Spawn [Words Inside My Head]

Money. Earthly. Young. Round. Disc. Stone. Carved. Display. Medieval/Gothic church/archway. The number six and the number one. Trepidation.

“I offer this to you.”

Do you see the icon? I fear whDSCN2204_smallat it portends. Cave-like darkness behind him. Where does it lead? The page is an assistant.

Follow me.

Magenta, red. Gold trim. Long fingers.

“You don’t want to go there. I’m warning you. I serve him. Not you. He is great and powerful, will do great things. See, the disk? He is immortal. You cannot win.”

Whatever lies in wait is not revealed. Behind him is the unknown.

“I have no choice. He has shackled me to his service. I cannot leave, but you can. There’s still time.”

How little he knows. You are more shackled than he. You have a right to follow this path. It is pre-ordained. You will not leave. There are answers down that corridor. Your father? He’s waiting. He knows you’re coming. Has known you would come for quite some time. Once begun there can be no turning back. He’s a monster. And you are spawn of the monster. You are of his blood. He has the answers you need. As his daughter, he has already shaped your destiny. You have come a long way to discover the answers to your questions.

Why do you shift? Why do you crave the ravaging of flesh?

He’s a scientist. He hasn’t just fathered you, he created you to be in the image of his dream. Your nightmares.

Your mother took you away as a young child. But she is dead – you killed her. That is the stain upon your soul. A guilt you can’t outrun. And it’s his fault.

This page, this child, doesn’t see the darkness in you; he sees the innocence. He sees what you want him to see. And he will lead you below, through the labyrinth. So you may end the life of he who made you.

The page – a closer link than you think. He is your half-brother. Created by him you seek, a child you cannot deny. When it is over, you will take him with you. Or is it already too late for him as well? Perhaps, but you must try. And at least neither of you will be left alone. Are there others?

You hear him laughing, laughing. You are incidental to his plan. One will live, one will die. It makes no difference to him. The page smiles, he takes your hand. You know what you must do.

He waits.

Bone Puzzles [Words Inside My Head]

It was not an awakening from sleep in the truest sense. It was more an…awareness, where before there was voidness. It was not an emergence from dreams, it was pain that thrust him back into the world. He did not breathe, his heart did not beat. And yet he was aware. That was the word. He did not smell in the sense of humans, the scents being more visually represented inDSCN2038_contrastcontrast2croppedlargercroppedside his brain. His skin was indestructible because of his origins. His heart had once beat as human. His bones, those belonging to a beloved dead man. When he walked he felt them slide together. He was one of many. Skeletal remains pieced together inside bronze, a beating heart the final piece to an intricate puzzle.

“The first is aware,” the sculptor said. “His flesh is supple.”

“You’ve done good work,” the boy heard a voice say. The sound of the voice materialized inside his head. A gigantic man, bearded, hairy, muscular. The boy was aware of the man as not a stranger. Someone familiar. But the boy had no memories of names.

His eyes focused and stiffly he stepped forward as though he had not used his limbs in a very long time. The bones inside him rubbed together, almost like flint to stone to wood, something inside him sparked and a warm shower of sparks shot through him. He gasped as the heart inside his chest thundered powerfully, and seemed to expand. He went breathless, for a moment.

“It’s all right,” a soothing voice said. The sound formed inside the boy’s head. A shape of gentle, hands sensitive, smooth pale human flesh. Lightly bearded, long dark hair. The boy’s heart sped faster. Liquid seemed to gush inside him, the sparks of bone rub diminished. Something warm spread across the boy’s bronze flesh. The boy turned toward the sound of the warm voice, already knowing the measure of the man.

“Father,” he said. “Creator.”

A gleam entered the sculptor’s eyes. “He is aware of me.”

“I have known you, father, from the moment this heart connected me to life. I felt your work upon my husk. You polished me, your hands upon my shell. You oiled me, you fashioned the whole of me. Your hands are callused, I felt you. They are knowledgeable hands.” He cocked his head. “What do you call me, creator?”

“The first,” responded his father creator. “You shall be known as Tyro.”

And thus that was the word stamped onto the boy’s forearm, an indelible mark of his beginnings.

The first of his kind.

Words Inside My Head

Words Inside My Head

Let me speak to you of the man. Oh, yes, the man, and the feelings I did not understand.

I speak of love — a love that has locked me here within these insane walls. A love that kills, a love that suffocates every other thought and desire. A love that maddens the mind, seeping slowly to flood the heart, the soul. A love that will see no end. A love that will haunt me unto my very last breath surrenders. following me into the hellfires of eternity where I vow not to walk alone.

It was upon a night — a dark and stormy night, daunting, taunting, endless abyss into which he came to me, golden like an angel, regal and bright with his mane of brilliant, gilded hair and demanding eyes of clear, cold January skies.

I loved him at first sight. I loved him through the darkness, through the endless tortured night…