Truly there must be a demon beneath your flesh.

For from the moment of your first breath, god has seen fit to spite you.

Curses and ruin follow in your wake, pain and suffering your only constant companions.

And so you must harbor a soul black as night, to suffer so greatly.

Yet, if it is so, I do not see it. Because how could a touch, so gentle and careful, be cruel?

Your laughter and your smile make me forget about all the weight on my heart.

I could no more be without you, than I might be without the sun.

If a demon lies beneath your flesh, then it too must carry my love.

If you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares back. So the knight remembered the words of his teacher as he stared into the yawning blackness that lay before him. His humble torch was a mere spark compared to the impenetrable shadows below. He had travelled many miles in that darkness, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling, and sometimes running. On occasion he would light one of the few torches he had and see what hid in the blind places of the world. Some things were a wonder to behold, others unspeakable nightmares no man should ever witness. But still the knight continued on, undaunted by the crippling anxiety within his chest and the strangling darkness which threatened to overtake him. And now here it was again, the fear. He had come so far only to be met with a cavern of interminable immensity. He saw no way into the void below, no ledge or crevice to latch onto, only obscurity. Had he more torches, he would toss one down so that he might gain some semblance of depth, but he had only one and that was down near to a nub.

He turned away from the end for now, finding his way to a nearby wall. There, he sat and ate what food he had. Only scraps, dreams and wisps of wondrous pabulum. He nibbled at these crumbs, suckling at the memories of what they once were. The most decadent of cheeses, and the finest of breads were what graced his palate. Not the moldy scraps of aged sharp and hard crusts. He extinguished his torch, so that he might enjoy his meal. He would need what remained later.

When he had finished that, he removed his belt and scabbard and his shield. He laid them down beside him and removed his cloak. Bundling it up and laying it across the shield, he had a makeshift pillow. He needn’t worry about cold in the tepid and stuffy tomb so he had no need of a blanket. Sleep was a misconception in that caliginous miasma. With only the senses of sound and touch as his aids in the black, he had no concept of consciousness. Whether he truly slept, or simply lay there, his mind an empty slate, is forever unknown to him. If he slept, he had no dreams of which to remember. And if he existed as an unmoving, but awake entity, he had no memory of thought which entered into his mind. Even the concept of time was unknown to him in that dark.

Upon opening his eyes, however, he noticed the darkness was now incomplete. A shaft of glittering yellow light dared to break the ceaseless canvas of shadows. The knight waited, sure that he must be sleeping now and that this was a dream. However, as he shifted, the pains of the hard ground told him this was no dream. Still he continued to lay there, watching this light grow larger and larger, pushing back the darkness, fighting against it. When it grew no longer, the knight finally turned his head. The abyss was no more. From a monstrous gap in a truly distant wall of unfathomable height, sunlight broke through. It’s light touched upon depth, showing the treasure within. A stonework city lay forgotten in the crevasse, vast and unceasing. That something so large could lay within the earth was an almost impossible thought. And that it could lay forgotten from the world was even more bewildering.

From his loft, the knight could see the entire lay of the city. It formed a half circle, walls surrounding what city there was. In the middle of the city, the center of the wouldbe circle, was a castle, towering above the citadel, silently watching. Stately walls separated it all into two parts, town and castle. City is too generous a word for such a haggard place. Ruins was more appropriate. The knight believed it as such. He wondered at what this place might have been. How grandiose the structures were before, what pillars had stood as lonely sentries, guarding those below from the perils above. The bustle of life and the sound of people. Laughter and tears, the shouting of children, the groan of cart and animal. All these sounds must have made it a true wonder of the world. And the silence which remained after these things fit all too well in the holes the people had made for themselves.

Grey stone exposed to the darkness and damp gave way to green and yellow lichens. Buildings lay in ruins, crushed by the hammer of time. He wondered if this was the place he had sought, but knew in his heart that it was not. He had many miles yet to go, and this was simply another marker in his memory. The wonder which had first enraptured his heart, now gave way to pity and sadness for the empty skeleton. Now it was merely an echo, a lonely beacon to the follies of man; the thought that we might outlive time. He turned from the husk to a ladder, which had eluded him in the dark. It grasped the wall, ancient and rusted. The ground below was a distant land, near unseeable. Putting a foot on the first rung, he pushed experimentally. It groaned, but held fast. He donned his gear, staring at the light peeking through the fissure on last time. Then he began his enduring descent into a forgotten city.

