Lamiae

Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other in a passionate embrace.  They were kissing furiously, their lips glued together.  He'd never felt like this before, so inflamed with love.  He wanted her.

He wanted her blood.

What? Where did that come from? he thought to himself.

They continued to kiss.  The urge to bite her grew stronger.  He stopped kissing her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm...I'm not feeling well...I should go," he said.

"Oh...is everything okay?  You look a little pale."

"Oh do I?  Yeah I'm...I'm fine.  I'll see you tomorrow alright?"

"Okay...I'll call you alright?"

"Alright."

He pulled on his jacket and went outside.  When he got to his car he got in and locked the doors and sat there.  He looked at his arms.  They were pale.  He wanted to cut them, to drink the blood.  His own blood?  What was wrong with him, why was he thinking like that.  He stared at his skin for a while, the longing to spill his own blood slowly crept away and he took a few deep breaths.  He just was not feeling right, a good night's sleep would help.  That would make him feel better.

He started the car and began to drive.  Drive.  Drive.  Drive.

He woke the next morning with a bad headache.  He crawled out of bed and walked into the bathroom.  He fumbled around in the cabinet for some pain killers.  When he found them he closed the cabinet and noticed his reflection in the mirror, or rather, his lack thereof.  He saw nothing in the mirror but the reflection of the bathroom around him.  His body was not displayed in the image at all.  He closed his eyes and rubbed them and opened them again.  Nope, still no reflection.  Disturbed and wanting to get out of the bathroom he turn.  He hit the door on accident and jammed his arm into the handle.  The stupidly pointed, metal handle cut him and he began to bleed.  The sight of blood gave him an elated feeling.  He had the urge to drink it.  He shook his head and went back to the cabinet for a bandage.  Ignoring his absent reflection and his bloody urges he bandaged his arm and then went to the kitchen for some breakfast.

He put the stove on a low heat.  He put some butter in the pan and spread it around then cracked two eggs in it.  He took some spinach and shredded it with his hands and sprinkled it in.  He grabbed salt, pepper, onion powder, and garlic powder from the cupboard.  He sprinkled on the ingredients, but when he got to the garlic he stopped.  As soon as he opened the bottle the smell of garlic filled his nostrils and he felt sick.  He closed it and took some deep breaths.  Finally the smell dissipated and he finished cooking the eggs.

As he ate he thought about the strange things that were happening to him.  He knew what he was, but what he did not know was how he came to be one.  He thought they were only legends, stories, myths.  He wondered if he could turn into a bat and fly.  He tried.  He thought really hard.  Nothing happened.  Oh well, it was worth a try.  He saw no fun in being a vampire if he could not fly, but then again, you can't ave everything.

He finished his eggs and went into his office to begin work.  His phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Babe it's me, how are you feeling this morning," his girlfriend asked.

"Oh, much better I think."

"What do you think was wrong."

"Well, nothing is wrong, really...it's just...I'm a vampire."

What's Joy?

I could try to explain how I feel

But that might get a little silly

I just feel giddy you know?

Like, I can't exactly explain it

I'm just super happy and cheerful

The why factor, well life I guess

Life is so beautiful sometimes

I guess my life is pretty good

I must have done something right

For once at least, because

She's all mine, she loves me

So I guess I win in the end

And all that I've lost was nothing

I needed in the first place

And I'm just super happy

I'm not one for big words

But the word beatific comes

To my mind at this moment

That's just great I think

I'm feeling...dandy just dandy

I think I'll go for a walk

I Don't Want To Be Here

Do you know what it is like to lose someone?  I think it I do...or last, sort of what it feels like.  Because I lost myself...and that is hard.  It is a hard thing to lose yourself, to lose sight of who you were.

You forget yourself, the thoughts you had, the way you were...it sort of gets left behind.  And I think I don't want to be here, forgotten on the side of the road, left behind by my own self.

Then I stop and wonder, maybe this is exactly where I am supposed to be.  Maybe I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing.  Never perfectly of course, never good enough.  I will never be good enough.

But maybe what I'm doing is just right...just right.  Maybe I do want to be here.  Maybe I could be happy here.  No, I'm not the same person I used to be.

I have changed a lot I suppose...I'm different to say the least.  But I'm still me...and maybe, just maybe this is the place for me.  I do want to be here.  I wouldn't ask for anything to be different, because everything is right.

