Do you ever ponder the wonder of what words create? Words are powerful, carrying meaning far beyond themselves. When you string them together just right, you end up with a meaning far greater than a single words definition. How powerful are words? As powerful as the most empowered human to have ever walked.  You see, great good and great evil alike use words as their device of power.

Words spoke aloud as well as words written all carry the power to make a person feel emotion. If a writer can choose a broad yet controversial topic, he/she can cause a large number of people to feel the intended emotion.

Example:

In twenty sixteen a great victory was won in the United States. The Presidential elections were held and the nation spoke out. We elected a man who will undoubtedly change the United States for the better. Let's make America great again and support Donald J. Trump!

READ THIS: That statement was created to do one thing, it was created to evoke anger or disgust in a large portion of readers. (The statement does not reflect my personal views.) This just goes to prove that words have power. Power to make people feel what you intend for them to feel.

Maybe more impressive is the power to disconnect a reader from the physical world and plop them into the middle of an epic adventure. The power to create images within a reader's mind while they sit idly reading words on a page. 

Example:

The sky darkened as Kubota released the spear from his iron grip. It sailed into the brisk air, speeding towards an unsuspecting stag. With only an inch to travel before taking the life of the large animal, the spear froze in mid air. Kubota's muscular body tensed under his caribou parka as the world around him went silent.

The stag turned its head towards Kubota, its eyes were not the dark brown that he expected to see. Instead, the stag's eyes were human, so blue that they must have been nearly white.

"Do you fear death?"  A voice cut into Kubota's thoughts, "Yes, it is I, the stag before you that speaks into your thoughts."

Kubota tried to run but found that his body was also frozen in time. Fear gripped his heart as the stag walked towards him. The adrenaline brought the familiar taste of iron to his mouth.

"Am I to die here alone? " is the only question that echoed through Kubota's mind.

"You would have left a stag to die alone," The voice boomed into his head, "But you are afraid of dying alone yourself?"

The stag reared back on its hind legs and in the same moment became a man. The man was clothed in the skin of a grizzly bear with its head still fully attached and perched atop the shaved scalp of the strange man.  He walked around Kubota with his brilliant blue eyes and a sly smile skirting across his face.

"Today you have made a choice," The man spoke aloud this time, "You have chosen to take a life, and a life indeed will be taken."

In an instant, Kubota was standing in front of his own spear, the point pressing against the skin on his chest. Kubota told his body to move but it was still firmly gripped by the magic of the strange man.

"Please," Kubota forced the thought into his mind, "My family is hungry, that is why I choose to take a life."

The man ignored the thought that Kubota had given him. With a flash of fire in his eyes, the man waved his hand. The spear pierced Kubota's skin and he fell to the ground with an agonizing scream. Laying on his side he gripped the spear in both hands, but he was too weak to remove it from his chest.

The man in the bear skin stood over Kubota, with the same fire in his eyes he forced the spear all the way through Kubota's body without touching it. Kubota screamed out in pain as the man leaned down to speak into his ear.

"Never forget the pain you cause as you take a life." The man growled into Kubota's ear.

As fast as time had become frozen, everything returned to normal. Kubota was left standing over a bleeding stag. His eyes filled with tears, because in that moment he knew its pain.

Earth to reader: Okay, I think you get the point of being transported to another place by the power of words. That type of power can even be used to subconsciously push an agenda. For instance, in that short blurb, there was a lean towards animal rights type thinking. At least a hint of caring for what an aminal is feeling. Imagine the type of agenda's a person could push in a full-length novel. Sure, for most of us, we recognize these agendas. We read and catch the writer's perspective of life. Sometimes we agree or disagree, but still, if the story is captivating enough it can start to sway a person's deepest moral convictions, it is the power of words to influence another human.

Perhaps the most powerful use of words is persuasion. This is a gift even some of the best writers in the world do not possess. It is a gift that motivational speakers use to motivate people. It is the gift that evil person's such as Hitler can use to destroy many people.

See words, spoken or written, can have an immense effect on people. Poorly written or spoken words may have an ill effect on the one who uses them. The opposite is true for a person who speaks and/or writes words with great skill. They can use words to obtain power, change lives, and ultimately achieve anything they desire. The only catch is that you must first learn to master words better than the ones you intend to influence.

"Words are power, use them masterfully and choose them carefully." -J.E.Hixon

They have chosen you, these voices. At first it seemed like mutterings and whispers of the people around you, but then they got louder and louder. No one else seems to hear them.

You've been chosen to do great deeds, but you question the voices origins. Who are they? Why are they talking to you, of all people? They refuse to reveal their identity.

You want to trust them, but if they're so secretive when only you can hear them.... then why? Your fear spreads. Maybe everyone can hear them and they don't acknowledge them. That man back there! He's been following me for days, it must be him. Who is he? Is he the government? Is the government after you? Do they know about the voices?

As a lower government employee you can get the scoop. Just pretend there's no voices. But the more you ignore the louder and louder they get. Why have they chosen me?

Kill him, one says.

You're in danger, they're everywhere. Says another.

Run! Run now! Says the third.

Kill who? In danger from what? Where will I go? They're so loud that it's almost impossible to ignore them. As soon as 5 o'clock comes around I run home and lock myself away.

Who are you?

We are God.

Diary

......and this is just day one.........dang

I've boarded up all doors and windows. This house was dark to begin with but now it looks like perpetual midnight.

