[BTS1] Brigdon

Grinding rails from the train up on the elevated tracks evaporated into the night’s traffic. Sparks spilled over the side of the riveted steel bridge and were lost in the pollution of neon signs, headlamps, and street vendor lanterns. As the blocks spun by, she could only think of the hours that she had spent in these twisted corridors. The days that had gone by in this alien landscape within the press of some ten million other people.

The lights in the train car flickered and she caught a glimpse of herself in the window. Getting older, the bags darkening under her eyes, tired eyes, eyes that no longer knew what to look for, no longer knew what signs would bring meaning back. Somewhere in the routines she had lost something. Something was left behind in taxes and faces and mistakes that kept coming back to haunt her in stabs and jolts. The cars buckled uneasily around the next bend.

“What am I doing?” She said to her blurred reflection in the window and then looked past to the cityscape. As the train came out over the river the lights and millions of people faded away and for a moment all that remained was the dark river of sloshing darkness under the bridge. It was a black void.

She turned away from the window and looked about the dingy train car, the green lights flickered over the graffiti stained walls and the shimmering silver bars and the plastic red seats. She was alone.

She wondered where real friends were, wondered why she felt so strange, like something was about to happen, but nothing ever changed, caught somewhere between the comfort and security of routine and just utter boredom with no good way out. Where was the adventure life was supposed to take her on? The strange anxiety of being trapped in the moment rose in her throat and she closed her eyes.

The train sped on as she slept. Carrying her away.

She woke up with a start at the lack of motion. The train wasn’t moving. In no time, her mind was racing.

“STOP, DON’T LEAVE!” she hollered at whomever was running the train. She looked around for someone who might tell her which station they were at, but there was nobody. She gathered up her bag and moved down the aisle to the doors. They opened as she approached.

Passing in a daze out from the green flickering room of graffiti. She found herself on the dark platform. She looked for someone else, but there were no people in the glow of the platform lamps. There was a light rain in the hush of thick foliage all around the station. There was no city, no people, nothing but the hum of the dingy lamp and the unused benches. Her heart sank. The train doors closed behind her. The train sped away.

She was left alone, utterly alone, clutching her bag against her chest in the patter of the light rain. She deflated, looking at the station name which read in flat black letters: “Brigdon”.  She had never heard of it.

She looked about for some kind of booth, an overhang to get out of the damp. But the platform had nothing, she pulled out her phone and saw it light up only to notify her that the battery was at a mere 4% at which point it promptly died. She was left staring at the dark drops of water on the dormant screen.

She cursed and, seeing no shelter on the platform, she made her way down the stairs at one end and took shelter under a tree with broad leaves. The rush of wind and rain made her shelter-tree shudder and drops fell on her no matter how close she pushed her back up to the bark. She looked around, for something to reveal where she should go, the only path angled from the station into the dark woods with no light whatsoever.

“Another train will be along at some point.” said a voice. “Not until morning I’m afraid”

She looked around  and then noticed, below her gaze at about waist height a small umbrella being held by a tiny person with a furry face like a fox.

Her eyes bugged when she saw the creature hold up the umbrella with a smile.

“If you want you can use my umbrella, I don’t mind getting a little wet.”

She tentatively grasped the tiny handle and held it over her head. Not taking her eyes from the small being.

“I was actually here to meet someone, but I guess she missed her train.” Said the little guy, looking downward and scrunched up his shoulders against the rain.

“W-who were you waiting for?”

“Oh, an old friend… Anyway, no sense in us both getting wet out here, my name is Lander.” he stuck out a small furry hand that emerged from the long sleeves of his coat. She shuffled the umbrella to her other hand with her bag and grasped Lander’s hand shaking it up and down, stultified by the strange little person.

“My name is…” She drew a blank. Panic arose in her. “I don’t remember my name”

“Seems like kind of an important thing to forget; you might be catching a fever.” Said Lander. “Come, if you need a place to stay, you can come stay with me, the next train isn’t until the sun comes up. It’s not safe to be out at night alone, especially in a rain storm.”

The panic that was within her came out as “If it’s all the same I think I should wait for the train on my own.”

“Suit yourself, you can keep the umbrella.”

And then without another word he turned and walked briskly away, producing a small flashlight from his coat and lighting the way down the path into the woods.

She watched him go and was soon left alone in the rain, the drops pattering off the small canvas of the small umbrella. A few moments went by before she turned and saw his little light bumbling down the path away from the small train platform. She was a city girl after all, she didn’t need help. The thought came upon her suddenly, but she soon soured to this small bit of pride and then hurried with her bag and tiny umbrella clumsily balanced after him.

