Dying of the LightRegret is what binds a man to his past. He looks at himself in the mirror and says to himself, 'If only I had not said those words. Then perhaps I would not be alone.' or 'I wish that I had taken that path. Perhaps the way would not be so thorny now.' To regret doing something, or not doing something, and wondering what might have been if only. If only. It is the sum of a man's existence, more so than his accomplishments in life.Dying of the Light
His vision dims. The power of mind and body nearly exhausted, and the will of the Death God drawing him in with the sound of wet hunger. Fulfilling the pact bit by bit, memory by memory, regret by regret
The HackEverything is so miserable. You can't figure out why you feel this way today, but it creeps up on you like a vine and slowly strangles the life out of your creativity and your drive. Or maybe you can. Did it start when you first joined that writers group online? Or was it months later when they chased you away in flames, angry words flung at you.The Hack
They called you a hack, a talentless writer, a ne'er do well and a hundred other insults, all of them hurled at you like stones. But you refused to hang your head in shame, you stood up to their sneers and their jeers so tall you loomed over them like a shadow. And that was obviously why
Window CrashThe work environment was your nest and you the rooster among so many hens sitting in their cubicals. Strolling past them you could hear the clack of their keyboards and the occasional squawk of their voices as they called to one another over the fabric lined cages that separated them. Suzy Q, the girl with the bright pink nails, was usually the instigator and the only reason you let her get away with it most of the time is she gave good head on command and kept it quiet from the rest of the gaggle.Window Crash
You strut along the slender walkway, a large enough man that no one can quiet escape your presence if they attempt to pass. You know
SqueakYou knew right away that it wasn't love; it was just an infatuation. You'd experienced them before, during your years in high school when adolescent hormones ran high and you couldn't take your eyes off the head cheerleader. Not even after her gasps finally ceased and the pulse you felt so hot beneath your fingers slowed to a stop with your hands around her throat. Maybe you loved her after she died, but you'd never really know. They buried her and security on the cemetery was too tight for you to sneak in and find out.Squeak
You'd known many infatuations through your life, none of them ever blossoming past the awkward stages of first
Blah.
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I am but a cold moon...without a sun I have no light. I will keep searching in this darkness, so that perhaps one day...I too would find a sun that would share its warmth with me...so that perhaps one day...I may shine again.
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~Mette Krangnes~
+Mette's art+ | +Livejournal+ |
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~Mette Krangnes~
+Mette's art+ | +Livejournal+ |
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"Trifles make perfection and perfection is no trifle"-- Michelangelo
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