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John at 3:16Dear Jesus Christ,

I went to bed at 3:16 last night and started thinking about John—John who pissed away every paycheck he ever made and only fucked virgins, John who beat up a woman's husband and spent a Christmas in jail, John who shot himself on the front porch of his mother's house. I don't think anyone shed a tear except her. I heard she shed many tears as she cleaned up the mess.

I thought about when I first met him. It was at church. He and I were both eight. He sat next to me and we stared at that stained glass image of you in your white robe with your outstretched, loving arms, and he leaned into me and asked, "Do you bel
Never Hit a Lady"Five minutes, Lana!"

"Yeah, yeah. Keep your shirt on!"

Lana turned back to her mirror to finish adjusting her costume. "You're a doll, Lana," she said to her reflection. "The fellas are gonna love this get up." Tonight was the debut of her Lady is a Tramp routine, and she had done up the costume herself.

Sexier than the sequined number by a mile! Who knew that a dame in a guy's undershirt could be such a vamp! It still needed something, but Lana couldn't put her finger on what.

"Lookin' real swank, Lana. Hope ya didn't get all dolled up for me."

She jumped and whirled toward the voice. The large figure framed in the doorway wore a trenc
Nothing But the Blood~Year 2012~

It was evening near the Chapel in the Wood, and the grass was shiny and wet at the site of the Battle of Morning Sun.

The church, with its white steeple and antique bell tower, was revitalized.  A missionary coalition seemed to have drawn everyone back, even me, and we were having a good, old-fashioned revival to celebrate.

The old parsonage across the long lawn was long since bought out by a funeral home.  A will was being read there that night, and some school buddies of mine were in attendance.  They were more interested in hooking up with locals than in collecting an inheritance.  
CycleThis is a story about how gods come to be. About how every element, every ounce of power or energy, of feeling or thought, of belief or faith becomes the possession of one being of ether. This is how love became the jewel of a maid, life became the toy of a child and truth became the shield of one boy.
At first there was nothing, except thoughts, power, energy and beings. First, the beings had to know where they go after they die. And they had to learn who created them. The beings needed something to believe in. They needed a god. And so, from the beliefs of the beings, just as a tulpa is created from intense concentration and endless faith,
You Were My Sky
You met her in the field the day after the fire shrank to embers.  

The whole town had kicked their way out of bed and gathered across the street to watch everything she ever knew disappear into the night.  Plumes of black smoke sucked the stars from the sky.  The hot kiss of ash snowed down on the crowd, smearing bedclothes with the dust of her life.  For a surreal moment, even the firemen stopped their scrambling and seemed hypnotized by the red fingers dancing against the midnight.  At that moment, everyone knew it was hopeless, but like a nest of moths they remained gathered around the li
100 Word Destiel Fic"STOP BEING SO SELFISH, DEAN. You run headlong into battles you know you can't win and one of these days, you're going to die and I won't be able to save you!"

Dean glares at him, blood dripping from the deep laceration running across his chest.
"Maybe I wanna die!" He spits at Castiel.

The angel stares, wide-eyed; shocked.

The hunter breaks eye contact to stare at the dirty cement beneath his broken body. A mixture of blood and spit pools at the corner of his mouth when he coughs.
"Don't tell me I'm the one being selfish, Cas." He whispers. "You're the one who can't let go." And when Dean looks up, the angel is gone.

The hunter just m
you are not godthis is where they broke tree limbs and tied down deer and snapped off their antlers, this is where they tied these objects in a sprawled out cross strung with poison ivy and dead roses. this is where they tied me up from my toes and threw moss covered insults at my five year old face. this is were i lost my sanity and my childhood was gutted and strewn out to dry in the sun.

dance, dance, and dance around when you cut off my toenails and glued them down vines and created scarves from this beauty and strung streamers of my guts through trees, and my organs were disco ball ornaments at our new years eve party i properly renamed after five yea
Profanity of Nature"All life is born of Gaia and each life has a spirit. Each new spirit is housed in a physical body. Through their experiences on Earth, each spirit matures and grows. When the physical body dies, the mature spirit, enriched by its life on Earth, returns to Gaia, bringing with it the experiences, enabling Gaia to live and grow."

- Final Fantasy, The Spirits Within -

I am the womb of life! I am the creator, the mother and the healer! The rain in your face, the sunlight bathing your feet! All exists in me. All is me. One sole soul... one soul energy... There are no dualities... All is balanced...

Men are the seed... The fertilizers of life...
How is it there?"Well, how is it in heaven?"

The tombstone did not reply to the girl's softly suggested query, sitting grey and squat in the dead golden grass. This was no cemetery--only a rock placed in the middle of a vast ocean of swaying prarie, with one tree as shade several yards away.