As she ran, puddles splashed and the wind picked up with the rain falling harder and harder. Ahead of her down the path she could see the light bumbling on. As cold drops fell, they got in her eyes. Then there was a dump of water that fell from one of the broad leaves right before her. The splash hit the ground and rose up, covering her in water. She didn’t stop, but she failed to see the water congeal and rise up behind her.

She found herself running, and as she did, more splashes of water fell from the trees and rose up as watery blobs with shimmering tendril hands reaching out. She could see Lander when another splash fell between them. This time the puddle rose up in front of her and the watery blob appeared, eyeless reaching out towards her.

She screamed and nearly fell back, turning from this apparition only to see the five others behind her. She dropped the umbrella and soaking wet reached into her bag for her knife. She pulled it out in the darkness, flipping out the blade.

“Get away from me!” She yelled, but the blobs only continued sliding toward her. Panicking she brandished and slashed with her knife at them, but they only seemed to grow closer and bigger in the rain. She slashed at the closest one, but her hand only went through the monster and came out wet on the other side. They began to press against her and tried to drown her with their blobby bodies.

Before that could happen, a yellow light fell upon them and the watery monsters shrank away returning to simple puddles.

“Are you alright?” He called as he came up to her. “I told you this place is dangerous at night, you shouldn’t walk in the darkness.”

“You’ve got to be straight with me right now!” She said.

“What what, of course, I’m glad those pests didn’-

“No, you be clear with me RIGHT NOW…” She said, the rain and her tears mingling “Am I in a fucking fantasy story right now?”

 

 

 

Advertisements

True Plot

The weary old man looked over the city and knew that his time was soon to come. It was not an illness, yet it was not wholly unexpected in his line of work, and the way the cards fell, he knew as sure as cancer that death was coming to him soon. Still, it was a nice day. He looked over to the wharf beyond the stinking docks where Crabtown whithered. The bend in the shore was sandy dwindling to the rise of a great cliff face where a rock formation jutted to a point where green and brown mingled amid the placid blue waters. It was a poor day for sailing, but a brilliant day for seeing, the ocean’s light blue sibling above was touched by thin brushstrokes of cloud that ambled under a crisp, sharply outlined sun.  The blue ocean waters stretched out to the horizon where the outlines of sails languished to one side and to the other the green fields beyond the walls of his home.

The Warf his gaze fell over was little more than a fisherman’s dock, too far to make out anything truly specific, but each moment he lingered over it, he felt like he knew it better.  The wharf was situated between the walls of the smoking city and the cliffs on the farther crescent edge of the sandy shore. Its minimal form must be only a few meters into the water, and the small connected warehouse had something shimmering hanging outside next to the small square window of the structure. He supposed it was probably fish hung out to dry. Following the bare pinpricks of white stones from the wharf, only little bit further inland was the modest cabin that he supposed the fisherman and his family might live in. Puffs of white smoke drifted away from it out of the stone chimbly. The outline of a porch could be seen facing the dock and warehouse.

He had watched this particular place all his life and just realized how he was now able to see so much in it. That tiny structure on the distant shore resolving into details perhaps no other living creature in the city had considered so delicately.  He had stood on this same palace vista and looked down over the world in his moments of brief reprieve and suffering and machination so many times throughout his life. He wondered how many times he had looked over that modest life below. It felt dear to him and yet he had never been there. Through plans and propositions that clouded his memory like a black miasma, it always remained. There was never truly a beginning and it was this blackness that he knew would always have consumed him in the end.

He thought now of the life the fisherman in that tiny house lived, simple and free from the burdens he had strived to face his whole life. Free from the tangled web that connected the city and the greater world that so entangles all who meddle in the affairs of other like beings. The fisherman has a clear task and each day he battles the elements and performs a duty that did not require the sacrifice of all morality. It was a duty with a clear end and a clear purpose. Sitting on his porch in the afternoon sun and smoking a pipe, looking over his children, and his boat bobbing before a rippling sea that shone with the colors of the sunset heavens.

His life was all stone walls, papers, stench, and smoke. It was what lies to call out and which ones to let fester in themselves. It was preparation, paranoia, and the devious mind of fellow humans he battled with each day. Grand ideals, and pragmatic logistics, codes and passwords and hatred, and just so many lies. The worst of all, the smile, the pat on the back, the joke and laugh, charm to be guarded against the devious plots. He wondered how many people he had killed, how many he had saved if the child in the sewer was glad to have his life rather than give it up for the honorable noble who fell before his true greatness.

