The Writing Desk

the Chair of Doom

Every writer needs a chair to help them write.

For me, it's the Chair of Doom.

Repetitive Stress Syndrome no more! Har har!

posted by Tired @ 9:10 PM 0 comments

The Price

Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiantnever taste death but once. Of all the wonders that I have yetheard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear,Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it come.- - - - William Shakespeare “Julius Caesar”

“Hey Mac, how is it going?”

“Not bad Officer, not bad. But you know, those new gangs, they’ve really been cutting into our business here. You know how it is? Ain’t good for business and ain’t good fur all you know?”

“Yeah Mac, I know. Ain’t able to do much about it though” With a tired nod Officer Murphy smiles gently at his friend, long time stooge and gang member. They had both grown up on this same neighbourhood, that’s why he got the beat. It was his neighbourhood, his street and the people were his. He knew the alleyways and the corner shops and he knew the names of all these people. And sure, sometimes he turned his eyes from the drug dealers on the corner and the prostitute under the lamplight, but you had to. This wasn’t the movies, this was real life and you had to compromise to make sure everything ran smoothly. In a perfect world… but this wasn’t a perfect world. Not by far.

“Do you know anything about this new gang Mac? They sure have taken a lot of ground these few days, I hear they’re bringing others in yet I ain’t even got a name from them yet.”

“Yeah I got a name, I heard” dropping his voice “they call themselves Sabbat. Don’t ask me why, I just overheard little Angelo say that he heard one of them calling themselves that whilst he was trying to sleep in that box of his under the stairs”

This illicits another nod before Murphy frowns, turning his head quickly at a scream. He drops the cigarette, his hand moving to the butt of his gun as he turns to Mac “Call it in Mac will you? That sounded like Jill.”

Murphy’s already running by the time Mac gives a nod, down the street, the gun in his hand now. He turns around the corner, expecting to find a client who’s gotten too rough or maybe a mugger who didn’t know the rules of the game. He never expected to find what he did.

Officer Patrick Murphy, 4 years on the force already and still young enough to be walking the beat. But he’s not that young, he’s grown up on these streets all his life and he isn’t at all new to the way things work. Wife get beaten, women get raped, children are whaled upon by husbands and wives and the occasional death happens, but this was out of his experience. For staring up at him, a hand gripping Jill by the waist and another by the head was a man with fangs. Fangs that were a moment ago buried in Jills throat, the blood still seeping anew from the wounds.

“Fu...” Recovering himself he drops into an open legged stance, the gun resting in a two handed grip on the butt of his gun. And even though he knows it shouldn’t, the feel of cold metal in the palm of his hands is comforting, it tells him that he’s control of this situation. “Freeze. Police.”
The grin that the thing gives him chills Murphy to his bones, sending a shiver up his spine and for a moment he wonders if this isn’t just a gang member with some strange dental caps, if he isn’t actually a vampire. But just as fast, he dismisses that thought, forcing it away. A gang member he could deal with, a vampire – well, they didn’t exist and anyway, this guy was black not Transylvanian (however they were meant to look).

“Alright, now let the girl go. And raise your hands above your head” His hands tremble, ever so slightly as he points the gun at the mans head, trying to get a clean shot. And damn, if the guy doesn’t let the girl go – though he does just toss her to the side so damn hard he can hear the impact as she hits the wall. But he doesn’t raise his hands at the hand, instead he chuckles at him.

“What we have here? Damn, a sheep with a gun. Shoot me then, come on. Right here.” Reaching forwards he grabs hold of his shirt, pulling it down and baring his breast for him to shoot as he strides forward, black eyes flickering over Murphy with irritation.

“Stop right there. I said stop. Stop or I’ll shoot” Desperately trying to control his voice, to keep it commanding and level, Officer Murphy aims the gun again at the mans chest, adjusting his grip. And all the while, in his mind he is swearing, never having shot a man before. This guy is nuts, he’s nuts. But he knows also that he has to shoot him, he can’t let him get too close. Shit.

“Come on then, shoot me. Come on.”