I am not my own, all I have is not my own, so why try to change, why worry, why not just be satisfied.  I want to be here.  This is where I belong, this is where I will stay.  This is who I am.

So let me be this way and don't try to stop me, because I'm doing it the way He designed...I was seeking so long for something more when it was right in front of me all along.  Well I am done.

This is where I am, where I will always be and I am satisfied, finally satisfied, finally ready to accept.  It took me long enough.  But this is where I belong, this is where I will stay.  This is who I am.

Who Are You Even?

"So I met this guy.  He was a crazy guy.  Always going on and shouting about voices that would tell him crazy things.  All sorts of conspiracies and stuff, you know.  He was trying to warn me about the government doing something, trying to take over our lives with computers or something.  He kept going on and on about it, saying how it was so important we protect our brains."

"That's pretty crazy I guess."

"You're tellin' me!  I said to the guy, I think you're pretty much safe as you are.  You don't need to worry about anything.  He just walks away shouting about it still, leaves me like he never talked to me at all....So my daughter is in a talent show at school.  She's playing the flute.  She's been playing since she was old enough to talk.  She's ten now.  She's a real angel, let me tell you.  If you've ever seen a cuter kid I'll give you a hundred bucks!  Here take a look at this picture of her!"

"She's cute alright."

"Yeah she is.  She's so excited to be in the talent show bless her heart.  She's been practicing all day....My wife was at the grocery store the other day and some guy just cuts her off, steals her spot you know! Now my wife, you gotta understand she's no pushover.  She tells the guy off and she tells me he starts cussing her out! He's gotta alotta nerve!  Oh boy, let me tell you if I had been there that guy would have been sorry!  You know what I'm saying?  People have some nerve don't they?"

"Yeah...they sure do..."

"I know, I know some people seem to be totally oblivious, thinking they are the only person in the world or something.  Oh look at me, I'm God's gift to me....Well anyway, my boss gave me a couple tickets to a football game, I figured I would take my son, have some good father son bonding time, you know?  I think that would be nice you know what I mean?"

"Nope.  I don't really give a crap.  Bye."

"Oh...ok...bye..."

This Story Will Never Be Finished

He ran around a corner and down an alleyway.  It was dark and he kept knocking over trashcans.  The men chasing him were gaining on him.  It would be only a matter of time before they caught him, and then who knew what would happen then.  He came out of the alleyway to another street.  He ran down it passing people who gasped as he rushed passed them.  The men were almost upon him now.

One of the men tackled him to the ground.  He struggled but he could not get free.  He felt a pain in his head and then everything went black.

When he awoke he was-

The Rising

There was a hole in the earth again.  It was like the others, the dirt pushed away like something had pushed it out from beneath.

The villagers were baffled.  More and more graves were now missing their inhabitants.

The sky was growing darker every day it seemed, as if the sun was slowly being eaten up by blackness.

The dead roamed the hills seeking a future that had ended so long ago with their lives.

The earth shook and groaned every now and then, but it kept on turning.

Idem

"How'd you get a job as a reporter?" I asked her as we stood waiting to leave.

"I sort of stumbled upon it, I just happened to meet my boss, I was a writer, he needed someone, I started out as an intern of course," she replied.  She spoke fast.

"Do you like your job?"

"Yes, very much."

"That's good."

"Mmhmm...what's your name?"

"Phil, and your's?"

"Anne.  Good to meet you."

"You too."

Me and Anne and two other reporters who I was less interested in speaking to stood around while the soldiers prepared the two trucks.  We were headed into dangerous territory, lead by Captain Higgens of the 5th battalion.  I was neither a reporter or a soldier, but camera man.  I worked alone, selling footage to news companies.  I had been invited along by the Captain.  The reporters were there to get the story if the South City.  This was a war zone basically.  It was ruled by a terrorist group called The Frumentarii.  We were to get a good news story and get out before trouble struck.  The soldiers were there to make sure things went smoothly.

"Mount up!" shouted Captain Higgens.

We climbed onto the trucks.  My camera sat at my side, ready to record at a moments notice.  Anne climbed in at sat down next to me.  The two other reporters sat in the second truck behind us.  The Captain and two other soldiers and the driver were also in our truck.  The remaining soldiers were in the other truck.  We set out down the road.  The driving was smooth and easy for the first half hour of the trip, but the deeper we got into the city the more uneasy I began to feel.  I wasn't the only one, the soldier next to me gripped his gun tighter and the other soldier had a frightened look on his face.  The Captain was stoned faced, set in his mission.

