thrown out for being too violent. Since that day he traveled the land and worked as a mercenary. Everyone outside of the Imperial Kingdom had a problem with it and its soldiers. Most of the time Malak could avoid trouble because he removed his seal and kept a cloak on, but the Dreadmist ‘empire’ had an inferiority complex. They were the smallest kingdom and still called themselves an empire. To the rest of the world the Dreadmist land was a land of thugs, not soldiers and kings.

            The soldiers didn’t even take out their weapons, which is fortunate because Malak dropped his when he was thrown. A finely crafted spear with gold trim lay just behind the Dreadmist soldiers, it was also fortunate they didn’t notice. Malak stood up and put his leather glove clad fist into the palm of his hand and cracked his knuckles then did a little bit of stretching. The Soldiers laughed, but if they were smart they would have attacked already.

            “Alright boys lets-“ Said the first soldier, then his sentence was cut short when a leather glove clad fist collided with his face. Malak was four feet away and moved in quick. The Soldiers were so full of themselves and untrained that Malak was able to close in and land the first hit. The first soldier dropped to the ground in one punch.

 The two remaining soldiers pulled their swords from their belts and attacked. Two blades came down at Malak, but he quickly moved out of the way. He punched the other soldier but couldn’t put his full force into the swing. The first soldier stumbled backward and the second lunged forward with his sword. Malak turned and tried to dodge. He barely escaped the attack as the blade sliced his side.

            Malak growled. the two soldiers had regained their balance and were ready to fight, the initial soldier in group was still sprawled out in the snow unconscious from the sucker punch. Malak charged forward and then jumped into the air right before he was within the reach of the soliders. he had leapt into the air with cat-like agility and came rushing down again. Before the soldiers could react Malak landed with both of his boots slamming down onto the shoulders of the first soldier. The man collapsed and Malak jumped off and landed on the snowy ground with ease. He purposely landed closer to the tavern so he could retrieve his spear. He picked up his spear and then looked up at the two soldiers. Malak had an evil smile on his face that would make the devil nervous. The soldiers collected their wits and tried to attack again.

            Malak moved into his spear man stance and before the soldiers could get within swords reach, Malak slashed upward with his bladed spearhead. each of the Soldiers had their sword hand sliced off with one stroke of this deadly, finely crafted spear. Malak had won, there was no way the Soldiers had enough motivation and resolve to find their swords and keep fighting.

            “The imperial’s trash? I was thrown away by the imperial army, was I? Is the mighty DREADMIST Empire too good to have me in their borders? The unsettled land of Dreadmist is as much an empire as this tavern is a golden palace” Malak said to the two severely wounded soldiers. “you all hate the Imperial army so much, yet if you were fighting an Imperial soldier, they would show you mercy. They might even treat your wounds so you don’t die. But I am not an Imperial soldier” Malak said then swung his spear through the air at a rapid pace. His spear whirled around through the air and sliced through the soldiers as if they were made of paper. A quick shriek was heard then silence. Blood covered the snowy ground outside of the tavern. Malek walked off with his spear over his shoulder leaving the  mutilated corpses of three Dreadmist soldiers of the Dreadmist Empire behind him

Times End

The air was chilly and cold, snow covered the ground and snowflakes drifted through the air, occasionally flying into things and getting stuck. Lanterns hung from thin black metal poles that dotted the road. The road and everything else was covered in snow. The surrounding trees were covered in snow and the lake was frozen.  Fog hung in the air, adding a pale gray and darkness to the white sheets of snow.

Through the fog a man could be seen. He wore a brown overcoat, black shoes, warm leather gloves and a scarf. He wore a bowler hat and was walking up the road. Wind blew, but he didn’t fight against it, he just walked like normal. He walked up the road calmly and didn’t seem bothered by the ice, snow, wind and cold. The man’s white hair blew around, messing it up. The man had a trimmed white beard, it came down to his neck. The man was thin and old, but didn’t seem burdened by that either. In his hand he carried a lantern. It was a metal lantern with a handle and the light was glowing a pale blue. It helped him see through the fog and did a better job than the street lamps that were burning their normal fire and producing yellow light.

The fog parted as the man passed, as if the blue light was repelling it. The man walked at a slow and stead pace, where he was headed, was a mystery. Then the man stopped and pulled a pocket watch from his side coat pocket. He looked at the time, then clicked the top several times. The very next second, the man was gone. He vanished from existence as if he never existed at all.