It was strange how alone he was in this world. With how vast it was, there should be more than he, but there was no one. Only the things that crept in the shadows, things not truly of the world of men. But he was in the world of men no longer. There had been others before...before he had come to this place. Some had left, some were struck down, some foolishly cast themselves aside for his sake. But none of that mattered now, not here. He had come to a forest only a few days prior. It stood as an impassive wall, unending and stretching beyond belief. This world must be of giants, for everything in it seemed to tower above him, stretching and fattening itself. These trees were no different, they stood impossibly large. How they did not collapse beneath their own weight was a mystery to him. Moss and lichen covered the trees in dark patches of green and yellow and even blue, sunlight barely penetrated through the thick canopy of leaves above, and yet the inside was not dark, at least when the sun had risen. No light seemed to be coming from any particular place, but his vision was not hindered in the least.

There had been many strange things in this world, this being among the least strange; however, this startled him in a way he did not fully understand. Perhaps it was that it helped him in such a valuable way. One of the facts he had come to expect of this world was that it was cruel. Its offers of safety and refuge were often guises to lure him away and take him forever. Yet this place gave no such indication. There was no subterfuge, no jest or lie. It was as it was. The light was not warm, but cold did not find its way to flesh either. Neutrality rang out and filled every void; it was not a gift nor a curse, but simply a waystation on his journey. He might rest here and it would lead him to where he might need to go, but it did not offer anything else. The knight accepted this, as he had accepted everything else this world had offered him. He did not choose to think on it any longer. Thought would do him no good. More often than not, it led to downfall. Thought could lead down dark and disparaging roads of worry over consequence and failure. Many a young knight is slain by his own doubts and fears, rather than any blade. Better to focus on the task ahead and rely on thought only when there were problems that required it.

The metallic clanging of his armor as he moved almost roared in the deafening silence. Though the thick copse of trees deadened most echoes, there was such a lack of noise that any sound was a banging drum, his footsteps mirroring those of a giant. The sound of wings and the chittering of small animals, while commonplace elsewhere, were strangers here, marvels to behold for there were none to be found. This too filled him with trepidation. There is a calm before the storm it is often said, but he hoped that there was no such obstacle ahead. When darkness came, there was no buzz of flies nor chirp of crickets. They dare not play their fiddles here. The air remained stagnant, the black of night nor the mild light of day doing nothing to its temperament. He had traveled several days, when he came upon the largest tree he had ever seen, standing even taller than its brothers, peering down at them from the heavens. Through the space of its branches, he could see slices of blue sky and it was like the face of an angel. At its base, a smooth patch of bark remained free of any moss. Long flowing letters were carved into it, and below it a dusty iron helm was hung upon an old sword embedded into the ground. It read thusly:

“I mark this place in remembrance of myself. I was not strong enough in mind to continue onwards and so I leave my soul here, a forgotten relic known only to those that dared to brave the darker places of this world. May you remember the words I inscribe here as the baring of my soul and share them only with those who have themselves seen of it."

"Silent forests watch the world, waiting till the end,

Bearing witness to flame and stone, lonely day and night,

We come to seek and test ourselves, sans foe or friend,

Endless steps, titanic trees, soft undying light."

The knight stared at the words, studying them, and etching them into his heart. Putting his hand upon the helm, he smiled. One false step, one doubtful thought and his helm might have laid here, his words might be etched into this monument. And his shame would forever hound him. He would not forget what he had seen here, and he would carry those words with him, taking the soul that was left, and silently promising that he would never withdraw. He gathered himself, and walked away, heading off into the grey light that awaited him.

Well, that was unexpected. I mean, you see it in movies and stuff, but to actually have it happen to you is surreal. Who could've left this here? Who built this? Why? Did they have some actual purpose to it, whether nefarious or noble? How do you lose something like this?! The possibilies of such a device are endless. I stood there, people milling about me, going through their normal day to day lives. They had no idea the terrible power I held then. I could be rich, take whatever I wanted, take whoever I wanted. I could seek out murderers and stop them in their tracks. Who was the zodiac killer? I could find out. Goodbye, Hitler. Goodbye, every horrific, preventable tragedy in history. I could save the crew of the Challenger. Friends, family, all long gone could be brought back to me. In my hand was the power of God. I looked down into the palm of my hand, where a shining silver pocket watch sat clutched under white knuckles. I felt nearly drunk with its power, as if I could feel it buzzing through my fingers.