“Freeze. Stop right there. I’m warning you, I’ll shoot. I’ll shoot. Stop right there.”

“Well, come on. Do it”

“Shit...” That’s it, he can’t let him come any closer. The trigger is pulled once, twice. And he watches or thinks he watches the bullets leave the gun to hit the man in the chest, to enter them and he watches, so slowly as the man stumbles backwards, blood appearing. And then time kicks back in, and the man stand sup straighter, looking at Officer Murphy with a smile on his
face. A full, fanged smile. And he brushes his chest, chuckling.

“Mmm… that hurt. That really hurt. I think I’ll die. Oh wait, I’m already dead.” Laughing the vampire looks at his opponent again before suddenly lunging forward, his hands going for Officer Murphy’s throat. “No….” Stumbling back the Officer opens fire, trying to kill that thing. Again and again he pulls the trigger at point blank range, trying to hurt it, kill it. And then the thing slams into him, ripping at him, tearing at him. He screams, pulling the trigger again and again till it clicks empty and only then does he realise that the creature has stopped moving. He lets out a slow breath, one filled with pain as he slowly crawls away from under the body.

The whimpering comes to him, from the corner as the girl who he has saved cries out. He tries to turn to her, the effort perhaps the hardest thing he has ever done. Yes, she is alright. She’s alive. Well, she’ll be fine. In the distance he can hear the sirens coming, the sounds of the ambulance on its way along with police cars. They’re coming, to save her, she’ll be fine. He tries to smile at her to tell her its okay, but it’s a bit too much and slowly, slowly he can feel himself drift away. It doesn’t matter, not now. The creature is down, she’s safe. He’s done his duty, everything will be alright.

posted by Tired @ 9:55 PM 0 comments

Birds

"One sunlit day, the brown sparrow spies an open window in a mansion newly built. And down, down it flies to this window to look within this place of stone walls and trapped air. And within, a surprise."

"A surprise for his brother lies within, trapped within a cage. And happy are they, to meet once more after so many years. Landing upon a table, he gazes at his brother, calling to him"

And now his voice changes, low and dark "Oh brother, have you been trapped in this cage all these years? How lost you must have felt. Yet his brother replies" higher and squeakier now "Lost? For why would I be lost? I am fortunate indeed. Do you not see this palace of mine?"

Standing now, the man plays to his slow gathering audience. He turns his head, speaking to each one there in turn "Palace indeed. For a cage it was large, 10 feet across upon each side. And bars, bars of gold and perches of silver. Within, small shrubs and well kept lawns of grass, a tiny, exquisitely made founatin of marble. And the food, food that was specially chosen for such a beautiful sparrow, one unlike any other. His feathers, glossed dark black, the golden hue of his cages bar reflecting upon it. Yes, a palace indeed."

And now, the voice falls short, falls silent before it rises again, to continue "But his brother saw these gifts not, saw but the bars that held his brother within. Saw not but that the cages' door was locked shut. He saw not but these things and thus cried, Oh brother, what palace do you speak of? I see a gilded a cage, one that locks you within and takes away your freedom."

"Freedom scoffed the black sparrow. Freedom to be eaten, to live in fear. Freedom in a house of dried twigs and leaves, freedom to be cold when the winter comes."

"Freedom to choose when to live and when to die. To go where we will, to sleep where we can. Freedom, to choose. No brother, for the love that we once had, I shall not see you kept within. And so saying, he bounded to the cage door. And turning the latch, raising it opened it for his brother."

"Yet no movement, for his brother seeing the open cage sought not to fly out. Within his gilded cage he was king, without but another sparrow."

"Come brother, cried the brown sparrow. Come fly with me and remember the feel of the sun upon your skin."

"No. Leave me brother. I shall not leave my palace. I shall not let you take it from me in your jealousy. Go to your hawks and your snakes, your worms and your cold nights. Leave me for I hear my master coming."

