Lamb

“You left as a lamb and came back as the king of the wolves.” A lanky woman purred at the disheveled boy before her. His eyes were wild with fear.

“I don’t remember you. What have you done to Alan?”

“Alan hasn’t been here for a long time. I’m surprised you don’t remember my face, Ray.”

The boy’s face puckered. “My name is Reynard.”

“Of course it is, dear. Now, where was Sloan hiding you all these years?” The woman looked at the torn rags on the boy that he kept trying to rearrange. “Where have you been living?”

“I’m not telling you anything until you tell me where Alan is.”

“You’re a fierce one. Just like your father. Don’t worry about Alan right now. He’s spending time with some old friends.”

“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you.” His fist tightened as the woman gave a pleased laugh.

“I’d expect nothing less, Reynard.”

A church bell echoed in the distance and the woman watched Reynard mouth a small prayer. She only had a couple hours before the rest of the coven came looking for him. He wouldn’t last the night if they did. The bright ones never do.

Rivenna

Never deal with seers. That’s what the leader of our band always cautioned.

“You can’t dictate the winds of fate— no more futile than trying to shift the side the sun rises.”

Plus, you never know when a seer decides to hold back information after you’ve insulted them. Hell hath no fury like a seer scorned.

Other mercenary bands fell victim to incomplete visions and fragile egos. Anton kept Rivenna’s Wings away from those dangers with his wisdom & explosive temper.

Idle Departure

I’ve already packed up one suitcase for Japan. It’s the twenty eighth of June and I won’t be leaving until the the thirtieth of July, but I’ve packed it all the same. I’ve learned that I’ll be in the southern port village of Izuhara on Tsushima island.

I’m a month out from an experience that will intrinsically change who I am as a person. I know that after I go, my dreams won’t be the same. Or my fears. Or anything that has guided me up to this point. Well, maybe not everything, but the looming shadow of a long realized dream is anxiety producing.

I know that a part of me was always going to feel unfulfilled if I didn’t go out into the world and leave all my safety nets. For all the friends and romantic relationships, I’d always have that sliver of unease working its way deeper into my psyche.

You don’t know what you don’t know. That’s the entire reason I’m going. I can be as scared as I want, but having the courage to still follow through with the plan is what matters.

The first time I did anything like this is when I got an apartment down in Eugene at 18th and Mill with my first girlfriend. It felt like steering into the sun with a gale force wind at my back. It underlined that I wasn’t ready for everything that came with living with a partner. Hell, I hadn’t even figured out how to live with myself yet. But it showed me that I can take the leap off the cliff when its necessary.

That’s something that I’ve been afraid to do for a couple years now. The leap into the unknown.

Venom

With a name like Betty Venom, the Castleton Cabaret club had no trouble finding clients for its top performer. Betty stood a lean six foot one, long black hair, and had a smile so sharp it could skin the stripes off a snake.

The trouble with the Castleton Cabernet club wasn’t with gaining customers. It was with retaining them. Many wide eyed suburban John Does found themselves under the spell of a much tougher creature than they believed possible. The litany of lipstick paired abrasions were hard to explain to the Jane’s back at home.

Salvation

Twenty bowed heads faced the altar. Fourteen hands were clasped together, while sixteen hands remained by their sides. A low chant echoed through the room. Long, drawn faces looked down upon the parishioners from their golden filigree frames. As much as the faithful prayed, the silent frames would not give their benediction. Time had taken that for its own.

Liberty Ring

Wrapping his hands up, ready for the showdown, Charlie Rourke, one of South Philly’s favorite son’s was a former title weight boxer whose step became a second slower than his jab.

His gnarled hands kept turning a gypsy medallion. The boss had given it to him after his first big win out in Atlantic City. Charlie wasn’t a superstitious man by nature, but there was something about the faded bronze circle that spoke to him. The raised edges of a women’s profile were worn down, but you could still make out a Mediterranean look. He wondered who she was supposed to be, besides his good luck charm.

With only two losses to his name and both coming at the hands of retired champion, Sergio Marquez, Charlie knew he had an open path to reclaiming his belt. Unless Tommy Shanahan decided to finally call his favor in. The whole community of South Philly knew Charlie Rourke only broke into the boxing scene after a generous encouragement from Tommy. As the boss of the local union, he had acquired certain political acumen, if you will.

The crowd began to grow restless in the distance. Charlie gave the medallion a kiss and tucked it in his socks. Give me some love, darling he thought as he started towards the door. One more fight and the title would be his.

Long Howl

Howling at the sun— the summer wolf was a real annoyance to the locals in Arcadia. The pack was protected under legislation that deemed them integral to the identity of the NW.

Vajk Abkenzia had worked as a trapper for the past twenty years. In all his seasons in the north, he had never seen a summer wolf in person. He had heard their lonesome calls, stepped on their scat, and he had even caught a chorus of yips from a litter of pups. But never had he laid his eyes upon them— until the solstice.

At the edge of the Arcadia forest and the start of Henge Mountain is a outcropping of boulders. That’s where Vajk saw them. It’s where he wished he could have spent twenty more seasons without having done so.

