The Soul Moon
It was nighttime, or it should have been. Out her tiny circular window she could see the Soul Moon, bathing the entire landscape in vibrant white light. Her socked feet hit the wooden floorboards beneath her bed, her fingertips itching.
Within moments she had shoved her feet into her shoes, tucked her notebook under her arm, and clutched a handful of pencils in her left fist. She moved silently through the house, slipped her backpack off its peg by the door, and teetered on the threshold between inside and outside.
She pushed the door open, and it gave a low creak. Then, she slung her bag over her shoulder and took off down the mountainside.
The tall grasses looked silver in the Soul Moon's light, the sky like a gaping black hole punctuated with a blinding orb. The air was warm but her hair still stood on end, conscious of the wind and every whisper of movement around her. Everywhere she looked she expected to see them, the ghosts. The souls. Today was the one day a year that the planes overlapped, allowing the souls re-entry into the corporeal world. Her spine vibrated at the thought, fear or excitement making her mouth turn dry.
She continued down the mountain, eyes skittering across pebbles that shone like jewels. Every flower shone like the moon itself, stretching their necks towards the sky to absorb the light.
The mist hit her first. She hadn't realized how far down she'd traveled until she felt the softness of the grass under her feet, heard the lapping of water. There were three Crystal Ponds in the village, appearing and disappearing from the landscape over the decades. She recalled the stories the elders told her--that the souls would congregate here. Hold ceremonies for what they once were and who they've become. That they'd dip their spectral toes into the blazing crystal waters and turn into flesh once more, until the last ray of Soul Moon slipped behind the horizon. And in some of the stories, they remained mortal.
A myth, she whispers to herself. A myth, a myth, a myth.
In the mist, she wouldn't be able to distinguish between ghost and flesh anyway. Everything was in shades of grey, and she couldn't even see the mountains anymore. She couldn't see the water, couldn't even see the sky. Her breath trembled, making white clouds in the air. Her shoes sunk into wet, marshy land, and she struggled to walk forward, squinting into the mist.
A shrieking wind slipped by her ear, deathly cold, and she fell to her knees, her legs squelching in the mud. Her hair blew across her face, the sound of rushing water growing louder and closer, and suddenly everything lit up: figures swarmed in her vision, close and far, with and without features. They looked like shadows against the never-ending light of the Soul Moon.
And all at once, the world went silent. The wind stopped and her hair fell limply against her face and neck, sticking to the moisture at her temples. Her ears rang in the silence. The mist was cleared.
In front of her was the Crystal Pond. The water was calm and shimmering, sparkling in the bright spot light of the Soul Moon. Tendrils of fog still drifted off the surface of the water, but they dissipated as quickly as a breath. And the souls. The souls were real.
It looked as if the entire village were here, their bodies shining as brightly as stars. They were so bright it hurt, but she couldn't look away. Her hands numbly pulled her notebook and a pencil out of her backpack, her eyes barely blinking. Not a soul looked at her, and she wondered if they could see.
They stood at the edge of the water, none of them touching the pond. In fact, the water drew away from them if they strode too near. They walked like any humans walked, feet planted on the ground firmly, squashing the grass underneath their feet. If they didn't glow eerily white, she'd think they were simply regular people bathed in light.
Trembling, she began to draw, not bothering to even look down at her notebook as she did. She drew the souls that looked more like comets than people. She drew the souls that had beard and glasses and robes. She drew the souls the size of newborns and children smaller than herself. She drew the souls that towered over the pond like trees, the souls that intertwined with others so completely they were one, the souls that wore expressions of joy and sorrow and pain and hope.
She drew until her hand ached, watching them walk to each other and touch fingers. They circled the pond, only a few daring to try and touch it. The water would rear away from them, pull back and reveal the dry silt underneath. The souls did not speak or sing or chant or pray; they didn't need to.