"And yes, the master was coming. And gazing upon his brother, at last the brown sparrow realised the truth. That though his wings were unbroken, his brother would never fly. Quickly then, quickly he darted away through the open window into the sky beyond. And behind him, he left his brother within his cage of gold and silver, the door opened but the shackles unbroken"

"Fly away he did that brown sparrow. Into the blue skies, to greet the afternoon's sun. Fly away, to where he chose and where he desired, held by no shackles and no bars. Fly away, from the only brother he had known, to feel the rush of wind through his feathers and the touch of soil under his claws." And with that, he lets the story end. He listens to the voices murmur around him, few offering any kinds of concessions for his story. He did not expect any, for those who are shackled are loath to remember the chains that they have placed upon themselves.

posted by Tired @ 2:59 PM 0 comments

The Chess Game

"Are you ready then?"

"Yes Sire."

In a moonlit room, the drapes hung heavily over the few windows a single table holds sway over the proceedings. Two men sit across the simple worn mahogany table. Both look to be of the same age, the cut of their clothing of the same kind. Clothed in black, well cut, finely tailored suits which are in fashion at the moment and which reek of the wealth held by both individuals. The first a blonde, blue eyed individual with skin so pale that it casts a striking contrast to the sombre black of his suit. The second has his hair dark black hair combed straight backwards, held down and tight by the application of gel. Brown eyes stare downwards at hands covered in skin that is beginning to pale from the lack of sunlight. Placed between both men is a simple oak chessboard, worn with age and use. The pieces are already in place, carved with infinite care from ivory taken from beasts many nights pass. They stare forwards, at their opposites with looks of resignation and determination, faces carved with the knowledge of an eternity spent in battle and hardened by the resolution to continue onwards.

One glance and the play of power within this room is revealed forthwith to an observer. The words, attributed to the correct speakers. There is no doubt of who is the Lord and who is the servant within these rooms, the sire and childe. Even seated and at rest, there is a presence that surrounds the blue eyed gentleman, a coldness and a force of personality that draws the eye towards it. In the sun that is the Sire's presence, the childe can only be a midnight flame lit by bewildered travellers to ward against the darkness.

There are no more words to be spoken as the players begin their game. A hand as pale as marble, the fingernails drained of blood shifts the queen's pawn upwards by two simple squares. The Queens Gambit is begun as has the game. A hand silently returns to it's owner, to rest in the lap to await another order. Yet no other movements take place, not for a minute or 5 as brown eyes gaze upon the board in deepest concentration. Slowly at last a hand moves forward, a counter is made. The game continues. Outside a raven crows, a missive of death at one time. Its cries like the thousand noises of the city are unheeded by the players within the room, filtered through thick glass windows and darker curtains. A moon, half full in its naked glory struggles to shine through gathered clouds as murder and treachery dance through the city's streets. A baby cries as tires screech and a life is lost to a drunken driver in a badly lit street. And in a room lit only by the pale moonlight that filters through windows of thick bullet-proof glass, shrouded in shadows and the comfort of the night two predators play for a prize as yet unspoken.

In the closed darkness of the room pieces are moved, each action predicated by minutes of intense thought and concentration as action after action, combination after combination of moves are endlessly reviewed within a mind eye. Infinite variations are trimmed down, foolish moves discarded or never even considered as the game touches upon levels rarely seen outside a chess tournament. There are no words spoken between the two, this game perhaps too important to break the sanctity of silence that envelopes them both. No idle chatter on moves taken within the minor Jyhad played against others of their kind, no discussions upon major financial trends within the global economy nor the losses or gains of one's stock portfolio. The silence that lies within the room is complete, broken only by the whisper of cloth shifting upon cloth and the harsher placement of a piece.

As a piece moves, a queen to take a pawn a carefully orchestrated defence seems to crumble. No longer does the King lie defended beneath a hollow shell of pieces. A line is broken the smallest of cracks appearing - a move that would preclude the torrent that would come. The slightest hint of a small appears, centuries old lips drawing upwards so imperceptibly that it would be missed by any other; any other but for his childe.