Memory is short. Charm, youth, and gold are forever adored. Such quandaries returned to him in that barrage of miasma that approached. The door opened behind him. What could he have done differently? How did Lisidious gain the favor of so many he had helped?  How much blood needs be spilled before its over? Before the truth is seen by all and the issues are done and the plans are not needed and the love of revenge fades?

There was no sound of footsteps. Only the plunging of the blade into his back.

It would never be over. It never began. It always was.

The old man did not turn, but as he fell he looked over to the wharf and longed for that peace.

He touched it. Then died.

Humble

Ponce Fordure was the greatest talker in all the land. What he said didn’t always need to be the most important or on the most interesting subject, but his words carried like the loose feathers of a dove just sprinkling upon the unwashed faces of the masses, filling their ears with the soft avian folicles of beauty; O’ how his words tickled their inner ear and stuck to their dirt encrusted slymy-

Anyway, because of his powers of a-speechcraft, he often found that he had no need for money. Ponce lived in a great big house and he himself became a great big person for he was not in want for anything. The people often listened to what he had to say on the balcony of that great big house at 4 in the morning. Though no one quite remembered what it was thanks to all the laudlum that was so popular in those days.

Going out Ponce would hike up his pantaloons, snap his stocking into place, straiten his gurdle, be sure that the third button of his fourth ruffled undershirt was sufficiently fastened to the collar ruffle of his 2nd over-vest, afix seven red bows on the tail of his ilustrious wig, buckle his shoes, take a bath, change into his outerwear, and be sure to smack the cane child on the way out for safe passage on the muddy streets. Wherever he went he was recognized and the good people waved and smiled and said “Frandurdlee dee do pop zing!” Towards his area. 

When walking into the bankers, all that would need be said on the part of Ponce was “Gud dey.” And the banker would lavish the man in an endless stream of apple turnovers. It was a serious affair.

It became that Ponce had forgotten who he was before he was known so well, in fact he forgot what he was known so well for. The people who he spoke to no longer seemed like people and he was perhaps some kind of God among them… 

Thus, 4 years later began the second stupidest war in all history, the invasion of Holland by the Filthy army of the Great Ponce. Since that day whenever someone is acting like a freakin ponce, you call them that so they don’t invade Holland. 

 

Darren

One day Darren and the gang went out to find some traffic cones, it was 1:30 in the morning and they were hammered. The silver taurus was nick’s rental car and so imagine, if you can understand, the reckless abandon in which nick drove the car down the darkened salt soaked and muddy streets of a new England town.

 Among the six of the people crammed in the car Darren was the most lucid, however she had at that point in the evning decided that things don’t matter anymore, like the packets of ketchup that keep sliding across the dashboard with the unknown pair of sunglasses, the way the outside world was becoming only wavy obstacles. 

Darren looked over to the others in the car, rachel, messiah, nick, and hank, (who names people hank now a days? King of the hill enthusiasts most likely). They were laughing as the world of the car interior flung their long hair and jewelry and their heads at precisely the same moment with each bump and sketchy turn through the unknown world of dark trees and grey road and snow. 

Nick began complaining about not seeing any traffic cones and drove on. He lit a cigarette and lowered the window and the gust of 50mph wind tore through the car, tearing at garments and sending cold incarnate across the passangers. Darren in the middle seat was accosted by a tumbledryer of messiah and Rachel hair. 

As nick swerved out of the way of an oncoming car Darren thought to herself I’m done with this. But the confines of the car seemed impregnable. Fortunately however Darren was half etheric and had shapeshifting abilities. 

“Hey i’ll like…catch you guys around.” She said as nick dropped his cigarette between the seats and scrambled to look for it in the light of another on comming car. No one said anything, they only looked at darren with judgement.

With that she transformed into an etherial falcon and flew out from the car through the roof. She flew higher and higher towards the stars and probably fought dragons and shit cuz she ain’t about basic people. 

Lesson of the day:

Don’t get into a car with anyone named nick.