The old gentleman reappeared in a completely different place. This place was an empty chuck of land, floating in a dark and endless abyss. The ground was cobblestone and chest high walls were built alone the edges of the floating island. The walls were brown old brick, but were in decent condition. These plain old walls were the only thing keeping someone from stumbling off the edge and falling into the endless abyss. Old Fashioned black metal street lights sat in each corner of the main square. The square was the center of the island, from this location, little cobble stone paths ran off into different directions. Each stone path linked smaller floating islands to the main square. On the southern side of the square is a half built bridge that doesn’t go anywhere. The old man refers to is as “The Bridge to the abyss” because walking over the bridge would cause you to fall right in.

Each little connected island or ‘room’ also had small walls build along the edges, but no roof or doors anywhere to be seen. If you go to the north there is a lone door. The door has never been opened. It doesn’t seem to lead to anything though. Its just a door sitting in the middle of one of the rooms north of the square. All of this was know as the End of Time. this floating island was like a lost and found for the universe. Anything with memory and importance that is lost, ends up at the End of time. there is a room on the cobblestone island that is filled with trinkets, knick-knacks, mementoes and anything that was a physical with hopes, memories and sentimental attachment attached to it. But for the more obscure things, like a single thought or the name of a long lost friend, those things all end up in a large leather bound book. The book had its own stand and was located in the square with the old man. The man, who was named ‘Zindel’, would also use the book to summon up the words of other books and documents through history.

            The creation of the island of cobblestone and walls wasn’t a plan, but series of random events. There was a point in the future when time, the universe and all of existence ends. The dark abyss of nothing was all that remained. But such an enormous event as all of time suddenly stopping made this moment in oblivion to be linked with every time and place that had ever existed. The story of Zindel and his floating island will have to be for another day. For now, this is how the End of time came to be and how it works.

Now Zindel lives for eternity in a place were time doesn’t exists. He uses his perch to oversee time and watches it all pass before his eyes on an infinite loop. Time is a tricky thing, its hard to explain and isn’t something you can see or hold onto, yet everyone believes in it and is conscious of it at all ‘times’.

Zindel had been visiting an old wintry land that was familiar to him before he returned to the end of time. He cannot interact with anything in any time, but still likes to go visit. Occasionally Zindel will peek into a random country on earth and view a New Years Eve celebration. To him, it looks like a countdown to the end of time, but to the others, it is a great and wonderful time. It is a time for hope for the future and reflection on the past. Every year the people of the land want to receive a better year than the last one and every year seems just a new and fresh as the last one. It’s a cycle the people get stuck in. they have anticipation for the New Year and are tired of the old one. It is as if they are stuck in a time loop. Zindel watches this and laughs. The blissful optimism is as funny as it is enviable.

Time ticks on, the world clock ticks, tick tick tick. But still life goes on, so lets all enjoy this New Year and look forward to the challenges and rewards it will bring with it.

Happy New Year!

Red and the winter festival part 2

It was the night before Christmas and Yule town was just finished setting up for their Christmas Eve party. Red stepped into the town square and saw tables set up outside full of food and various drinks. There was eggnog, spiced wine and brandy and for the children there was juice, hot coco and some kind of fruit punch. The food was an assortment of cheeses, roast meat with garlic cloves, lots of fruit, cakes and pies. Red was getting hungry just looking at it all.

The mayor walked up to the center of town and stepped up onto a newly built stage. “Greetings people of Yule, let us begin the joyous celebration at once!” Said the mayor. The people in the town square cheered. The party had officially begun and Red couldn’t wait to dig into a little bit of everything. There weren’t many partygoers at first, but as time passed villagers joined the party until the entire village was there. The stage now had a band on it. They played happy, festive music that filled the air and mixed with the sound of laughter and talking.

The entire village was dressed in colorful red and green and white clothes, some had little sprigs of leaves with berries pinned to their hats or dresses and some walked around with long walking canes painted like candy canes. Red was quickly caught up in all of the merriment and festivities and for a brief time forgot the danger that forced him to flee to the winter land in the first place. As Red danced and drank a man walked up to him. “Merry Christmas!” Red said happily, not really looking at the man. “Yeah, yeah. I need a word with you” Said the man gruffly. Red turned and focused on the man standing in front of him. The man wore an old fashioned black cap, with a scarf wrapped tightly around his face, he was dressed in plain winter clothes that were colored black, gray and tan. His clothes were so plain he almost stuck out in the crowd of people dressed like candy canes and Christmas trees. Red followed the man to the edge of the party.