And when the very last glimmer of the Soul Moon sunk behind the mountains in the distance, she watched the souls fade away. Swirling together in a mass of light and stardust, pulled past the horizon and back home. She knelt at the edge of the water, where it pooled around her legs but didn't touch her notebook. She looked down, let the wind rifle through the pages of drawings, showing her that she'd filled the entire book. Every page another person, another expression, another glimpse into something beyond her comprehension. And then her gazed wandered down to her body, which shone with the soft misty light of the Soul Moon, despite it being gone.
She watched curiously as the light emanating from her own arms and legs spilled into the water. She stood, and set her backpack on the edge of the Crystal Pond, noticing the translucence of her own skin, feeling the water lapping at her ankles. When she looked to the sky, there it was, as she expected it to be: the Soul Moon perfectly above her. Too bright to look at. She felt the water rise, felt the Soul Moon grow closer and closer, felt the warmth of its light on what was left of her skin. And then it enveloped her, as it does all things in the end.
A child found her notebook at the edge of the Crystal Pond the next morning, completely dry and owner-less. In it, there was a drawing of everyone who had ever walked the village and gone. And at the end, the very, very last page, was a drawing of the girl herself, kneeling at the edge of the Crystal Pond with her head raised to the Soul Moon.
The Fallen Angel
It's been so long now but still, I remember.
Alexandre painted me well, did he not?
I wonder who gave him the vision, I wonder why...
It seems I must have a few admirers in heaven.
The world imagined Satan ugly.
A snake, a beast.
Forgetting, despite how wrong they are about me, that evil is rarely ever hideous on the outside.
It festers where you can't see it
Until it is too late.
No victor, no vanquished.
I had love for my father.
I suppose that was what caused the tears most of all.
Beneath every other emotion - the anger, betrayal, that shameful feeling of being humiliated so, the fear of what would come next...
My love burned through it all, twisting like a dull knife in an already shattered heart.
Like the child I was, I had only wished for his attention.
For him to truly see me.
I was only a babe, then.
I do not regret any of my decisions, it was as it was to be but
Even now, I can feel the heaviness and change forever marked upon my self that came with being suddenly away from home for the first time.
The strangeness of your air, your surfaces and textures...
Rock and sea,
Oxygen and gravity.
It was decidedly too much.
Perhaps I should have let it break me.
But I wouldn't be God's fallen favourite if I wasn't too strong and too proud to rise, regardless.
All these years past,
I do not forgive, nor do I forget,
I simply choose not to care, anymore.
Because the fall, painful as it felt then, was nothing more than fate.
And now I have a kingdom of my own to take care of.
A hell where the scum of his creation come to pay their dues.
It isn't a job I take lightly.
My pride has been restored, you could say.
He would tell you my ego is insufferable
But he's the one who agrees to our curious little games from time to time,
Those brief conversations along the millenia...
Perhaps he misses me a little, after all.
Embracing the Call: Descending into Adventure
With the crisp morning air kissing her cheeks,
She slung her bag over her shoulder, light and sleek.
A heart filled with wanderlust, an adventurous soul,
She embarked on a journey, ready to make it whole.
Down the mountainside, she gracefully descended,
Where nature's symphony, untamed and splendid.
Her steps found rhythm upon the rocky terrain,
A dance with the earth, an ode to the untamed.
Her bag held dreams, hopes, and secrets untold,
Whispers of tales that the mountains behold.
With each stride, she embraced the unknown,
A spirit unyielding, her spirit had grown.
The mountains whispered tales of ancient lore,
Whispered secrets, never heard before.
The wind serenaded her as it gently kissed her face,
Caressing her soul, in this vast, untamed space.
Through emerald valleys and cascading streams,
She followed the echoes of her childhood dreams.
In the company of pines, majestic and tall,
She found solace, for she had heeded nature's call.
The mountains cradled her with arms wide open,
Their grandeur inspiring, their beauty unbroken.
She breathed in the essence of untamed freedom,
As she descended, surrendering to her heart's wisdom.
With every step, her burdens began to fade,
And a sense of liberation began to cascade.
Down the mountainside, she journeyed with grace,
Discovering her strength in this vast open space.