I can hear Miranda throwing her body against the spare bedroom wall. Muffled shrieks.

I managed to locate the wall studs so as to anchor the chains that secure her arms and legs. I've also wrapped half a roll of duct tape around her head in order to cover her mouth.

I'm sitting here in the living room cloaked in darkness, sucking down a bottle of gin and attempting to process the insanity of the day. Retracing and reenacting the series of bizarre events....

As Miranda and I pulled into the car park at Walmart nothing appeared to be out of the norm. . The number of homeless folks ambling about were slightly greater than usual but other than that....nada.

The Walmart greeter was asleep on a bench seat, two deli servers were in the throes of a passionate somewhat aggressive embrace, an overweight woman on a motorized buggy was being pursued by about a dozen angry, wild eyed shoppers and there was a huge clean up on aisle six.

Just another day at Wallyworld really.

Whilst at the auto checkout we noticed a cashier throwing up green bile over a distraught toddler. Neither Miranda or I even remotely liked children so we had bit of a chuckle, bagged our groceries and left.

As we walked out of the store we noticed the greeter now wide awake and on top of an emo kid chewing on a mouth full of the kid's face. This was totally hardcore and unnecessary. Even during the Black Friday sales we'd never witnessed anything like that. .....dang.

We quickened our pace.

As we reached the outside I noticed that the number of homeless folks had grown dramatically. They were starting to mill around us in a menacing manner. I grabbed the plastic shopping bag with the glass Perrier bottles and began swinging it about at them creating a small gap in the crowd.

I clutched Miranda's trembling hand and dragged her through the opening.

We busted out into the open unscathed and fanged it back to the Jeep.

I hit the keyless entry button and jumped in. From my vantage point I couldn't locate Miranda so I slid across and quickly opened the passenger side door. She was on the ground being mauled by an elderly woman dressed in bloody denim coveralls. Rednecks....

Reacting fast I reached back for the Perrier bottle and bought it down on the old woman's head shattering the glass. She turned around to face me with hostile yellow eyes and Miranda's blood smeared across her face.

As she lunged towards me I took the broken stem of the bottle, still in my hand and plunged it into her eye. She fell back and hit the concrete........dang.

I got out of the Jeep, collected Miranda, threw her into the passenger seat and floored it.

Miranda and I had been together for nearly four years. I wouldn't say we were in love, more like companions who ticked a few boxes on each other's wish lists.

We were both basically self possessed people who had little time for anyone but ourselves. I worked around her aberrations as she did with mine and out of that we had managed to fashion some kind of working relationship. The only real bummer was the sex. Sex with Miranda was akin to a medical procedure with me as the intern and her as the resident barking out orders and constantly correcting my mistakes.

It was a trade off, but hey, from my experiences most relationships are to some extent.... thats why God created internet porn.

Miranda was passed out in the passenger seat. She had a large gaping neck wound that was oozing congealed blood. I grabbed some napkins from the glovebox and wiped off the muck from the leather upholstery and dashboard then pressed the napkins against her neck to stem the flow.

The radio was blaring out the news and issuing orders. Zombies......stock up.........secure the premises........stay inside........tune in for updates.......Dang.

The drive home was like an surreal obstacle course. Cars and bodies littered the streets and sidewalks. hydrants spraying, fires blazing, total apocalyptic madness.

The front of our house was unaccessible due to the swarm of undead so I drove around to the back laneway. As luck would have it, it was clear except for Mr. Willis chowing down on the neighbor's cat.........dang.

I hoisted Miranda over the five foot picket fence and heard her body thud onto a garden bed.

Jumping over I threw her on my shoulder and gunned it to the back door.

On e inside I found an old sheet and laid it across the jacquard sofa then put her down. After cleaning the trail of blood off the black butt hardwood floor, I started a pot of expresso, changed my bloody tee shirt and sat beside her waiting for the coffee to brew.

She looked more peaceful than I had ever seen her. The blood flow seemed to have abated.

Only problem was she was now stone cold dead.........Dang.

The news report had advised that once a body became infected from a bite it entered into an incubation period where the virus would run a course and reactivate the host into a hostile, undead killing machine that nourished itself on anything with a pulse........or not.

I decided to get cracking before she turned. I squared her skinny ass away in the spare bedroom and bound her in chains, secured the house, put Bon Ivor on the stereo and kicked back with a relaxing cup of java and a joint.

I drifted off to sleep.........

I woke a couple of hours later to thumping sounds and shrieking coming from the spare bedroom.............Miranda the undead.

Her head bolted upright as I entered the room. Yellow maniacal eyes stared at me as she pushed her body out from the wall. She screamed and shrieked like a banshee spitting blood at the carpet. This was not OK Miranda.

I shuffled about my workbench drawer and found the gray duct tape. Armed with both that and a wet, soapy sponge I taped up her mouth and cleaned off the blood from the carpet, then retreated back downstairs.

So here I sit, reeling from the chaos and horror of the day. My head clouded by alcohol and stress, trying to get a fix on what to do next. I mean, given the circumstances what is there to do?

Then the thought occurs. I have Miranda chained to a wall with duct tape around her mouth. Other than being dead she is still a very attractive woman. The effects of the alcohol were creating a familiar stirring in me.

I stumbled to the bathroom cabinet in search of KY and a condom.

Don't judge me..........I'm suffering from shock and in need of repair. This has been a very strange day which is about to get a hell of a lot stranger.........Dang.