Mage

She tightened her doeskin gloves with an air of cool confidence. It was the feline appearance of her species that made this no difficult task, but if one notices the varying changes of countenance that her kind undergoes between flits of emotion, it was easy to scry that the mage had the confidence that only comes from practice at length: enough to take this final examination without any of the apprehension seen by most of her peers who previously waited in the room adjoined to the judging hall. As she clasped her gloved hand into a fist, a crackle of electricity could be seen for a moment about her which may have shown, if anything, an eagerness to have the formalities over with and to begin the test of her true mettle against the scrutiny of the great professors of her order. Ears lax and tail waving only slightly, her purple eyes glanced up to see that the large door had finally opened to her. She was alone in the room, the last to be seen, standing with her slim stature and garbed with the grey-blue robes of an initiate. Her chest heaved with a breath and she strolled forward towards the threshold, fetishizing over the end of her glove.

The panel of judges was to the right of the door and mirrored on the far end of an open area before the panel was an identical door that remained closed. She ran her hand through the white-and-black-speckled fur between her ears, one of the two reflexably bending back as her arm passed over. Then, pausing only a mere fraction of a moment, she passed through the threshold and stood off-center of the space before the judges. Immediately behind her was an inlayed archway dividing the normal patchwork of flagstones from a massive wall of dark solid rock carved with the visage of a giant eye.

The stones that made up the walls of the chamber were ancient and woven with the magics that only a master mason could possess. Each stone watched her with the somber iron clad officiality that comes from the unknowable ages of dead who must have passed through this room, as though each inch of cut rock absorbed all transgressions and energy that passed within their domain. Everything about the ceremony was to make her feel weak, insignificant, and powerless in the presence of such ancient rock and such advanced masters.

The eight hooded professors watched with the same leniency as the stone, their eyes shadowed, but still retaining an edge as they looked upon the young feline mage. Facing them now, she gave a polite and formal bow of acceptable depth and poise. Still she retained her cool demeanor. The mages before her were only beings who had undergone the same trial that she now undergoes and nothing more. Sure they had their advanced years of practice and study, but the present exam was merely a way to cull those who did not belong. The young Kahjiit was not one to suffer the fate of the culled. Completing her bow, she stood before them with a thin smile and dim eyes. One of the masters gave a nod, visible by the slight movement of their hood and she took it as her cue.

She postured herself in a casual yet upright attitude, placing her right arm behind her back and laying out a closed fist with left. Her next movement was perhaps a slight clench of her fist but nothing else of her body moved an iota. There was a stagnant second. Then, unclasping her hand, she laid out her palm and a plume of silver smoke appeared and floated upward like that from the issue of a pipe. The plume drifted up and formed at once into a swirling ring that dissipated through the air. Sifting her hand in a circular motion, new smoke wafted from her glove and she seemed almost to play with the magic without any sign of effort or constraint. She next reached back to her right shoulder across her body; the trail of smoke followed around her form and at her back, she clasped her hand once more. Her eyes opened fully with intensity as she turned up her elbow, and with a final arc, dashed the smoke against the ground. A massive smokescreen filled the space, which covered herself and the judges in a musky minty sort of odor. Obscured from vision a moment, she appeared remaining in that final attitude, unmoving, confident, and cool. The smoke sparkled slightly as it dissipated from the chamber.

Her slim stature and almost wry smile at the formality made for a good show and she seemed all as proper, confident, and effortless in her motions as one who had practiced several lifetimes at the correct form of magic’s summoning. The smoke tricks were nothing more than a plaything to her and though the minty odor might have been a bit much, she decided that after sitting in a room for several hours with all manner of explosions and smokes going off from all the previous initiates, the judges would appreciate that small consideration to spare their noses. It was in no small part also due to the acute sensitivity of her own nose. It was not proper form, but nor was it unacceptable. Each mage is understood to show a personal flourish now and again.

The judges nodded with no great enthusiasm, but showing their approval, motioned for her to continue.

After another bow, she re-postured herself to a stronger attitude; legs wider in a sturdy stance. Holding up a clawed right hand and raising a closed left fist out before her, the energy of the spell rose within. Her tail swayed behind her solid legs and the fingers on her right hand twitched ever so slightly as she directed her digits towards the outstretched fist. Her expression now took on an edge, purple irises squinting from the wide smile that pushed up her cheeks. A slim fang pressed into her bottom lip. The power rose, the judges watched, the stone watched, and in an instant she opened her left palm and a great gulf of fire sprung into the room from it. The rush of flames was nearly too close for comfort, but remaining still (save for her swaying tail), she articulated her right hand and the flame diminished to a bright low flame in her palm. The fire sustained for a few seconds to show that she could maintain it and then, clenching her left hand, completely killed the fire leaving only a smoldering gloved fist. Smoke emanated from the glove and she remained coolly watching as the char vanished and the smoke spent out into the air.