I took the watch, and threw it down. It shatters between the cement and my foot. The ticking stops, a massive amount of sparks burst from the machine, and everything is still. As I slowly regain my sight from the blinding light, I look around. People are staring at me in confusion, taking long strides away and around me. Grabbing the remains of the pocket watch, I take it apart, tossing each piece into a different trashcan. This is a power that no man should possess and I made sure no one would. I could have done a lot with that watch, but...so could anyone else.

Brrrr. Brrr brrr brrrreh, burr burr burrrrr. Burrrrrr, brrrurururur.

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Burrrrrrrrr, burrrr burrrr.

Brrrrrrrrrrr, urrru, bUrURRRrU.

Burr, burr, burr, burr, burr

bUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR,

Burr.

BUR, BUR, BURRRRR, BURRBURRBURRR

BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

BURR BURR BURR BUR BUR BU B

"Is this real?" It is hard to imagine it to be so. Everything has a dreamy, ethereal quality to it, like in the movies.

"Does it have to be to be enjoyable?" A man sits across from me. We are sitting? Yes, sitting at a small round table. Everything has started to clear and now I can make out things. Sunlight filtering through a cloudy blue sky, the rustling of wind through trees. We are in a park, alone, yet somehow it is full of life. The clothes are indeterminable; he could be wearing a suit or a hawaiian shirt or even suspenders for all I can tell.

"I suppose not. Why am I here?"

"Just to talk if that's what you'd like." His voice is so soft and quiet, but there is a strength. It is a voice filled with many things, ranging from joy to sorrow. Yet there is no anger in it. His smile is nice, genuine and infectious. I smile back at him.

"I'd always wanted to meet you. You really influenced me as a kid. I don't think I would be the person I am if it weren't for you."

"I'm sorry we couldn't have met under different circumstances. Things just got...difficult." Though he hesitates, his smile doesn't falter. He just stares into the distance, admiring the view.

"It is pretty here. I guess we don't have long to talk? They never seem to in movies. Do you have any advice for me?"

He's quiet for a long time, or a short one. Hard to tell here. After a moment, he turned back to me, his smile somehow growing even softer.

"Laugh and love."

"Sounds a bit cheesy to me."

He chuckles, a pleasant sound that gets cradled by the breeze.

"The good ones usually do."

"Have I been doing good? I try to be like you when I can. I'm not too great at it, but I try."

"Oh, you're doing fine. You don't have to be like me. Be the you you were meant to be, not someone else. And remember to surround yourself with good people."

I smile now too.

"I'll try. Thanks for the chat. It was really nice to meet you. I'm sorry for what happened. I really wish I had been able to at least speak to you before...Anyway, it was beyond description to meet you, Mr. Williams."

"Oh don't worry about it. Things just didn't quite fall into the right places, I guess. And please, call me Robin."

[Here is the piece I wrote for the CotW #67 before I realized that I had to pay to enter the challenge. Didn't feel like letting it go to waste so I just posted it to my main area.]

Grief is a thick mire that pulls and sucks us down. Extrication is made near impossible by the unrelenting force that pulls, not at the body, but at the heart. For some Grief is nothing more than a puddle that pulls down upon one's sole, the only remembrance a slurp as our foot is removed. For many, Grief is without end, a bog of immeasurable depth that threatens to swallow them up. As they panic and thrash about they become covered in grief's muck and refuse till they are unrecognizable. Regardless of Grief's depth or length, it begins the same; with a tearing of the heart. Sometimes it is as small as tearing a corner of a piece of paper. Perhaps annoying and painful, but it is a small piece of the larger nature of things. And sometimes it is the wrenching of the tree itself from the very earth. Grief rips and tears at us, biting into the soft flesh beneath bark, rending our happiness away till what is left falls beneath its own weight. That tumultuous resignation and a pained outcry become our final acts.

Beyond every grief, no matter the size, there is a light. It may be obscured by the copse of vegetation that accompanies grief, anger, sorrow, distress, or maybe it lies around a corner, but it is always there. Some do not see it, for it lies beyond many many painful miles of thorns and bogs and so they let themselves be swallowed by Grief. They close their eyes and sink beneath a black miasma.