"It would seem you have yet to learn. 7 years ago to the night I used the same strategy and yet you fall for it once more. Will you resign?"

A heartbeats pause as dark brown eyes gaze upon the board and its ivory figures locked in eternal battle. A heartbeats pause in a pair of hearts that no longer beat before chains of iron control wrap around the Beast that rages within and a voice as smooth and as calm as it's Sires speaks. "No my Lord. Let us continue the game."

The slightest of nod issues forth, the choice made. A reprimand perhaps at a later date, for the incivility and the ungracious acceptance of defeat that does not befit one of their lineage. Yet, there is a degree of nobility in the very choice, to continue onwards even in the face of known defeat. These thoughts flicker as quick as lightning in a summer storm behind emotionless blue eyes before being discarded, the matters to be taken at another date. A game is afoot and it will be played, till the end.

An hour, two passes; the board to one unversed in the game not seeming to have changed in the interim. Yet within the room, as a hand carefully places a single pawn upon a white square the atmosphere changes. The tension increases as realisation like the coming dawn slowly filters through. A trap was sprung and now the jaws have closed, the defence that had been broken no longer an issue. In the silence the tension within the room increases tenfold, the weight bearing down evermore as the implacable ending slowly slides home. Blue eyes flicker, casting anew for an escape like that pulled by his childe but none arise to the mind of the old one. As doubt sets in a Beast paces it's kennels, testing the bands of control that hold it at bay, searching for the bar that will give it it's freedom for another night. Minutes crawl by, the noises that were hidden by the mind through the game seeming so loud now to the childe who sits, waiting for the ultimate test of his plan. No longer wrapped in the protective cloak of concentration, exposed to the terror of a Sire angered at being bested the sounds of the night screech through his senses, unnerving him beyond ken. A door opens and shuts, a grandfather clock's ticking sounding through the solid oak door, the ravens cry remembered. A wild thought flickers through the childes mind, the chill of the thought and possibility. An omen of death - his own or another's? The silence is broken as suddenly as a clap of thunder might springs forth on a clear summer night, without warning or presumption. The voice that comes is cold and hard, yet within its depths lie a sense of amusement and respect, of subdued anger and unblemished pride. "What is your desire then my Childe?" A moments pause before he speaks again, prompted by the teacher within him "Know that in this instance I can give no advice. This choice must be yours, unburdened and unshackled by my desires or perceptions"

"I..." A catch in a voice and the figure pauses, trying again "I wish for my freedom."

"Freedom? I see that you have yet to learn as much as I thought." Blue eyes flicker to the board for a moment, an indication of a raised evaluation that has fallen short "But so be it. You will be released at the next Elysium."

Silently the Sire stands and without a word turns away, moving to the heavy oaken doors. He opens them and steps outside, to return to his lair to rest and plot again as his plans shift in light of recent events. A childe lost to the world and to a world that now casts a different set of shadows. Yet within the room the childe still sits, his head bowed as he listens to the thread of his Sires feet upon the carpeted hallway. At last brown eyes raise slightly, to the lone figure of a black king. His king.

"You were wrong my Sire. I have learnt my lessons well." Slowly he stands, the hand brushing the board and the pieces gently before he leaves once more for his haven. Like his Sire, he has plans to make and a world to meet anew. His presentation must go smoothly and for it to happen he must prepare himself, to ensure that no others spoil the night wherein he comes of age.

As dawn approaches, a loyal ghoul enters the room. With gloved hands he moves to the board to place the pieces away, tired eyes falling upon the black king that lies on it's side. And in his mind, the ghoul notes that the young master has lost again.

