Thursday, July 29, 2010

Pokémon: The Golden Apocalypse, Chapter Twenty-Three, Part One

Red slowly turned his head upwards. He stared into the fog for a moment, attempting to assemble a picture of what was above. There was the cliff face, pockmarked with holes and ledges. There, farther on, was a larger form in the fog of a significant outcropping, perhaps as large as Red's pack. And there, around and beyond everything, was nothing but the nothingness the world had been enveloped with.
He sighed, and allowed his head to sink back down. His eyes closed, and he thought bemusedly that it made no difference in this spirit realm. He remained still for a while, first listening for the bird, then pondering its fate. How long it was he would never know, but it was long enough that his pupils protested when he looked again. He blinked away the spots from his vision and raised his head. His breath caught in his throat.
There was a bird in front of him. Standing on the cliff before him, it scratched absently at the ground. Finding nothing, it raised its head and looked directly at Red, cocking its head. The boy tensed, expecting attack. The bird was clearly a spearow, and a more ill-tempered pokémon one would be hard-pressed to find.
The bird turned its head the other way. Its golden eyes closed for a moment, and it hopped forward. Red flinched, and hit his head against the wall behind him. The bird hopped closer again.
Whether it was from the minor cranial trauma or the proximity of the pokémon, Red suddenly recognized the bird. It was the spearow that had helped them when the Shadowed Pokémon blotted the sun. He reached out a tentative hand. The bird looked at it quizzically. Taking a breath, the boy tried to pet the pokémon's head. The spearow promptly pecked him, and he withdrew his bleeding appendage.
Sucking on his wound, Red studied the bird before him. The pokémon stared back, seeming both contemptuous and bored. It scratched at the ground again, and looked at the boy. When no response was given, it scratched more insistently.
It dawned on Red that the bird was trying to tell him something. But what? He leaned slightly forward and, keeping one eye on the spearow, looked at the ground in front of him. It was nothing but smooth stone. The bird was watching him expectantly.
"Well, what do you want?" asked Red. "There isn't anything there."
The bird scratched again, and hopped forward. Red braced himself for another peck, but to his surprise, it kicked him. Could spearow do that? It wasn't like it hurt. Neither did the next kick. It wasn't until the third that Red realized what was happening. The bird wasn't attacking him; it was extending it's leg to him.
It was delivering a letter. Red moved his hand carefully forward, and untied the string that held the message.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Pokémon: The Golden Apocalypse, Chapter Twenty-Two

Red cried out and instinctively raised his hands in defense. The bird flew past on his right, close enough to brush Red with its wingtips. It wheeled about slowly in the air, presumably readying for another dive. Red took the moment's respite to scramble towards the cliff face and secret his pokémon and pack in the tiny alcove. The sodden material of the bag matched the hue of the cliff face remarkably, and in the fog seemed to meld seamlessly.
His duty complete, Red rose and looked out to where the bird had been. Nothing. He scanned the entire view, but all he saw was the same, wraithlike white. The blanket consumed his view and devoured sound. The ominous senselessness filled Red with a creeping terror, and he slid slowly down the wall behind himself until he sat beside the cloth that heaved slowly with Nyoromo's breath.
For the first time, Red envied the pokémon's size. He wished he could simply crawl in a hole and hide. But he was exposed. He drew his legs to his chest, but still felt that he was an unmissable target. His right hand held his limbs tightly, while his left worked itself deeper and deeper into Nyoromo's alcove. He made no sound in the silence, but his heart thundered in his own ears.
He couldn't have sat there for long, but while he did it was his own private eternity. His tiny, blank universe not seen nor heard. Though his eyes strained for sight, he knew only touch. The coolness of the rock against his back, slowly warming with his body heat. The faint brush of mist on his face. The steady rise and fall of the canvas against his fingers. The pounding in his chest, slowing steadily.
The tapping of recently dislodged pebbles from above.

Saturday, July 17, 2010


Well there you go
I escape from your chains
Your demands
And I find my light
Amidst your darkness
But then
Just as I spread my wings
You clip them
Return me to your nest
Small and safe
Soon I will see my liberator again
And you'll be there
With manacles
And love

Friday, July 16, 2010


The letter slid easily from the envelope. It was one sheet, single-spaced, of writing. Attached to it was a small note card. Assuming it to be explanatory, I read that first.
Enclosed you will find the final chapter of Ryan.
I tossed the card aside and began to read.

I stalked through the halls of the school, slamming all the light switches down. The foolish girl had left them all on again. This wasn't earth. There was no telling how much power was left. We couldn't afford to waste it. Though, I thought guiltily, You don't seem to have a problem leaving your computer on. I pushed the thought aside. I needed to write. These lights weren't helping anybody, though.
The girl was sitting in a well-lit classroom. She knew I was angry by my face, and she cowered as I approached.
"You left every light in the building on! We won't have electricity forever; we have to save it. This is the moon! We don't have anyone to manage the power plants. And no one else is coming because they're dead. Do you understand that much? They're all dead!"
Strangely, she smiled at me, and beckoned me follow her from the room. Walking into a dark classroom opposite, I gasped. People. Somehow, one last ship must have arrived.
We were no longer alone.

