They trickle through me, their oddness curling behind my tired eyes and floating on invisible wings through the twisting labyrinth of my mind. I try to understand them, reaching out a curious hand to gently pluck them from the air but they playfully elude me by vanishing and reappearing high above my head. I let out a sigh and simply watch as these mystical fireflies shimmer in and out of focus, illuminating the inky black of within with a strange cerulean glow. Tiny free-floating enigmas that were created from my dreams.
I try to make sense of the dreams echoing behind my gaze as crisp morning air dances along the graceful expanse of my neck, cooling the exposed flesh as it whispers past. Such strange dreams that I can only remember in flashes. The echo of a masculine laugh, the gentle caress of a rough yet warm hand against my shoulder, the heated breath against the nape of my neck, the deep baritone voice that felt like living thunder coursing a path of fire through my veins…
It was only a segment, a glimpse of a moment put on pause in the back of my mind. He was with me, the muse that hides within the shadows, the haunting glow of his quick silver gaze focused on me with the silent intensity of a predator watching its prey. The living sentinel that haunts the catacombs of my imagination, biding his time in that inky blackness just beyond my memory warehouse, beyond the secret steel door that holds my personal creations made of death and shadows. His movements are methodical as he walks within the silence and retrieves any lost file he finds along his way. The occasional horror that escapes that hidden vault, alone and afraid… He hunts it down and is somehow able to calm the terrible obsidian creature with its grinning mouth filled with rows of metallic teeth. These wayward shadows follow him willingly, knowing he’s not a threat and find themselves brought safely back to their Hive where a grateful Mother lies in wait.
Been too long since I’ve felt the safety of his presence. Sensing that I’m not alone in the vast abyss as two silver/blue orbs glow to life and I suddenly realize he’s peering down at me like intelligent starlight.
Richard B Riddick. The one with the Furyan blood and Shined Eyes. The one they call an Escaped Convict, Murderer.
The one I call Friend.
* * * * *
-gives a small smile and takes a drink of her coffee-
So the old muse has made an appearance again. Can’t remember specifics but I do remember his presence. Which means he’s close to the surface again. Definitely not a bad thing.
Now I remember mentioning that I had started writing a story and wasn’t sure where I was going to go with it. It’s still in the rough stages but I thought I’d give you guys the chance to check it out and let me know what you think.
And on that note, enjoy!
* * * *
-Something In The Way- (4’21’2015)
Static swells through the mind as blood rushes wildly through heated veins. So many wayward souls; discarded, bleeding and broken…strewn out across the landscape of my memories like the haunting images of a tragic childhood. Trapped in an eternal cycle of pain, death and blood, over and over by my hand. Such delicate, small hands…you’d never know the red they’ve been stained with, the screams they’ve muffled, the necks they’ve snapped, the light they’ve snuffed out. Two unsuspecting hands that have sent the damned, the fallen, the forsaken and even the most twisted to their inevitable fate.
I’ve been here so many times before…I wish it would stop. I wish I could go back and find that innocence that I lost somewhere along the way. It hurts in a way I can never truly describe. Probably because I’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel. What it was like to know the sting of remorse as the edge of my blade sliced the delicate flesh and unleashed the precious life force of my enemy in a spray of crimson freedom. To remember what the guilt tasted like as salty tears spilled down my face in trails of moist regret. When did it all go wrong? How did I end up on this darkened path on my way toward what I thought was redemption? Where did I go…and how is it that I’ve become this, thing?
I’ve become cold and silent. Calculating, methodical and scrutinizing every detail in my surroundings. Never a moment to pause, always moving, always searching. It never stops. It will never stop. I can’t stop. I’ve become nothing more than a machine of flesh and bone. Fading echoes of the life that once filled this walking shell with warmth.
Heavy boots walk a careful path of silence along a leviathan of ancient pavement as night swallows the last lingering light of day. I can feel the chill tickling the back of my neck as the air fills with the promise of fog while old lampposts along the street begin to shimmer to life, emitting a strange golden halo against the growing darkness.
I’m out patrolling on foot again. Searching the faceless people that ghost my path. You see, I got this gift that allows me to see what they really are. People aren’t always what they seem. They’re not just people. I see what’s hidden, the thing living beneath the human disguise. It’s usually something so small most folk tend to miss it. That’s how they get by because no one ever really stops and pays close attention to the stranger they’re interacting with. Many innocent lives would be saved if they did. Heh, would make my life so much easier.
Since they can’t see what’s in front of’em, they draw the short straw and get screwed. Too dull to know that there’s a big bad about to eat their face off and just like that, it’s over.
But that’s where I come in. I’m that oddball in the crowd no one really notices except for that uneasy feeling I give’em. The silent warning that they shouldn’t stare too long or stand too close. They keep a good amount of distance, which gives me adequate space to do my job. I don’t have time for social niceties. I don’t dig crowds much anyway.
Besides, better to seem off-putting when everyone you’ve ever loved was taken from you in a moment of violence and blood. Friends ain’t something a hunter has a place for in their lives. It’s just too dangerous for civilians, even when their eyes have been opened to the things that linger behind closet doors and just underneath their beds. Better off alone. At least that’s how I’ve always seen it.
That is until I ran into these brothers, the Winchesters and I gotta be honest…
They’ve been nothing but a severe pain in my ass.
-TBC-
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