posted by Tired @ 10:25 PM 0 comments

VtM: Autakris

Autakris. Kindred who no longer wish anything to do with other Kindred, who will not bow to the political games played by the other clans but would rather hide and become their own men. Many of our Clan take this path at one point or another though many return to Kindred society in the end. Still, our clan has always had a soft spot for these individuals, for we understand their desire to escape the conflicts of politics that inhabit world. *Johnathan pauses then, letting his words die away in the night before starting again, the voice still strong*
I was quite young when this story starts. Travelling as our kind is wont to, I was in France moving through one of the many woods that cover the land. Civilisation in this area was sparse, only a few villages outlying the forest. Few of you will ever understand how big such a forest can be when there is little industrialisation, how majestic and scary it would seem if you were not there. Sometimes, sometimes you can still find such a place but it grows harder each year. *he stops, falling quiet as if thinking of that and then he looks up to speak*
Confident in my ability to survive in the wild I refused to listen to the words spoken by the villagers to me before I entered the forest, knowing from past stories and questions to others of our kind that there were no Garou in that region. They spoke of a creature that inhabited this place before me, one that had done so for the past few years and that sometimes came out, killing livestock and friends. They spoke of a dark, harsh laughter that came from nowhere and footprints found that made no sense. Scoffing at their peasant ideas I left them to enter the forest.
It would take me 2 nights to realise that their words were not just the overwrought dreams of peasant folk. Something was out there and I could feel it. The forest around me was dead. As if scared of what it was that stalked me through the forests, that watched me as I moved through it. * a long pause before he speaks again * What can I say? I was young. I thought I was strong enough, fast enough and smart enough to take down whatever it was out there. And so I kept on moving, travelling through the woods because I did not care to backtrack and travel a much longer route, afraid of seeming a fool in the eyes of the very same villagers I had laughed at.
The creature that followed me through the woods left me alone that night. The next night, as I continued my journey I came across a river, one that was fed from the nearby mountains. As I bent down to wash my face and just feel the cold water flowing through my fingers something hit me. Moving faster than anything I had seen before it slammed into my side and sent me flying through the air. The only reason I stopped flying was due to a rather large tree that got in the way.
*He shakes his head, looking around and speaks again, meeting each person in the eye as he continues his story* As I shook my head clear of the pain I looked up to gain a view of my attacker. It was then that I gained my first clear view of the creature. It was a vampire much like us but one who had given itself to the Beast completely. I could not tell its sex even though it no longer wore any form of clothing, the Beasts mark and the dirt upon it enough to hide any traces of any discerning features. Any who have seen another of our kind knows what I speak of, knows the hate and anger that emanates from such a creature taken over by the Beast. This creature before me, given over completely to its own inner demon was worst, many, many times worse.
I had only time to take that much in before it rushed me. I believe it smelt my nature, it knew what I was. And it was hungry, for my blood. In a state of a perpetual frenzy it rushed at me, coming for my blood. I met it in battle, confident that no mindless being like that could best me. I will skip the next few… seconds in my story. Let it suffice to say that I had a humiliating lesson in that time of my limits. It hit me, it bit me and it threw me around with an ease that defied description. Even though it did little to dodge my blows, the hardest and surest of those that I landed upon it seemed to slow it down not at all.
Unfortunately the same could not be said of myself. As I tried to hit it once more, the creature lashed out, sending me sailing through the air to splash near the river. My ribs were broken, one arm useless, shattered at the shoulder and I hurt from various other minor wounds in my body. Even as I tried to heal myself it came rushing to end it. And so I did the only thing that I could, I let it hit me and I took hold of the creature, forcing us both to fly backwards into the river.
*Once more he pauses, looking over those around before he continues, his tone softer now though it still carries through the clearing* The shock of the water, still cold from the mountains drove me further awake as I landed in it, losing my grasp on my opponent. The current soon separated the two of us, driving us downstream. I know not how long we both floated in the current, tossed around much like rag dolls against the many rocks that littered the rivers' path. It would be a number of hours before the river widened enough for me to be able to pull myself clear of the water. As I freed myself from the current I turned to look for the monster. I saw the body, still and unmoving being carried furhter from my grasp. Relieved and thankful of my luck it was only then that I noticed the first rays of the rising sun break free on the horizon. I knew then that I had to leave and find shelter from its deadly rays. Forcing myself to push past the pain that racked my body, I left the riverbank searching for a spot in which to rest till the next night.
*He stops speaking now, just standing there for a moment before starting again, his gaze now resting on the fire * I would never see the creature again, not that I ever looked. *he stops once more before starting again* Not all Autakris leave for reasons of politics. Others leave to take part in activities that most of us would condemn. To kill, to maim, to rule over the kine like the lords of old without the restraint of the Masquerade. Even darker rumours arise at times of those who leave to search for darker powers. But maybe those rumours are nothing more than that, rumours. I know not but I do know of one other reason, one that I met. Some leave to let themselves go, to allow their Beasts to conquer them, to stop battling what we all do and to become something more. And something much, much less. *he stops, falling quiet and looks up at last, looking at each of those around him before turning to walk away from the fire, his story completed*