Thursday, July 15, 2010


The Council sat unmoving as Jacques burst dramatically through the ceiling of the Sky, grappling with the vampiric soul-sprite. His powerful arms could barely hold the gnashing mouth from his face, and he had no way to reach the bell at his belt.
If only it were the solstice! Jacques thought. Any appendage, no matter how parasitic, would be of aid to me. But it was still deep autumn, if the spectators' faces were anything to judge by.
"I bring dire news!" strained the mariner. "It would be in your interest to help me!"
The watchers did nothing, and Jacques knew there was only one thing he could do. He opened his mouth as wide as it could go, then wider still, feeling his cheeks tear and his jaw unhinge. But still it opened until his mandible hung at ninety degrees, and his bloody face was split to his ears. The soul-sprite slowed, perhaps sensing the inevitability of its fate, and Jacques began to keen. The fiery blue glow of his opponent began to flare with terror, as from Jacques came a terrible being. As it came free, it took hold of the sprite, and began to tear at it with its teeth.
Ignoring the battle, Jacques strode to the tallest of the Council. The being gazed impassively as Jacques took the scroll from his beard.
"I bear a message from the God-slave of the Wreaked. It is merely this. 'Have faith'. My task completed, I will take my leave."
Jacques stepped through an archway of fire that opened before him, leaving his long dead half-sister to finish her battle in the court of the Unmortals.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Sonnet XII "Seven Cities"

The tools of gods now long forgot
Found manifest in mortal man,
At first a few with power not,
Then more in less, the chosen clan.
These seven lords each found a place:
Great cities of a bygone age.
To keep these lands took strength and grace;
Each took a role. The first a sage,
The next a demon's visage chose,
One ruled by friendly politic,
A Northern Warlord soon arose,
A ruler more won minds by trick,
One held her lannd in misty veil,
And sole the last hoped to prevail.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Sonnet XIII "Reason"

You made the rules, you showed a path,
Though thin, well lit and well defined.
You promised joy, you showed no wrath,
Asked only I leave Dark behind.
I did as asked with child's trust.
I swore myself  to Light.
But now I crawl weighed down by dust
A hill of endless height.
Through all I slaved to do as bade,
Convinced you cared for me.
So tired, I become afraid.
You say I'm free.
My cry:

Monday, July 12, 2010


With a twist of his wrist, Lief slid the block into place. He lifted his head to see what was next, and a spray of water caught him in the face. He ducked, and saw it spouted from a sink in the corner.
Of course there's a sink now. Why not? And why shouldn't it shoot water against the wall? He sighed. After he left the group, everything had gone strange on him. But he had to keep going. That much he knew. But what was next? The sink was plain porcelain, and all it did was spout water onto a wall. Otherwise the room was bare.
Hurry, the church bells will chime soon.  
"What does that even mean?" cried Lief. He was tired, and the world was wrong. But what was he supposed to do. The blocks were in place, the door gone, and the sink sat there quietly shooting water onto
a crack in the wall. Lief quickly crawled over to the point, and set his fingernails at the crack. Saying a prayer, he pulled at the wall.

Sunday, July 11, 2010


The tides go in, the tides go out,
The moon moves softly round,
The cool breeze stirs the darkened grass,
With magic Earth is crowned.

Then feud the men, and feud the lands
O'er why these glories live.
They make there wars, they strip the land,
They take all Earth can give.

The learned fools of high estate
Craft god machines to slay,
While plotting fools upon the throne
Do work only to stay.

About them blood of marching pawns
Leaks poison in the ground,
While they grow old with jealous rage
And kill their foes where found.

And so it was to find the truth,
That man dug out his grave.
He answered peace with trumpets blare
And called his actions brave.

The bloody tides was in, wash out,
The moon casts ghostly pall,
The moaning wind wails through the night,
No magic, Death is all.

Saturday, July 10, 2010


The girls cries stopped as she approached. She wiped her nose with her sleeve. Her eyes glittered with hope.

"Are you an angel?"

"I guess so." answered Ryan.

"Did you come to take us home?" She clutched her bear tightly as she spoke.

"Here." Smiling comfortingly, Ryan extended a hand to the girl. She reached to take it, then frowned. Her fingers had passed right through him.

"Mister Angel?" asked the girl, reaching in vain again. "Why wont you help me?"

As another prayer pulled Ryan far away, he watched the pitiful girl fade. As darkness surrounded him, he realized exactly how the girl felt.


Friday, July 09, 2010

Sonnet XI "Fate"

A lifetime full of hollow laughs,
Forevers filled with painful grins,
The Truth facade, facade the truth,
Unrhymed, unreasoned, jeering world.
The darkness thick - a ray of hope -
A fading beam - a closing door -
No mourners wail - A rain of dirt -
The faintest Muse so long ignored.
Upon herself she takes some pain,
Though greater burdens weigh her down,
To Light of Fools she stands as bane
Their Light a Dark in which we drown.
But off the path we thought we knew
Lies Hope enough to live anew.