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The Fall

The water thundered over the side of the cliff, tumbling down below. The mist roiled skyward. But such was the ways of waterfalls. A peaceful yet violent force of nature.

She stood atop the falls, surveying the land below. It had taken her three hours to climb to the precipice, and it had been worth every second. The serene atmosphere gave her plenty of time to reflect. And nothing in her mind had changed.

Recently, it had occurred to her what life really meant. How futile human existence was. Their purpose was to make the world a better place. And how miserable they failed. That’s why their lives were less than a hundred years. Why would they live longer lives? They were only selfish beings who honestly deserved less.

It was why she climbed to the falls. Her life had been nothing but a selfish disaster. A selfish disappointment. She would make the world a better place by returning her body to fertilize the earth. It had been something that filled her with fear, but no more. It was something she came to terms with. Something she wanted.

Her eyes closed as the waterfall breeze mingled the spray with hair. It was time. Holding out her arms, she leaned forward. Felt the rush of the wind against her face. Tingling every nerve.


She had no regrets.


No fear.


No more reason to live.


This was her wish.


Her peace.


Her freedom.


She smiled.


No one would ever see her again.


Her body hit the water.



Swift Winds

A clock chimed the lonely hour
While I found myself in a tower
Looking down below
Dragons, their teeth did they show
Swift winds and there I went
While the world shook and bent

Bells tolled their tune
While I found myself on a dune
Looking around, nothing I saw
Except the sand opening a jaw
Swift winds and there I went
While the world shook and bent

Croaking came from a toad
While I found myself on a road
Looking side to side, I saw a ghost town
Phantoms coming to devour me down
Swift winds and there I went
While the world shook and bent

Singing came from afar
While I found myself on a bar
Looking around, what did I see
A siren calling my death to me
Swift winds and there I went
While the world shook and bent

Looking around, I was found dumb
Because my time had not actually come
Swift winds and there I went
While the world shook and bent

*Author’s Note: I pulled this one out of the archives. Back in middle school, I loved learning about Edgar Allen Poe. I created this then, inspired by his work. I had thought this seemed similar to his creations. Now, I read this and chuckle to myself.



I sat on my bedroom floor, curled up in a corner. Everything falling apart. Tears flooded my face. I was a bad person. I didn’t deserve to be on this Earth anymore. My knuckles turned white around the knife. I would be doing the world a favor if I left. I caused more harm than good by being here. No one would miss me. Everyone would be better off without me.

Throwing my head back into the wall, my chest rose and fell with hard sobs. My body trembled. I looked down at the knife in my hand. It wouldn’t go anywhere. But I needed to go. What purpose did I have on this planet? After all the bad things I’ve done…how could anyone forgive me? Everyone simply acted like they loved me. Nobody needed me. Nobody wanted me.

I didn’t even want myself. I hated me. And if I hated me, certainly everyone else did. I was so pathetic, I couldn’t even make myself bleed. There was no controlling the snot mingling with tears on my face. I was a mess. Had always been a mess. I screwed up everything. Never made anyone happy. Never let myself be happy. All I did was ruin everything. I needed to go.

But I never could go. I watched the knife shake in my hand for an hour. It never went anywhere. It stayed in my sweaty grasp. My depressed sobbing had turned into cries of anger. Why couldn’t I die? Why did I need to live? What purpose did I have other than torturing myself? Could I wish myself away? Could I will myself to death? The knife wasn’t doing me any good. My body went limp from exhaustion. What was I even doing here?

Then I heard something other than the voices in my head. I heard soft crying. I blinked back pooled tears. On the other side of my room was a little girl. Her knees up to her chin, head in her arms. She looked familiar to me. Behind her played blurry, one-sided and biased events. My wall had become a projection screen for her past. Though her past wasn’t quite clear. Sniffing, I rose.

“Don’t you see?” she screamed. “Don’t you see how bad of a person I am?” The events slowly became clearer. “Dont’ you see what I’ve done? I’m a bad person. Nobody loves me. How can anybody love me?”