Suddenly there was an explosion behind us.  The truck behind us went up in flames and the yells of the soldiers and other reporters were heard and then cut short.  A van sped up ahead of us.  The back doors opened and two men shot hooks onto our truck.  The van swerved and the hooks pulled our truck so that it spun out and flipped over.  Everything was a jumble and when we stopped rolling we were upside down.  Te hooks were still on our truck but the cables had been cut, and up ahead I saw the van parked.  Several men were approaching us, all armed with guns.  I undid my seat belt and fell to the ground.  Before I could to anything else arms reached under the truck and dragged me out.  I was hit in the head and everything went black.

I awoke what must have been hours later in a dimly lit room.  I was tied to a chair.  Next to me, also tied to chairs, were Anne and Captain Higgens.  Another hour passed and finally someone came into the room.  Several men actually walked in, dressed in black, their faces covered by wraps.

"What were you doing the South City?" asked the man in the lead.

"We were reporting," said Anne.  She was frightened, I could tell by her voice.

"Reporting what?"  the man asked.

"The situation...the life, that's all," I said.

"Why did you need soldiers for that?" the man asked.

"We were there simply to make sure the reporters got in and out safely," replied Captain Higgens.

The man nodded to the man to his right and the man grabbed the Captain and dragged him out of the room.  The leader pulled out a gun.

"Now, which one of you is going to tell me the truth about why you are here?" he said, the pistol hanging loosely at his side.

"We already told you the truth!" said Anne tears now rolling down her cheeks.

"I hate to ruin a pretty face but..." before I knew what was happening the man raised the gun and shot Anne in the head.  Blood splattered on my face.

"What did you do that for?" I shouted.

"You're next unless you tell why you were in South City."

"We told you, we were there to report the city's current conditions and maybe interview some of the people.  The soldiers were there to make sure we stayed safe."

"Well...they didn't do a very good job did they?"

The man pulled off his mask.  I gasped.  It was the soldier that had been sitting across from me, the one who had looked so frightened.  He smirked as he raised the gun and pointed it right between my eyes.

"Last chance," he said.

"What will you gain by killing me?"

"Nothing, but you'll only be an annoyance if we let you live."

"Just let me go."

"And miss out on shooting you in the head?  No thanks, killing is something I really, really enjoy.  Call me sick, but I can't help it.  So, if you aren't going to tell me anything else I think I'll shoot you now."

"Before you kill me...I just want to say, scio qui sis.  Lingua loquor."

"How?" he asked astonished

"I've studied it for years, I figured it might come in handy some day," I said, glad to buy myself some time.

"Lorem.  Me et te reservabunt."

"Malo mori."

The Quiet Room-Not So Silent

It was a small square room with a single window in the middle of the ceiling, letting in light, but very little.  The room was dark and thick with dust.  It was cold and damp with chipped and peeling paint on the walls.  In the center sat a single man, curled up in a fetal position.  He rocked back and fort murmuring things to himself, inaudible things that faded away into the nothingness that surrounded him.  He was talking back to the voices in his head.  They whispered things at him, terrible things that made him afraid.  Never before had he been so afraid, and no one was helping him.  Fear was griping at his very throat and his breathing was heavy and rapid.  Tears spilled from his eyes uncontrollably and he pulled at his hair over and over again.  The voices would not leave him alone, they echoed around his mind.  No matter how many times he told them to leave they never left, only grew louder.  His whole body ached and shook and trembled and it was all he could do to not scream at the top of his lungs.  But his mutterings went on and on, the tears continued to fall, an his body continued to shake.  The fear was always there and ever present, it would not go away.  The voices would not leave him alone.  He just wanted them to leave him alone!  Why would they not just go AWAY!

Then a door opened and a voice called out his name.  The voice was not in his head, it was not his own, it was a woman, calling his name.  Calling him back to reality.  Because the voices...they were not reality.  They weren't real.  They weren't real.  They weren't real...

