ATG44

I was born a fool. Not by choice, by circumstance. Though it is an unwise things to comment on foolishness when one is a fool. And knowing one is a fool does not alleviate the disease of foolishness. The cure is action. The correct action. And the ironic curse of the fool is that they know not how to act. This is to no fault of the fool, but of the status quo. Tell me when last you followed your passion? The purest of passion, of course. At what point were you engaged in your true passion? That is the other curse of a fool. No passion. Of course, fancies come and go like Summer winds, but what of desire? What would a fool want t

False gods line the roads while the imps growl past, letting all know of their prestige and fortune to be able to celebrate sentience and the possession of thumbs on an unnaturally chill evening. They scream in a thirty-eight mile reciprocation of their own hubris, masturbating in our ears, unabashed and unrelenting. This is their time, this is their element. The imps ignore the gods, just like us. They live outside of the gods' authority, gnashing and fighting for inertia and brownie points. If the gods left the imps would be unhindered, as they are their own idols, their own gods. All they are and want to be they feel in their feet, their h

There is a star over Houston. Just one, and I'm looking at it. I'm looking at it through blinds, bushes, and power lines. It competes with street lamps, car headlights, and buildings. It persists. It is there. A pale speck on an ebony canvas. It fights to be noticed. I might not even be a star. It could be Venus. Or a supernova. I can't tell. Nor do I car. It sits and hangs and taunts and teases. It is an enigma. I couldn't tell you anything about it. But there it is. It is alone. Pure in its solidarity. Against the odds it simply is. Though I know nothing, it is aware. The star knows what it's about. It knows how to be. Persistent through t

It found me, after so long. That feeling of wanting the look returned. That feeling of the unanswered question, unanswered because it is unasked. That feeling of wanting to ask the question, with the fear of the answer in tow. A weary glance, accompanied by a smile. What smile is that? That feeling of wanting more, but being afraid to grab it. That feeling of watching a ship leave port, without you. That feeling of wishing you had taken initiative, watching other line up in your stead. That feeling of knowing that if you fail to act, it would have all been for naught. That feeling of absence, of something you never had. A gap in th

 I slide the hammer back on my revolver, the pressure of my finger on the trigger increasing with each passing second. Dust begins to settle in the cramped warehouse, and the bodies littering the floor leak their blood across the old wooden floorboards. The man kneeling in front of me, the man I am came here for, is wilting and weeping. He probably wet himself from the firefight just moments ago; I know I would have. I usually consider myself a smooth operator, but that was a bit of an erratic engagement. I was lucky that I was able to stay hidden for as long as I did, looks like wearing all black was definitely the way to go tonight. Ever

8:00am     It starts again. It was Tuesday, and my alarm was screaming at me to wake up. 8:15am     I had to silence my alarm three times, but when my phone stopped giving me the ignore option I knew I had to get out of bed. Tuesdays were never good days for me; things always happened on a Tuesday. Now, when I say 'things', I don't just mean mundane events that are as easy to look over as a bacterium build up at a water park; I mean peculiar things. But I don't want to say that these events occur only on Tuesdays, nor do I wish to imply that these things happen every Tuesday. Today felt like an off day from the moment my synapses started

     I approached the small hamlet with caution. It felt odd walking towards home; I had spent so much time not looking back, now I could only look at what I left behind. I didn't regret leaving, gods no, I just didn't know what to expect. The village stood silhouetted against the sun as I walked towards it, creating an all-too familiar skyline. "Home." I murmured quietly to myself, smiling. I shifted the weight of the lute that was strapped to my back and checked the sword at my hip to make sure it was secure, then continued on.     As I finally neared the town, enough to see the lights beginning to spear in windows, a man leapt out of th

A Poem When wading through the waves of life, One feels the currents pushing and pulling, As well as the ripples of others as they walk. You may find yourself asking why, Why does one keep up this infinite march, Against an unsure tide? You may also find it easier to move near others, And more people can change the current, Making it easier for you to walk. No matter if you are with a group, Or if you travel in solitude, We all travel. Fighting this unsure tide, We must press on, Though unsure as we may be. So go forth, o’ brothers and sisters, Link arms and leave none behind, And we may just make. Where are we going?

     King Andrew cleared his thought as he removed the royal pendant from around his neck. The night was cold as he stood in the dark stone tower of his palace, facing his large full-length mirror. The crimson robes of which he wore had been passed down through the centuries by the kings of Alexia to their successors, those of whom vowed to continue the tradition until the end of time. Andrew ran his fingers along the robe’s smooth silk, feeling the hems where the kingdom’s finest seamstresses had adjusted the fit just for him. Having been declared King at what some would consider an early age, he now stood facing a man nearing the