The world unfolded before her in vibrant hues,
A tapestry of wonder, an enchanting muse.
Her spirit soared as she embraced the unknown,
Carving her path, a story uniquely her own.
"She slung her bag over her shoulder and took off down the mountainside,"
A vision of courage, a spirit untied.
In the embrace of nature, she found her release,
A symphony of life, a newfound inner peace.
No Kings Here
you only eat Burger King
at 12:03am on Tuesday nights
under flickering, broken street lights
in the parking lot
where you're crying
about something
you could have easily
changed the outcome of
the night is suffocating
that summer stillness
crickets clicking, mimicking your heaving
greasy breezes gently caressing your vehicle
like parasitic demons
it's a hellish dream you can't wake up from
realized only in the subconscious
in this metal contraption you are inside of
at midnight you turn to stone
the burger you ate
flipped until golden brown
is now a memory to be forgotten about
except in your stomach
where acid will break it down
at least you hope it will
for you, are not a king at all
just a jester failing to do its job
Latchkey Kids
“I willingly believe that the damned are, in one sense, successful, rebels to the end; that the doors of hell are locked on the inside.” — CS Lewis
Bad times keep us growing
Good times keep us going
Until we outgrow
And, do, we outknow
The One, Who, calls the shot
Good times can go bad
Bad times, only, had
Till the fine line between
Can no longer be seen
Cannot wash, out, damned spot
Redemption's a joke
Damnation a cloak
To hide us from Him
Divine antonym
Out of sight, there, no doubt
Grand tour’s over
Full disclosure
Tallies our score
Down to the core
Kettle calls, black, the pot
Welcome back is a phrase
Denied by our ways
Of rebellion to the last
Joining those who are cast
With those who, Him, hear not
We're the cocksure winners
And the shockproof sinners
Who owe, no One, apologies
To forgive self-serving qualities
Key-in-pocket, stay, our lot
Defiantly Indifferent
"Introducing Her Imperial Highness, the fifth princess Arenil!" Shocked gasps sweep through the crowd and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. It's my declaration, after all. Skipping it, while tempting, would completely waste a perfect opportunity to really shock everyone. Although, I think their shock might be more due to the outfit I chose for today. I suppose no one would have expected a princess to wear pants.
"Wicked woman, get off the stage!" I blink at the fool who just shouted that and internally shake my head as the guards escort him away. I know what the populace thinks of me -- a dissolute, promiscuous, self-indulgent waste of Imperial blood. It's not true, but no one cares about truth.
I send the officiant a bored look, and he startles. "May Her Highness bless us all with her wisdom this fine morning." He bows, and I take my cue to step forward.
"Hello." I say into the magic stone, staring out into the crowd. "Thank you for gathering here on this beautiful day to acknowledge my debut birthday and witness my declaration."
I flick my eyes toward my mother, the third concubine. I didn't tell her my plans, but I've always felt like she knew more than she'd been told. Her gaze is steady on mine, and I know that no matter what I say, she won't be disappointed in me.
"I understand that I've shocked you all by daring to wear pants as a princess, but if that's enough to scandalize you, nobody is going to like what I say next."
I hear my guard groan quietly. He's always trying to convince me not to provoke people. I stifle a smile and continue. "I recognize that the declaration is intended to be a time given to the heirs to announce their intention to compete and to begin their campaign by explaining their platforms and views and future plans. I also recognize that absolutely nobody wants me anywhere near the crown, as certain people have disobeyed the order to refrain from harming or besmirching heirs who've yet to reach marriageable age."
This time, several people flinch. "While I don't particularly care what people say about me and have no desire to engage in a pointless argument, I feel compelled to clarify that yes, I am still a virgin, no, I haven't spent even half as much money as is allotted to my budget, and for Land's sake, going outside the palace does not mean I'm starting scandals." I hear the crowd muttering, but continue anyway. "I am not here to gain your favor or create a public image. My purpose here is simple. As an Imperial daughter, I am required to give a speech in front of the people on my fifteenth birthday."