I swallowed. Beginning to understand. Those events…I remembered them as clear as day. Her past was mine. Everything I had done. Everything that caused me so much anxiety. Everything I couldn’t forgive myself for. All the reasons why I hated myself. My eyes darted over the various incidents. Brimming with tears again until they overflowed. “Can’t you see how bad I am?” she pressed. “I’m a terrible person.”

Dropping down next to her, I held her in my arms. Buried my head in hers. My heart ached for this little girl who carried so much weight. “No…” I barely managed talking through my crying. Squeezed her tighter. “All of those things…just because you did something wrong doesn’t make you a bad person.” I choked. “You’re not evil. You are loved. I love you. And even if nobody else does, I-I…forgive you. I forgive you for the things you’ve done.”

Her head lifted, glistening eyes meeting mine. “Then you have forgiven yourself.” I blinked. “What?” But I studied her. That was why she looked familiar. She was me. The part of my soul I kept buried in guilt and shame. I couldn’t stop crying. It was all sinking in. She smiled. “I am you, and you have forgiven me. You have finally forgiven yourself. You no longer need to carry the hatred for yourself.”

She radiated warmth while I sat in stunned silence. Tears stopped raining down. My heart no longer hurt, and my soul felt lighter. What happened? I looked at the knife on the floor. No longer wishing to take my own life. I blinked again. It had been years of not letting go. And…it was this hard but also this easy all along? She suddenly burst into thousands of glowing particles and absorbed into me. “I forgive you,” she whispered, “I love you. You have forgiven yourself. You have set yourself free.” I whispered back, “I am free.”

Dark Waters

“Has anyone looked at the river’s dark waters and wondered how inviting they might actually be?” I asked no one in particular. None of my characters answered me. They didn’t have anything to say this time. So I pulled onto the exit ramp and finished my drive to riverfront. When I parked, I could vaguely see, across the street, the water’s reflection in my headlights. A deep breath turned everything off. Long strides guided me to the bank. The river flowed about ten feet below.

I didn’t know how many times I had come to this spot. Whether it was to clear my mind, enjoy the day, or find inspiration for my work. I even made the mighty river a character. I liked to think Jormungandr, the great serpent, resided beneath the surface. So many times had I come to him for advice. Tonight, he was silent. It was if he knew my true intentions. My alterior motives.

Sighing, I sank to my butt and drew my knees to my chin. Never taking my eyes off the body of water. Jorg, you there? The river remained still, but I imagined a giant black snake head rising. His gazed pierced my soul. Yes, fleshling. My eyes watered. I’m done. A tongue flicked in and out. Again?   This time it’s for good. I mean it.   What happened? I buried my head in my arms. I’m selfish, uncaring, hurtful. I don’t think. I never think. I just ruin everything. No one would miss me. I’m not good at life.

His head came closer. Eyes bearing into me even more. Who is? We’re allowed to make mistakes. We learn and move on. I sniffed. Wouldn’t it be ironic if I was eaten by the Devourer, the one I gave to this river?    I’m not eating you. You jump, and I’ll spit you right back out. My head lifted as I glared. Why won’t you help me? Can’t you see I’m broken and can’t be fixed? His acidic laugh drowned the rushing river. No one is broken beyond repair. Not even me. Think about those you would leave behind–    I did. They’re better off without me. All I do is make things worse. He shook his head. If you did, they would never be around you. Think about your work. All those characters who will never see the light of day because you’ll be gone. No one will be able to meet them. They’ll never exist and be lost. Don’t you want them among the world? 

I sighed once more. They’re not even that good. I startled when someone suddenly yelled my name. Jormungandr vanished to the back of my mind. My name sounded again. I glanced over my shoulder. It was my love. He sprinted toward me. Slid next to me and enveloped me in his arms. He buried his head on top of mine. “I thought I was too late. What are you doing out here?” I stared at the water before bursting into tears. “I don’t know.” He took my face in his hands, pressing his lips against my forehead. “Do not take yourself away from me. That is a hole the world could not fill.”