As soon as they were away from the rest of the villagers the man spoke up. “Listen, I’m just a messenger. I’m here with a warning. You’ve made some powerful enemies and running into the winter lands isn’t going to save you. There is someone on the outskirts of town here to kill you. If you don’t meet him in an hour, he will destroy this precious town” Said the Messenger. Red was stunned. He couldn’t believe someone found him all the way out here. “who’s after me? And who are you?” Red asked. “I was paid to tell you to go face your doom outside of town or the town gets destroyed. You don’t need to know my name. You know who is after you, the question is who did they send to kill you. I don’t know the answer” The messenger said. Then before Red could reply, the man walked off and left the village.

Red didn’t want his trouble to effect the town so he went to meet with the mysterious assassin. Red walked for an hour and finally saw a tall thin figure standing in the distance. The figure quickly disappeared and reappeared directly in front of Red. The man wore pale blue robes with a hood, had white hair and bluish skin. The man put his hood down and stared at Red. “I am the Warlock of the winter wasteland. I live so far north that neither man nor animal lives there. It was to my surprise that a messenger from a far off land found me and offered me anything I want, the only thing I would have to do is kill a young man named Red. I used my magic and tracked you down. Now I am here to kill you. What do you have to say, Red?” Asked the Warlock. Red wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed desert assassins couldn’t survive the winter lands, so they hired one of the inhabitance to kill him. Red knew he couldn’t talk his way out of this and wasn’t sure if he could even win this fight, and he could only think of one thing to say “What was your price?” Asked Red. The Warlock smiled “Your not going to plead for your life, or bargain? I respect that. All I asked for Women, full of energy and life. Young and beautiful women are a rare commodity out in the wasteland.” Replied the Warlock

Red clenched his teeth. Red didn’t want to die, but now he knew that if he did die, helpless women would be shipped to the freezing wasteland like cattle, used as payment. Without a word Red pulled out two black and silver pistols and began firing. Streams of bullets flew at the Warlock with incredible speed and accuracy. Red never had to reload or buy bullets. His gun was given to him by Death itself and these guns could shoot bullets made of pure silver and death’s own decaying magic. The silver bullets would rip through undead and werewolves with ease and the decay magic would rot away at living tissue.

The bullets all zoomed toward The warlocks head, but before they hit, the warlock vanished in a puff of snow. “As long as there is ice and snow, I cannot be destroyed” Said the Warlock, his voice echoing through the valley. “We will see about that” Red said. He stood in place and slowly turned in a circle as he held his guns up ready to continue shooting. He wasn’t going to let the Warlock sneak up on him. A gust of freezing air and snow rushed up from underneath him, causing all of his muscles to stiffen and he was thrown off balance. The cold was so extreme some of the skin on his face and neck felt like it was burning. Luckily heavy clothing, a long coat and leather gloves covered the rest of his body.

The warlock appeared as Red tried getting the ice and frost off of his face. The Warlock grabbed a hold of Red’s neck and Red could instantly feel his skin burning from frostbite as his air way was slowly crushed by the Warlocks strong, bony grip. Red fired off shots at point blank but the Warlock was gone in a split second. Red gasped for air and coughed. Red was hunched over but tried to regain balance. He waited for the wintry bastard to reappear. The Warlock did appear again and was about to strike, but before he could, he was hit with a blinding light.

Red stumbled back away from the evil Wizard and opened fire. Two shots hit before the Warlock disappeared again. Red looked back to see where the light came from. It was from the village. it was almost midnight, which meant Christmas and the village lit up their tree and placed a bright shining star on the top. Without even realizing it, the village of Yule might have saved his life.

            The Warlock reappeared but was moving slower as the decay of death slowly poisoned him. None could escape the grasp of death, wizards and common men alike were at Death’s mercy. The Warlock pushed out his hands and shot a blast of ice. Red dodged it and opened fire. The bullets flew out like a machine gun and hit the Warlock. The evil wizard’s hands, chest and head were now full of bullets. The Warlock didn’t bleed, because he had no blood or humanity left in him, instead he just stood with a shocked expression, then a strong wind blew and his body faded into the snow.