"Is it nice there?"

The girl was squatting down in front of it, the grey granite staring back silently at her oval face framed with soft chocolate curls that moved slightly whenevery the winds passed through. She sighed, and resigned to sitting down, still attempting some communication with the warm, unliving rock.

"I know, it's silly. You can't hear me from here, ca
the train She looked out the window to see snow covered trees flying by, obscured by the shimmering dust of snow that the train blew up around it as it raced through the countryside. She frowned, confused. The sun was low, casting a bright warm beam of light through the window onto her black pea coat and pale hands, sparking flecks of gold in her hair. There were other people on the train around her, she turned to see a boy and his mother behind her talking quietly while a young couple sat across the aisle, listening to music together. She turned back and froze. In the seat facing her was now a handsome dark haired man whose eyes were sparkling in the
The Catholic AtheistShe says angels are the ugliest creatures. She tells me they're undeniably perfect, an adjective we strive to attain in our world, only to find we are ignorant when it comes to knowing the true meaning.

She says they're so aesthetically beautiful that our eyes bleed when we see them. She is certain they are the reason why the blind can't see.

She says our ears ring when we hear their voices, loud and clear in the night. She swears they are the reason why the deaf can't hear.

She says our hearts shatter into a one thousand and six hundred seventy-nine pieces when we touch them, and then are quickly reconstructed using a hot glue gun. She is
Ghosts: Death, Sorrow, Regret.Haunted.
By momentous things.
Unshared,
Unsaid.
Escape~I hold such abhorrence for what happened to me in the past and I detest what is unfolding in the present. I feel like time is going so leisurely by, as if the time I spend in every activity is going to be futile. This whole area is bursting with recollections of you, memories that I wish to be erased. I remember you ever so often, what you used to be and how I used to love you with everything I had to give. You were the creature who helped me and I was also the one to aid you. We were each other’s rescuers and through our saving we found fondness. We spent every day together after that meeting, I seldom wonder how my life would be if I
1. VarianceTap.

Click.

Tap, tap, tap.

Snap.

Tap. Click, click.

Tap, tap, click, click.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, click.

-----

"That won't help."

She leaned against the door-frame, a variance of colours following in her wake.

I sighed. Slouching, shuffling to the side a little. "I know." I pushed the mouse away.

She hummed, stepping into the room, taking in the stark white colour, papers scattered around, sketches half-done. A single notepad on the pale desk.

"I know."

The colours around her seemed dull for a moment. Vanished altogether, eyes downcast, while open. "Here." Her hand reached into her pocket, reappearing with a pen and butterfly pin.
a smear of electronsif there was ever a state known to be corporeal, i was far from it.

my mother brought me wrapped in a black and red striped bandana because the cab had an accident and she couldn't afford to lose more blood just for my grandparents to see my face when i was born. the doctor strongly refused to let her but.. where else do you think my insanity comes from?
they weren't pleased, they weren't shocked, they just stared at a ruffled, discarded piece of harshly dyed cloth and failed to understand what she was trying to make them see. they shuffled and dropped me but never knew they did, even when the thud echoed and stopped my virgin heart.

thoug
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AnimalsThe heather beneath my feet is saturated with fresh rain. It stretches before me in an endless rolling sea, into a gray haze that I cannot distinguish from the sky. The sun must be low, and dark clouds threaten as I trudge wearily onward. Up ahead, a patch of gray darkens and forms into the outline of a stone castle.

Although the huge door is only slightly ajar, it is more than enough for me to step through.  Shadows dance and leap on the walls, and I venture further toward the source of heat and mesmerizing amber light.

Pulling out a chair, I note how intricately it is carved. The other eleven or so are all of identical design, fit for r

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Season of the wolf

:iconreultach:

I'm not here, as myself. I'm not here at all really, floating above the world unseen but seeing all.

Below me a gigantic medieval stone bridge spans the foaming sea, meeting the coastline somewhere in the distance. The sound of crashing waves fills my ears. A steady stream of humans cross the bridge, some out to sea and some toward land. None of them make a sound, none interact.

A dark shape catches my attention, moving slowly and unnoticed among the silent travelers. I realize I am watching a dark wolf, in fact it could well be myself. The wolf crosses over to one side of the bridge, peering over the edge at the waters. Lifting his head, the sound of the ocean is drowned out by a mournful howl.

I watch, entranced and yet confused as to why the passing strangers cannot see or hear the wolf sing. Then a voice echoes all around me, booming off the cliffs and stonework: "This is the season of the wolf!"

The scene vanishes, and all that remains is the echo of a distant howl.
:iconreultach:
This was a dream. The last time I remembered one this well was over a year ago, so thought it best to share it.
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