The judges nodded to each other again, this time with the barest hint of a murmur. She was doing well so far. Taking a moment, she bowed and assumed the next posture.

Getting into the more advanced spells now, her smile became wider, her eyes flared, glinting off the mage light of the room. Taking a horse stance, she bent back and flared out her arms: left hand down and right hand above her head, both in a clawed position of intricate design. She held this for a moment, hands growing white with frost. Drawing energy, she pivoted her right foot into a near kneel and dashed her right hand downward simultaneously raising her left hand in a firm position. Teeth showing in her clenched smile, she watched in front of her as the spire of ice burst forth in a mist of sublimed steam.

Next, a demonstration of another flame spell (to take the chill out of the room). Coiling her body on one foot she stepped out and, with a showmanship, flung a great gout of flame across the open demonstration area. The flames swirled and spun in small cyclones as they burned out with a menagerie of color. That seemed to delight the judges. One or two actually clapped. The judge in the center asked if that was the extent of her flame knowledge. The Kahjiit shook her head, bowed and then stood completely perpendicular to the earth. She closed her eyes. Letting a slow breath out with the simultaneous motion of her hands down the diaphragm. She then quickly drew them up with a sharp inhale. Her eyes opened, no longer purple but a bright orange as she held in the breath.

The judges watched as she quickly turned to one side, stepped forward and released. From her mouth came a white hot torrent of fire that spilled forth across the stones. The bright orange and yellow coiled and writhed before the judges, all watching with stillness as the Kahjiit spent twice a lungful into the room. Smoke coming off the bare stones, she smiled, pleased with herself before contorting her face. Her eyes bugged wide (now purple again) and she seemed to be beset by some sickness. Heat rose through her chest and she felt something coming up.

The judges, broken somewhat of their formal demeanor, rose to aid her, but in that second she exhaled a ragged breath of black smoke that wafted from her mouth. Placing a fist to her chest she ridded her body of what smoke remained and took on a sorrowful look towards the professors, her tongue slightly out of her mouth. The rest of her body mirrored that final pose of the spell. The judges let out a small chuckle and sat easier which quelled any notion to her that they would give bad marks.

What followed was the smooth and stern poise of a sharp

lightning spell. A precise and directed blast that came about from two pointed fingers and a slim posture. She had created another ice spire to direct the lightning at and the spire bifurcated, blowing away in small chunks that shattered to the floor. Without another moment she assumed another perpendicular posture, almost akimbo with her hands open next to her hips. She raised her hands above her head, opened palmed to the ceiling, which made her sleeves fall, exposing the white fur of her bicep at the end of her arm wrappings. She brought her hands down into powerful fists above her hips, turned to the side and began to step. Her eyes grew luminescent white as she gave an exhilarated smile. This hung in the air a moment as lightning arced about her. With a force, she stepped forward and directed her hands in a great bolt of lightning produced from her arms. Vicious arcs obscured the magelight of the room. She maintained the blast for some time and then pulled back her arms, coiling her hands into fists once again.

Turning to the judges with pride, she was forced to take several slow deep breaths as to calm the spent power. The judges were awestruck, she knew here and now she could end it, receive perfect marks and continue on to the upper echelon of the guild. Yet why stop now? She had them in the palm of her hand. Why not separate herself from the rest of the stock? She had been practicing for some time with the greatest spell of her repertoire, why not show it? A combination of destruction types. Lightning and fire.

The judges looked on as she turned her eyes downward, assumed an attitude involving a closed right fist at her back and a directed lightning form with her left hand. They could only watch with assumed puzzlement as she shifted her weight back, raised her left hand up as one would do with a wand, and brought a series of electric sparks before her. She closed her fist, gaining momentum and then sent her elbow down in a fist pump. She closed her eyes, expectant of the blast. Sparks and lightning crackled around a concentrated sphere in the center of the room…and then vanished.

She waited. The Judges waited. The stone waited. Nothing happened.

And then a small blip of a combustion, like that of a firecracker, popped with lackluster grace. She held the pose a moment longer, but the silence pervaded. She opened her eyes, looked at the judges and holding her position looked at the empty space. She frowned and in doing so her head was enveloped in a fiery explosion that roiled with smoke into the next crack of heat which overtook her entire body. The great booming of the room filled as the panel of judges recoiled from the blast. The table flew up from before them as the room filled with a chocking black char. The smoke lingered a while and when it finally cleared, the kahjiit was still standing, only her purple eyes looking out from her blackened mass. Most of the professors had assumed some type of magic shield, but one, by the look of their robes, a restoration mage, was knocked completely out upon the ground. One of the mages telekinetically held up the large table they had been previously sitting at. It was on trajectory to crush each of them before it was halted a mere few inches from their heads. The professor placed it gently among the broken and wayward chairs that had been thrown by the blast. Each of those standing maintained scowls at the burnt cat-person.