Patterned with short black stripes across tawny fur, the wolves were far larger than a normal grey wolves. They possessed a predatory magnetism that’s rarely found outside tigers and grizzly bears. His foot caught a branch and the crack brought the wolves attention to him. Their was a brief silence before the lead wolf growled.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Countdown

Gary always knew where the clock in the room was. That persistent tick. Each second pushed that small sliver of pain deeper into his skull. Tick, tick, tick. A relentless mechanical punishment. And yet, no one else seemed to notice. No flinches or controlled breaths came from his coworkers. No coffee break confessions about the acoustic agony. No. This was a hell specifically reserved for Gary Lumen.

Sub Notes for Hell

Stepping in as a substitute Satan isn’t an easy gig. But god willing (or not), the required experience from teaching in middle schools will see you handle the throngs of maligned souls with ease.

The first step is to assert yourself with a dominant voice. It’s important not to scream— but to maintain a steady projection unto the unwashed masses. The damned are particularly persnickety about oration and you’ll find they respond to a resonant baritone. In the event you’re a tenor, I’d advise you to run to the nearest exit and hope you aren’t split down the middle like the check on a bad date.

The second step is to catch the eye. The outfit is crucial to holding attention as you address the crowds. Capes are niche, but acceptable. While overalls, cargo shorts, and cardigans are strictly off limits. It wouldn’t do to see the paled legs of a demonic overlord in the flames of eternity.

Third step— adhere to the name list and don’t forget earned titles. Forget that Gorgoth is the “Destroyer of Worlds” and you’ll have a bad time. Same goes for fanciful titles and affectations. It might not seem that Jerry Llewelyn is the “Space Pirate of the South” but he somehow earned it— and it would be polite to not pile on additional misery by just calling him Jerry.

Overall, the gig is twelve hours or less, as the trip to Buffalo Wild Wings won’t last all day. That being said, prepare for a transportation buffer if Satan decided to brave LA traffic.

Dark Party

I stood between the front and the backyard with the house in front of me. Inside on the kitchen floor was the father of the bride, Mark.

Amelia was standing in the backyard with friends still laughing and drinking. Andrew her soon to be husband was in the front yard sitting down with his head in his hands.

Two scenes played out— separated by the house. Knowledge and ignorance— and this underlined the bliss of ignorance.

I’ve been standing in the kitchen next to Mark talking and drinking when he suddenly stopped and looked around with confusion or panic and then fell to the floor. It was as if the the mortal light switched had been flipped off.

Later huddled around a fire out in the rain with the rest of the party goers we watched the red and blue lights of the paramedics flash against the cloudy night sky.

I had never watch someone die before. I don’t know how to mourn someone I didn’t know until a couple hours before their death. But I have dreams of screaming in frustration and I wake to find myself balling my fists.

In the waking hours I feel a calm that I don’t trust— and I wonder when I’ll let loose an honest howl.

Bad Business

A quick thrust of his blade found a soft stomach. The young man’s mouth made a shocked “oh” as he slid off the blade and onto the floor.

“You picked the wrong time to get into the hero business, kid,” said the dark cloaked ranger. He picked up a piece of brown bread from a table as he walked through the tavern. The customers had long since fled. Even when new heroes tried their mettle, townsfolk knew it wasn’t yet safe to believe.

“They won’t write songs for you, boy. You’ll be a whisper within a month. And in a years time? It’ll just be this blood stain to remind people to mind their own damn business. You should have stayed home, plowed your fields & your wife. You’re nothing but dirt now.” The man let silence rest in between them like a wedge

“Someone tried to sell me on being a hero. So I sold them a plot of land- right where they stood and for one thrust. He bled like a trampled horse,” the man spat on the ground at the memory. “You’re less than the pig shit on my shoes.” He tossed the remainder of the bread onto the floor and walked out.

Corinth

The Isthmus of Corinth— a small land bridge that the Roman boats were carried over by legionaries. Even the earth couldn’t stand against the March of early imperial boots. Small boats changing the world as the legion of engineers turned soldiers would cut through their enemies like cords of wood.

Minsy

We are learning at every moment. In the still moments during the night where we are dreaming. The boring, idle, flashes of time during the day where we wish to be somewhere or someone else. The moments that are spent in a haze of tech induced glaze, audio resonance, or some other medium that takes our attention from the undeniable fact that we are existing in a closed circuit.

The fight against cynicism or pessimism is that we can’t imagine ourselves to be the sole creators of our destinies. And how could we? Easily— if you adhere to the false pseudo-American manifest destiny bootstrap nonsense that implores you to give up any understanding of the universe. You’ll forget that we are not alone— nor does anything we do happen in isolation. There is no escaping the connected nature of our lives. We do not succeed or fail on our own.

Mountain Goat

“What are you afraid of?”

“Why can’t you just let me love you?”

A silent thousand yard stare. An abrupt change in energy. The void that lives between us where warmth used to be.

I could apply that to the end of most of my relationships. The inability to express my deepest, yet embarrassingly simple truth— that I was too scared or unwilling to continue our relationship. That I didn’t want to join our paths together as I scrabbled across loose rocks trying to figure out my own. All the majesty of an elusive mountain goat. Correspondingly as stubborn too.