posted by Tired @ 11:31 AM 0 comments

The Burden

Cast your gaze back and over green fields cloaked in wisps of mist. Watch as a figure, cloaked in green with his arms wrapped tight around his torso run along those fields. He tosses his head back and forth, searching for his unseen pursuers. He stumbles, his steps weary from long use, his head and shoulders slumped from the miles he has already travelled.

Stand now in an inn, the traveller gazing upon his cup of wine, his cloak set aside to dry. Next to him lies a satchel, containing all his worldly belongings, all but the most important which he keeps closest to his heart. He cups his hands around the cup, breathing the fumes in and leaching what heat he can from it, occasionally shivering.

The door opens, the innkeeper starts forward to greet his only other customer. He stops, for his visitor even to one accustomed to the roughest of individuals strikes fear in his heart. Pale skinned, cloaked in black, the newcomer offers the innkeeper a pearly white smile. And then he speaks, and his voice is a low hiss that grates upon one's nerves. "Leave".

Shaking, the innkeeper does so, abandoning the strangers to each others company. Wearily, the cloaked figure raises his head from his cup, to stare at the newcomer. "So. You've found me at last."

"Did you doubt that mortal? What you hold is mine by right. Give it to me." So commands the newcomer as he strides closer. "Give it to me, and I shall make your end quick."

For a moment, fear passes through the wanderer, his should so weary of the unwanted burden thrust upon him. He stares back at the newcomer's eyes, feeling the urge to just let go, to rest. Yet the fire was not dimmed completely, the will that had borne this weary body pass exhaustion not extinguished yet. Dimmed perhaps, faded certainly but not broken. Never broken so long as breath was borne.

"No. Not whilst there be breath left in my body. As I swore." Softly, so softly he answered, the words heaver than the weight of the world. And with a visible effort he tore his gaze from the newcomers. Tore it to stare at a locket held in his hand, clutched so tightly that the sigil upon it was embedded in his hand.

"Fool. I shall make you pay for your stubbornness. Your death would have been slow but now, now, it shall take an eternity and you shall beg for it to end a hundred times over. For this last insolence I shall make you wish that you were never born." Close, so close was the newcomer that he would need only reach out to grip the man's throat. Yet, he touched not the other. "Now, give mine to me."

"No. Stand back Aldrack. That does not belong to you." So spoke the figure at the door. Cloaked in fine blue silk and gripping an elaborate, gold worked staff in one hand, the figure in the doorway strode forward. And as the newly named Aldrack turned he gestured, imperiously with his staff. To the side flew Aldrack, to crash into the wall, to overturn ordered mugs set upon the shelf.

Up sprung the man, his hands clenching even as he snarled. And in that moment, perhaps he forgot himself, perhaps he but desired to remind them all what he was, for in that snarl sprang fangs. Two fangs, set opposing one another on the top row of his teeth. And still, the newcomer did naught but glance at the vampire, for his attention and words were now upon the wanderer.

"Heed not this creature of nights words. That which you hold is mine by right of descent, for my great grandfather bought it in a trade fair in Luxemburg many years hence. I thank you for keeping it safe, and trust that you shall be suitable rewarded."

Caught in the magic's of the man, in the spell woven of words, his mind lulled to obedience by wine, fatigue and an arcane spell, the wanderer stepped forward. Step by step, slowly he closed the distance between them. The vampire, held back, gazing upon the two considered his actions, blood red eyes darting between the two figures caught in their deadly dance.