            Red was badly injured but was able to hobble back to Yule town. Just as he arrived he heard a roaring cheer from the villagers. “Merry Christmas!!!” they said in unison. It was Christmas. The lights from the village glowed bright and sparkled like stars in the sky. Despite his injuries, Red felt an overwhelming sense of calm and joy. This is what Christmas was about, Joy and being with loved ones. Red knew he had to leave in the morning, to avoid any further threat to the town, but he would treasure his time in Yule town and always remember the Joy and happiness of Christmas.

Red and the Winter festival part 1

A young man in a long brown coat walked through the winter forest. The man was named Red. He traveled across the land, from the winter continent to the spring valleys. He never used his real name and instead was just referred to as ‘Red’ because of the bright red shirt he wore under his brown trench coat. Red also wore shin high brown boots and tan pants, with the legs tucked into the boots. He had light brown hair and brown eyes. Every so often in the right light his eyes would look dark crimson, this added to his nickname of ‘Red’.

            Red traveled through the winter lands and just made it through the forest when he noticed a sparkling village in the distance. Red was cold and tired and was looking forward to finding some place to sleep and get something to eat. He eagerly walked toward the town. The closer he got to the town the more he noticed all of the little lights and festive looking decorations on each house. The lights on each house reflected off the snow and made the whole area sparkle. Night slowly crept in and the darker it became the more vibrant the village looked. The red, green and white lights shined like a beacon for all travelers. Each house had an old fashioned and cozy look to it, each roof was covered in lights and every door had a wreath of evergreen branches on it.

            The village of lights was so close now. Red was so tired from all the walking he barely made it in through the town entrance. He leaned against a green lamppost and stopped for a minute to rest before he walked through the town to search for an Inn. Red looked up and noticed a hanging sign attached to the lamppost. It read “Yule town”

            “Well at least I know where I am now.” Red said to himself. It saved him from having to ask someone. After resting, Red began walking again. He strode through the middle of town. The town had a cobblestone road that went in different directions through the whole town, little stone paths branched out from the main road and led off to each house. At the center of town was a giant green tree covered in bright lights and decorations. The tree was surrounded by cobblestone, but was standing in dirt. Red assumed the village grew the tree at the center of town, that or they built the town around the biggest tree in the forest.

            As Red made his way through town he saw happy villagers going about their day, they all seemed merry and cheerful. They dressed warmly, but seemed used to the cold and never even flinched when the wind and cold picked up. Red on the other hand retreated into his coat with every freezing gust of wind. Red eventually found the Inn. It was the local tavern and the upstairs had beds for travelers. It was a big building decorated and designed the same as the houses, but this was larger and had big windows on each end of the first floor. Red looked in as he walked toward the door. A fireplace with a roaring fire warmed the area and the patrons ate, drank and laughed. Red pushed the wooden door open and a cold breeze followed him in. no one seemed to notice. Red felt the rush of warm air and let out a sigh of relief.

            He walked up to the bar and sat down. “I’ll have whatever everyone else is drinking” Red told the bartender. This town was so unique, Red hoped the alcohol would be just as unique. The bartender smiled and set down a mug of warm purple liquid. Red took a sip. It was warm, spiced wine and it warmed him right up. “Not bad” He muttered.

            The tavern carried on in a jolly manner and a small band of musicians played festive music. “Is there a celebration or festival going on?” Red asked the bartender. “There is a big one coming up soon, but our town is usually like this. It might be a little livelier tonight though” The bartender said with smile. Red nodded “Thanks, maybe I will stick around then. I will need a bed for tonight, or maybe till after the festival” Red told the Barkeeper. Red paid up front for the room and then paid for his drink.

            It was very late now and Red slowly climbed the stairs, he found his room and used to key to open the door. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. The room cozy, it had a single mattress bed with a basic wooden frame, white sheets and a red blanket. A nightstand was next to the bed with a candle on it. On the opposite side of the room was a small chest for Red to put his belongings. The room was on the small side, if Red sat in the middle of the floor and stretched his arms out on either side of him his fingertips would touch the bed with one hand and the chest with the other.

            Red dropped his small bag of possessions into the chest, snuffed out the candle and went to bed. The bed was so comfortable and he was so tired he fell asleep immediately.