Their wide, shocked eyes amuse me, but I hold it in. "My declaration is simple. I will not be competing for the throne. I have no desire for the crown or any of the b******t that goes with it." I ignore their gasps. "Nor do I want any part of politics. I will be pursuing a separate career after attending the International Hunters Academy. Any attempt to draw me or those around me into your politics or scheming against my or their desire will be considered an attack and handled accordingly. I refuse to join your five-dimensional chess game. Am I clear?" I look directly at my family.
My siblings all nod without hesitation. My withdrawal means one fewer competitor, and having announced it so publicly means I can't deny it later. My father seems pensive, but unconcerned. My mother is smiling, though the other concubines appear simultaneously bitter and triumphant. It's my extended relatives I'm worried about, though. Competition within the palace tends to be surprisingly clean, since the rules require the overseers and judges (aside from the Emperor, who holds the final authority) to judge interference between heirs harshly. Our mothers and aunts and uncles and maternal grandparents and cousins are the ones who scheme. I maintain my silence until finally, all of the extended family in attendance bow their heads. I dip my head toward them, just slightly.
My father cuts through the silence. "Are you relinquishing your right of succession, then?"
I tilt my head to the side. "I wanted to. I was told that it was a bad idea. Apparently, even if I don't want the throne, it's best that I remain as a... 'backup candidate', I suppose. I consider myself out of the running entirely, but I guess if some cataclysm occurred and I were actually needed, it would be better if I were still legally an option."
My entire family blinks at me before my second brother clarifies. "So we don't need to worry about you trying to overtake us, but if we all die, you'll still take over?"
I tip my head. "I would rather you not all die. It is convenient to keep the authority to tell people to f*** off. That's all I'm saying."
There's a long moment of silence before my brother starts laughing uproariously, the others joining in until eventually most of the crowd is laughing. I just shrug. I meant it when I said I don't care what they think. This is my decision, and I will stand firm. I run my hand across my pants again, knowing that my etiquette teacher will scold me later, and wait. When they all calm down, I simply smile. They all turn quiet. Usually, heirs end their declaration by doing something big, making a statement of some sort, and I have a great one planned.
"In honor of my declaration to pursue a career through the Adventurer Guild and their Academy, I will display my dedication to this decision, lest anyone suspect me of lying." A silence spreads through the crowd, and I suppress my smile again, keeping my expression solid as I prepare.
It takes them a moment to realize what I'm doing: removing my glamour. My cloak grows, no longer covering just one shoulder but rather both, with strips of fabric across the front to wrap around my abdomen and hold it in place. My loose pants shrink and tighten; one leg shortens to mid-calf and the other to mid-thigh, both now close-fitting but not restricting. My flowing blouse morphs into a tank top that stops at the bottom of my rib cage. My entire outfit is now appropriate for a high-mobility close-combat adventurer, including the daggers strapped all over my body, just barely visible.
I shoot a challenging look at my etiquette teacher, already vowing to jump out the window when she tries to lecture me later, and pull a single dagger from its sheath. The guards tense slightly, but make no move to disarm me. Even if I killed myself here, no one is allowed to intervene in the declaration unless my actions directly endanger another member of the royal family. Fortunately, that's not my plan, and I bite back a smile yet again. I lock eyes with my mom. I don't think she's realized that her disapproval would kill me, but even as I raise the dagger to the base of my braid, I see nothing but pride in her eyes.
I slice.
The waist-long braid that my mother's family insisted I should grow to become a 'proper princess' falls to the floor.
I sheathe my knife.
In those few seconds, I feel all the tension drain from my shoulders. My mother is still proud of me. I don't care about the rest, about the uproar from the citizens or the horrified expressions of my relatives or the shock on my siblings' faces. I just cut off my hair, which is commonly known as a woman's pride, and removed all my royal vestments, effectively denying my title, and declared I wouldn't pursue the throne, leaving her forever a concubine rather than Queen Mother as I'm her only child... and my mother is still proud of me.
This time, I let my smile slip free.