"Yes. That is it. Give it to me."

So close, so close to offering that which he carried. Yet words, so often spoken, so often whispered in the night by glade child, by lord of night and by haunted wraith would awake him once more. Alert at last, he stepped back, his hands dropping to his side.

"No…." Cried the mage, his hands raising in a spell to cast the man away, to break him as frustration broke through his body.

"No…" cried the vampire as he threw himself into battle with the mage, fangs bared, his hands clutching for the figure's throat. Magic, called forth yet unshaped crackled around both figures in blue flames, burning and casting ephemeral light. And in the confusion, through the kitchen and out the back door ran one silent man.

Ran he did, like his life depended upon it, his weariness brushed aside by fear, his heart pumping, his legs tossing clods of earth into the air. Casting backward glances over his shoulder, he ran to the forest and w hat safety that might lie there.

Yet weary he was, and soon enough what little energy he had was brushed aside by the cold grip of fatigue. Stumbling in the darkness of forest floor, he cast himself beneath the roots of an ancient oak, promising himself this rest was but for a moment.

He woke, to the sight of a creature snuffling against him. Eyes half-opening, he screamed for what before him was a monster. A creature, half-man, half-wolf sat over him, small squinty eyes boring into his prone form. He backed off against the tree, his eyes widened, widening more as the creature spoke.

"You hold what they wish. You do not deserve it. You waste what is given, you destroy what you do not waste. Give it to me, that I may safeguard it. From them. From you. Give it to me."

Was there no rest screamed the man's mind, so tired his body was. Yet, he dared not move, the talons of the creature before him long and sharp, magnified by their proximity to himself. Yet as all hope seemed to pass, the clattering of hooves and the hum of unleashed lightning would be heard, closing in on them. The creature, distracted would cast his gaze aside, and there, in that moment, he would run once more.

Run as he had never run before, deeper into the woods, taking no distinct path. Run, as if the hells itself had opened behind him, unleashing their hosts. Ran till he could run no more, when body gave way though spirit still yearned. Stumbling from exhaustion, tired and drawn he found himself near a placid lake, moon floating in its still waters. Stumbling to a halt, falling into the water he lay there, as strength slowly returned.

At last, he would roll over, staring into the sky, to the stars and moon above, to the heavens. And he would whisper, softly. "Please. Take it back. I can bear no more. I have given all that I have to give. I asked not for this, I would have it not. Let me rest now, let me return this."

And if the skies and the heavens above heard him, they did not answer. Gazing upon his helpless form, upon the world below them, they sang their silent songs to one another. And as he lay there, his soul trembled with the pains and the aches of all that he had lost, all that he had given up and all that he would never be able to touch. And as he lay there and dreamed, something changed within him. In that moment, not hope, not weariness, not sorrow burned in him but anger, anger at what the fates decreed, at himself and those that hounded him.

It was then that the others came, all those that desired what he held, what he had been freely given. They strode outwards, each whispering in their own way the words that haunted his life. "Give it to me. It is mine." Each whispering, demanding, commanding, begging.

And he lay there, tired beyond physical exhaustion, tired beyond anything he had felt before, his eyes slowly closed. Darkness would fall, as the light in his eyes would slowly creep aside. In that moment, as death reclaimed her own, he would smile at the memories of things that he had seen, so often running that he had never noticed fully. The morning sunlight on the hills, the dew upon grass, the first snowflake, flowers in bloom.

As his soul passed at last beyond reach of those that surrounded him, they screamed in anger. And though his body lay unprotected, they touched it not, instead each fading into the shadows that they came from. He had given all that he had to give, and all that could be asked for him at last.

posted by Tired @ 7:34 PM 0 comments

I had to post this

Really interesting. It's not Shakespeare but how often do you get to read about what goes on in a prison?

http://againstdeathrows.blogspot.com/

posted by Tired @ 2:12 PM 0 comments