My eyes squeezed shut. I trembled but allowed myself to be held. Finally buried my head in his chest. “I can’t keep making everyone’s lives worse.” “You don’t, hun. You don’t. You make it better. Each person brings their own challenges. Do you love me less for my imperfections?” His question caught me off guard. “No.” He held me tighter. “Then why would I love you less for yours? How about we get you home, okay? Can we do that?”

Opening my eyes, I saw Jormungandr again. The snake gave a nod. Go. Be loved. Remember I will not eat you. You have too much potential for something so trivial. I swallowed as he merged with the river. Nodded. “Yeah. I’ll go home.” I was helped to my feet. Led back across the street. I looked behind me. Jorg had said his peace. He offered no protest with my decision. His image had vanished. He would not take my life. All that remained were lethal dark waters.

Thoughts on Being a Writer


Now, I’m not famous. I have yet to publish a book. So I’m not sure how much authority I have on this subject, but after seeing Doctor Strange, I can’t get one thing out of my head. Writers are master sorcerers. We take blank thoughts and make everything. We use pen, paper, and words to shape whole worlds. Use words to shape opinions, thoughts, and feelings. As represented in the picture above. We govern characters, what they will or will not do. Govern the balance of thought-out worlds. It’s a craft that’s mastered naturally by some and gradually by others. But I’ve seen the craft bite back. The majority of the time for the better. I don’t know how many times one of my characters has done the opposite of what I wanted or how a story has twisted in a completely different direction. Magic flows from our hands and minds. Whether or not it’s controlled is a separate matter. But does it need to be? I’m not even sure I can control how this post will turn out. I’m okay with it. That’s when the magic takes over. That’s when our inner sorcerer shines through. How many dimensions have we each created? How many universes float through our heads? And all of them are unique. Sure, nothing’s new in the world, but we have our own flavor we’ve honed. A new persepctive to spin on an old tale. It’s one of the things I enjoy most. Succombing to a writing mood and creating new things. Allowing everything else to fade away. It’s therapy. Writers are also therapists. Well, let’s face it, writers are many things. But how many people just want to delve into a fictional world to forget their own? In a way, we carry a heavy burden. We’re responsible for providing the escape material. It’s worth it, though. Knowing something we’ve written has touched someone in some way. It really goes for any craft. However, writing holds a special place in my heart. It’s one of the few things I’ve done since I was a child. I have heard the magic in storytelling, read it in books, and I hope to do that myself someday. It’s amazing how much words can affect the world. As long as someone needs the magic, I take comfort in knowing a writer will be there to take up the mantle. It’s a satisfying feeling.

Death and Life

It came quickly, ravaging, consuming. With a sickening sound, it landed. Death had come to devour this world. He rose in all his dark glory, cloak spreading across the land. Everything his shadow cloth touched died. The more he destroyed, the larger he grew. Until his darkness covered the entire planet. Death’s form was the size of a mountain. He had devoured every living thing. Raising his arms to the gray sky, a wicked smile caressed his face. Another world was lost. He summoned his cloak to his feet. Rose the dark power up his form, high into the sky. Gave one last grin. He plunged the evil forces straight into the core of the planet that had once been so full of life. Mere seconds passed. The world exploded into a million pieces, scattering into unlit space. His job was done. Now to spread Death to another section of the universe.

It came slowly, flickering, hopeful. With a melodious sigh, it took form. Life had come to restore the annihilated world. She materialized in all her soft, golden glory. The skirt of her ethereal dress flowing about her bare feet. A warm glow radiated off her form. Life was the size the situation required her to be. She would restore the living things. Silently walking among the black space, she touched the dull fragments. A smile graced her. Another world would shine. She continued throughout the blast radius. Tenderly brushing her hand against every last rock from the destroyed planet. Gave another smile. When she touched the pieces, a glow started at their centers. Mere seconds passed as she surveyed the space filling with light. The million pieces began twinkling. Her job was finished. Now Life had given new stars to another section of the universe.


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