            That morning was the day before the festival. Red had forgotten to ask what the name or purpose of the celebration was, but he put that out of his mind for now. Red stretched and put his brown coat back on and grabbed his belongings. he left his room and locked the door behind him. He walked down to the tavern on the first floor. It was quiet and peaceful, which wasn’t unusual for morning, but it was quite a contrast from the jovial singing and dancing from the night before.

            “Morning” said the bartender. Red turned and smiled. “Good morning. I forgot to ask last night, but I want to know more about your festival” Red said. The bartender smiled “Well, its called Christmas. It’s a word from the old world, no one knows what it means, all we know is it is a time of peace and joy. We decorate with bright lights, lanterns, evergreen branches and we even decorate the tree in the center of town. Its our Christmas tree. The rest of the year we just call it Yule tree and we take down all the decorations and lights. Our homes usually have some lights or some little decoration all year, but its on Christmas time that we truly let loose. For this land it marks the end of the year. Even though we aren’t sure the original purpose of the celebration, today we use it celebrate a year of good will and good fortune. To help make sure the next year is just as good, everyone in town exchanges gifts as we sit under the giant Yule tree. Then we will drink hot beverages and sing. It’s a good time. Tonight is Christmas eve, so there will be a little party then the gifts will be exchanged tomorrow. Then tomorrow night we sing and welcome the New Year” The bartender explained, His face beaming with joy and pride.

            Red smiled “wow, Its pretty good luck that I arrived when I did.” Red replied. Red was on the run from assassins and criminals and hadn’t had a chance to stay in one place for too long. Yule town was far off the normal roads and trade routes and it was so cold, Red doubted desert assassins would show up looking for him. With that kind of peace of mind all he had to do was relax and enjoy the celebration.

Jack Frost

In early December Fred was driving home from work. He wore a heavy brown jacket a wool hat and brown work boots. He drove an old sedan and had the heat cranked up. He sped down a lone country road, the road was clear but snow piled up in the open field next to the road.

The dusty smell of an old car’s heating system and the sound of Christmas music filled the car. Fred hummed along to one of the many tunes that he knew by heart, but kept forgetting the name. As he was driving he spotted a young boy walking alone through the snow in the snowy field. Fred carefully slowed down and then stopped his car. He opened his door and stepped out. He took a few steps away from his car and called out to the boy. The child didn’t respond. Fred heard crows and looked up, spotting a murder of crows flying overhead. Fred walked into the snow, it wasn’t too deep and only went up to his ankles. It wasn’t that easy to walk in though. Fred called out again as he walked closer to the boy.

After a few minutes Fred was only ten feet or so from the boy and yelled again, this time getting a little angry. The boy looked up. He had crystal blue eyes that were alert and showed a sense of intelligence and cunning, but his face was that of a young boy. His hair was white and his skin pale as snow. The boy smiled and a chill went down Fred’s spine. Fred blinked and the next moment the boy was gone. The crows no longer seemed interested in this spot and flew off in different directions. Confused and a little scared, Fred walked back to his car. When he got to his car he silently drove home and never told anyone about what he had seen.

Fred was just one of many to have seen this boy. The boy was actually not even a boy, but the spirit of winter, Jack Frost. He had pale blue skin, crystal blue eyes and hair made of ice and snow. He was small like a child but was devious and intelligent as a creature centuries old. He could look like a human, or close enough to fool people, and loved to play tricks. Depending on his mood he might do something as innocent as lead some poor chump out into a snowy field and then disappear or maybe something more sinister like using wind and snow to hide and knock down markers on a hiking trail and laughing as winter hikers got lost and muddled around in the snow.

Some have called Jack Frost an icy devil or snow demon and compared to the saintly Santa Clause, he might be. Jack Frost isn’t really evil though. He doesn’t care about corrupting men’s souls or trying to end anyone’s life, he only cares about having fun, even if it is at the expense of others.

Unfortunately, some people have died from Jack’s cruel tricks. He never had intended to kill anyone, he just doesn’t seem to realize or care how dangerous winter can be for humans and how fatal his tricks can become. Since Jack Frost's tricks can be so deadly, crows follow him around as they look for their next meal.

So if you ever find a boy alone in the snow and surrounded by crows, it is best to ignore him and save yourself the grief Jack Frost will most likely bring.