Only a few hours later, she had all her worldly belongings packed into a rucksack. It was likely that she would never to be remitted to the place where she had invested all her hopes and dreams. Turning one last time at the gate of the hall as it closed to her, she sighed with her downward purple eyes. Taking a few meager steps, her fist clenched tight. Her eyes flared with rage and she turned, dropping her rucksack, and aiming a bolt of lightning, she shot out a blast at the eye on the Iron Gate. The gate had some form of magical barrier that repelled the blast and the lightning fired back at her landing only a step in front of her in a shower of snow and ice. She jumped back, swore a few choice words, hefted up her rucksack, and turned away.

She drove out into the biting cold and swirling snow trudging down the mountain road towards the small village that sat below the guildhall. Maintaining a warm fire in her left hand, she kept from freezing, but as she entered the town, noticed that a few citizens were stealing distrustful glances at her. She killed the fire before reaching the town center where a low building with a big porch slumped along the icy road. The tavern there, aptly named “The Hope’s Last” was at least a warm and inviting place to rest and wile away the night.

Among the usual fare of travelers and villagers, she noticed an orange Kahjiit sitting at one of the tables alone with a cup of something steamy. It seemed that none of the humans or elves would go near her, and thinking that it would be nice to have familiar company, she paid for a room and a warm cider before approaching her kin.

Original Inspiration: (This person’s style is great and I had to write something about a possible context for this mage. Honestly helped me at least get some practice in writing while thinking about how a character is moving or standing.)

Activity Update

I salute you. Thanks to all my followers and readers, you are great!

poster

So, For those of you who have been waiting for more Sci Fi fox or Good & Evil, I should not, but I must make the same unfortunate excuse as anyone who makes comics, that it takes a while. Since I’m not much in the way of drawing, It’s not that I’m working on one page for all this time, but I hope to put up many pages at once at once rather than keep the story so segmented for both. Issue 2 of G & E will be done soon. It’s a couple pages longer, But I will reboot the past issue with it.

Anyway, if you like my writing at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know. If you don’t like my writing, well, no one asked you. If you don’t have the attention span to read, then I guess I can only blame you for being uncultured swine. Since the majority of people rarely read past the first sentence, this is kind of an inside joke right now between you and me (hehe).
I made this poster, more comics will be soon, for now I leave you with space police:

 

 

Comfort

Now if you happen to find yourself,

Unable to get out of your bed,

Just listen to the song I sing,

Or else you might end up dead.

 

There is a reason the sunlight beams

Through the closed curtain

There is a reason the birds do sing,

They warn you of a peril.

 

Now if you find your covers warm,

Comfort do not thank,

For lingering in this cozy world to long,

Will sap you of your streingth

 

Your legs will turn to jelly

Your arms to tar,

Your head will fill with hot air

fill with nonsense and stars.

 

Do not let your fate

be that of languid goo.

Cast aside comfort

and breath in the sunshine anew.

 

Lift from your resting world and lend your limbs

to electric life pulses.

 

Someone to love.

I want someone who will love me, even if I forget.

I want someone who will rub my belly, and treat me like their pet.

I want someone who will whisper in the dark when the night outside is cold.

I’d like someone to love me before I grow too old.

 

We’d dance among the raindrops and sing in the pouring rain,

With them would cradle sorrow and wash away my pain,

We’d laugh and sing and dance and play,

With them I’d give everything and every living day.

 

They would smile for no reason and laugh without a joke,

They would bring fresh air because the world around can choke,

They would tell me their secrets and we’d smile at our faults,

They would know it as no burden to trust in eachothers hearts.

 

We would take a stand against the world with war cries so shrill,

And when one would fall before their time, the other would love them still.

 

Yes I would love them without regret, if they would love me back,

and therein lies the ultimatum one cannot take back.

For the more you give, the more exposed

To hail of social rounds

And as another pet, be whipped into the ground,

For fear holds so tightly from straying into the open,

Fear of soft whispers becoming spite and broken,

That time will surpass the love we share and death take us alone,

And nothing but regret rains upon our shores

 

I do not fear for I am a rock

I will remain after the waves have stopped

And if you want,

We can both make love below the water.