The Bombs Dropped-Preface to a book I am writing

 There was a sound like thunder and the ground cracked in two. A massive cloud of fire and smoke erupted towards the sky and a rushing shock wave blew outwards in all directions. Buildings were demolished miles around and the radiation seeped into the crevices of the earth. Hundreds of thousands of people were dead, consumed by flames or having the life crushed out of them by sheer force of power. Tree and shrubs were stripped of their leaves and branches and even the bark. The devastation was intense and unlike any other the world had ever seen. The bombs dropped and the world went up in flames and was consumed by fire and radiation leaving few survivors. Eighty-five percent of the population was dead. Fourteen percent were mutated into horrible monsters with a thirst for blood. The remaining one percent were poisoned with enough radiation to grant them long life, but at the cost of having some painful sickness like a bloody cough or awful migraines that plagued them for the rest of their lives.

As time progressed the population slowly began to increase. The survivors started colonies, formed alliances, and began to rebuild. A powerful government arose called The Council lead by a mysterious power-hungry leader known only as The Judge. The Council took it upon themselves to rule over the land that became known as Mandolia. All the villages became under the rule of The Judge who sat on his throne in the capital castle Rockheart.

Strange human beings with super powers started appearing throughout the land. They became known as Light-bringers and became the heroes of the wastelands. They brought justice and order to the land, but also began to oppose the forces of The Council. Though some were not so good intentioned and joined forces with The Council. Even still they were Light-bringers, bringing forth light into the new world.

Slowly the world began to rebuild itself, but not without conflict. The winds of war blew even as the world struggled to survive.

The Burial House

Thum lay in a rocky mountainous region where nothing but a rare type of mushroom grew. It was a small town with a steady population of around three hundred people. Often enough new members were born, and often enough members died, and when they died they were sent to The Burial House.

In this strange and eerie building lived the mysterious creatures known as the Consumers. No one knew what they looked like as they were cloaked in black with tall hoods that covered their faces in shadow, but they were certainly not human. Their duty was to carry away the dead and dispose of them. But what was always wondered was how they were disposed of. The story that was told was that the Consumers simply buried the dead deep under ground in catacombs. However, many of the citizens complained that they were never allowed to see their loved ones before they were carried off and consumed in flame or earth, or whatever was done with them. An investigation was put out by the own sheriff, but nothing ever came of it. The Consumers said they did their job and would not be interfered with. Some said that the sheriff was afraid of them, and backed off out of fear. Others said he had done his job and found no fault with the process by which the Consumers disposed of the dead.

So Thum continued on as it always had, harvesting and living off it's unending supply of mushrooms. Parents worked the fields, children went to school, and the Consumers did their work, whatever it was exactly.

But it all changed one day when a strange man came to town.

John Craigs was a young man of about twenty-three years. He had lived in the valley all his life and was the son of a wealthy miner named Thomas Craigs. John left his home to seek a quieter life in the mountains, and, hearing about the tiny town of Thum, decided to pay it a visit. As he rode his horse along the path towards Thum a storm began. It started to pour rain on John, and thunder roared and lightning flashed across the sky. As he rode John saw in the distance a large house. Though he did not know it, it was indeed the Burial House. The road lead John past the large house and as he went by John thought he saw several figures standing out in the front. The Consumers watched as the guest arrived and wondered if he soon would be joining their host of dead.

John rode into town and stopped outside an inn. A boy ran out to stable his horse and John went inside. As soon as the door was open he flt warmer. There was a roaring fire in the middle of the room in a large stone basin. Tables full of men and women filled the room. John walked to the bar and sat down in an empty chair next to an old man and his escort.

“Whiskey,” said John.

“You're new here stranger, what's you're name?” the bartender said as he poured a glass of whiskey.

John picked up the glass and took a drink before answering. “The name is John, John Craigs.”

“Welcome to Thum Mr. Criags....What brings you here might I ask?”

“I'm looking for a small town o settle down in.”

“Settle down? You look a might young to be wanting to settle down.”

“I have money, and care to spend my days reading, if you don't mind.”

“No offense, it isn't any of my business how you live. I'll leave you to your drink then.”

The bartender bustled away and John turned in his seat to survey the room. The crowd of people was not unpleasant as the crowds in most saloons John had been to were. They were nice looking folks, and save for the occasional hooker standing about seemed decent enough. The room was not terribly loud either. An occasional holler or yell came from men who were playing cards. One of the prostitutes giggled as a man nibbled at her ear. A plump woman waited tables, bringing out beer and ale and whiskey and food. John liked this saloon. His father had always told him, “If a town's got a good saloon or two, then it's probably a good town.”

John paid for his drink and for a room and retired for the night. The plump woman showed him to his room.

