It’s A Start

‘…as though he held out little hope for a change.’


But he still held even that little sliver of hope and though despair clouded his mind, his heart knew, in one little corner, that it wasn’t the end.

Of course it was going to take an awful lot of work to get that little bit of embryonic hope to grow into something more substantial, but everyone’s got to start somewhere.

Love Beget Hate

You catch yourself wishing that the person you loved had never existed to spare yourself the pain. –Ras Al Ghoul, Batman Begins


Every moment of every day he hated her.

The fall of her hair, the turn of her cheek as she smiled and the light that it brought to her eyes; he hated every. Single. Bit. Of. It.

Even the part about how happy she looked in the arms of that other man.

Or the child that was growing under her heart.

He cared not for the fact that he had never made a move for her, never done anything to show that he loved her or wanted anything more than her friendship.

Still, that did not stop the anger and hatred that continued to grow within his heart.

No, this is not the Illusion Master. Don’t worry.

Also, not where I thought I was going to go with this initially.

The More Things Change…

The patterns of life vary

Live, die

Dirty, clean

Fight, negotiate

Work, play

Simple patterns that you see every day


She was walking along, not really paying too much attention to what was going on around her. Not that unusual in this day and age, was what she often reassured her father whenever he called, worried at the constant distractions that bombarded her life.

“I’ll be fine, Dad.”

“Sweetie, I really worry about this.”

“I know, I know, but this is just the way life is.”

“It didn’t use to be like this.”

“Dad, yes it did.”

“We weren’t checking our phones every five or ten seconds, darling.”

“Just because the distraction themselves have changed doesn’t mean that the reality of them has.”

“Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m not pushing the wedding back any further, Dad.”

“I just don’t want you to overload yourself with school and work and now this wedding!”

She gave an exasperated sigh, “I know how to prioritize, Dad. You taught me that. I’ll be fine. You always were.”

He chuckled over the line and nodded, though she wouldn’t be able to see it, “Even when I was running around trying to find my tie and cuff-links?”

“Especially then, Dad!”

This little story was inspired by the Dungeon Prompt: Patterns. Sorry for it’s lateness!

You’re Not Here Next To Me

It began the way all things began, with a wish and a prayer and a hand stretched out.

It ended the way some things end as well, with a wish and a scream and a hand stretched out.

But the middle, oh the middle, was where most of it was, where most of it still is, truth be told. And it is the middle that I am writing about and you are reading.

Life was good.

No, that sounds trite.

Life was excellent.

That still doesn’t sound quite right.

Life just was.

There, that sounds better.

They had a little home, a place where he would come to after a long day’s hard work and where she would spend the day working on things at home. She raised a garden that he helped to plant and she tended to the chickens that he brought home and gathered the eggs every evening for the next day. During the evenings he would work on mending by the firelight and she’d practice her reading skills and basic arithmetic. Sometimes he’d have to set the mending aside and help her when she ran into a word or problem that was harder than the others.

And so life went on for them. They weren’t rich and they weren’t poor. They were somewhere in between and that was good enough for them.

And then, on a day like any other for this couple, everything changed.

Peace in Passing

The sound of her steps echoed throughout the hall, though it was not made of marble nor the cold stone of the earth. It was wood, though less warm than the mahogany color would indicate. The lamps were lit, the soft glow of fire dancing over the wick casting shadows and illusions round about even after she had passed. Painted faces gazed down, somber expressions knowing and empty while she strove to ignore them just the same.

She was alone and yet with almost a hundred eyes upon her each day she wondered how that could truly be. The paintings of those long since passed her only companions inside the bleak future that they had once fought so long and hard for.

“It will be worth it, if only to let them have a moment to breathe!”

“We do not fight for ourselves, but for the children!”

“I hold no hope for myself, but must gift it to others for my time draws near its end.”

Shades and memories of words and actions, deeds and beliefs followed in her wake as surely as her own shadow, warped though the candlelight may make it.

It was a silent world, though the wind blew and the rain fell and the snow gently drifted down. Animals scurried here and there and the sounds of birds and insects were ever present.

It was silent because there were no beings of higher sentience upon the once desolated and overpopulated planet.

She had desired peace for all and in the end there was peace for all but one.

Death is the final passing.


Have no idea where that came from. This was supposed to end differently than it did, but once it was done I couldn’t rewrite it.

This was inspired by the Dungeon Prompt: Desire. Sreejit, I am sorry this one was so depressing.


Sometimes I wonder just how we got here, after all it’s not like we were here in the first place. This planet is so green and blue, like a multi-colored marble full of life that doesn’t seem to exist on other planets.

I know that we are from somewhere else, because there is nothing to show that we were here for the same extended length of time as the other more natural species that we’ve carefully catalogued. There is evidence of other sentient life-forms on this planet, but wherever they are at this point in time is unknown to us. The cities that were here before us are large and grand looking even with the damage that time and weather has done, but they are empty of any sentient life.

I wish, more than anything sometimes it seems, that I knew just how we got here. It drives me mad even as I’m directed to another site to excavate and learn about the native species that once lived here. I will find the answer to my question (how did we get here? Where did the natives go?) Someday and I will not rest until I do.

Yeah…I have no idea where this story came from. It just popped out of my fingers and onto the keyboard.

I Don’t Run Warm

His breath shuddered out of him, turning white in the late winter air. He hurt, why did he hurt?

“Why do I hurt?”

His voice sounded breathless and he wondered why. He could actually see his breath because of the temperature. Which led him to another question

“Why aren’t I cold?”

He should be cold because the temperature is low enough that he can see the water in his breath crystallizing. He was not the kind of person who ‘ran warm’ as his mother used to put it. He was always cold even in the middle of summer when it was pushing 99 degrees Fahrenheit.

He gave up on trying to figure out just why he wasn’t cold and closed his eyes instead.