“Will you be needing me to send you up some company, Mr. Craigs?” she asked stiffly.

“That won't be necessary ma'am,” said John. She loosened up a bit.

“Goodnight then, Mr. Craigs,” she said with a smile as she left the room.

Once the door was closed all the sound from downstairs was cut off, and John felt quite peaceful. John opened his suitcase and pulled out a book. He sat in an armchair by a lamp and began to read. He fell asleep reading his book, but he did not awake.

The body of John Craigs was carried out of the room early the next morning. The cause of death was unknown and the Consumers spirited the dead body away towards the Burial House. The sheriff watched as the creatures carried the body away, and once they were out of sight turned to his deputy.

“You left no trace,” he said with a smile.

“Told you I wouldn't!” the deputy said holding his hand out. “Pay up sheriff!”

The sheriff handed him ten dollars and walked away mumbling. The deputy was good at his job. Maybe too good. The sheriff thought maybe the Burial House could use another body by tomorrow...but he was too tired.

But the Burial House had another body the next day. The sheriff had died mysteriously, and the deputy took over. So things continued as normal. The town went on and the Consumers did their job, and the dead were put to rest. The Burial House lived on.

The Fork In The Road

Timothy walked down a road, alone and uncertain where exactly he was going.  Brilliant rays of sunlight crept like so many snaking vines through the dark and gloomy clouds that hovered like a sea in the sky.  Trees grew on either side of the road.  Great trees with massive, thick trunks and hulking, muscular branches with no leaves.  In between each tree was a large rock, or rather, half a rock.  They were all split in two neatly down the middle to reveal a sparkling display of purple stone inside.  The sides of amethyst faced east, and Timothy walked west so that he saw the magnificent rocks before him.

Timothy was a fair young man.  He was tall with wavy brown hair that fell to his shoulders, but not past them.  His skin was spotless and a light brown, like that of someone who spends much of their time in the sun.  He had broad shoulders and dark brown eyes, much like the color of the trees around him.  Looking into this man's eyes was like looking into a vast maze of black tunnels that never ended, with a hint of light dancing and teasing around every corner, only to disappear when close to it.  A flicker of sarcasm hung about his face, from his slightly upturned eyebrows to his almost always smirking mouth.

The road itself was dirt.  Plain and simple dirt with pebbles and rocks scattered here and there.  There were no holes, no hills, and no cracks.  The road was flat, unforgiving, and endless.  It stretched on straight ahead as far as Timothy could see.  The road had a voice too.  A slight whisper that echoed with every step that Timothy took.  If he stopped walking the road stopped talking, but Timothy could never stop.

On an endless journey to an unknown land Timothy was destined to walk until he reached his destination.  The road told no lies, the road told no truths, the road told nothing at all, but it always talked.  A whisper, and the sky was ever changing.

Lying in the middle of the road lay a fork.

And Timothy stopped walking.

The Quiet Room

The nothingness was interrupted by a bright light.  He squinted and covered his eyes with his hands as the sudden change blinded him.  He sat on the cold concrete, alone and friendless.  As his eyes adjusted he saw two men towering over him.  One man held a small cup and a glass of water.  He knew what was in the little cup, and he didn't like it.  The other man held a clipboard.  He knew it was filled with lies and horrible things about him.

"Time to get up," said the man with the clipboard.

"Time to tak your medicine," said the other man.

"No," he said defiantly, "you can't make me take your poison.  I won't let you!"

"Now Sam, don't start that again.  Aren't you tired of being in the Quiet Room?"

"No, you can't make me!  I won't do it!  You'll have to kill me first!"

"No one is going to kill you, Sam.  Just take your medicine, it will make you better."

"Lies, you're just lying to me.  STOP LYING TO ME!"

The two men looked at each other and nodded.  They left the room and closed the door behind them, cutting off Sam's continuous yelling.

"What are we going to do Doctor?"

"He won't take his meds, and he's been in there for two days already...we can't keep him in there forever.  We'll have to find someone he trusts."

"I know someone."

"Who?"

"Richard."

"Who's Richard?"

"Richard is Sam."

"I see...you think Richard will take the meds?"

"I'm on good terms with Richard...next time he comes around I think I can convinve him."

"Make it happen Greg, he needs those meds before it's too late."

"I'll do my best Doc, I'll do my best."

They walked away, Sam's yells getting fainter with every step.