From the mountains flow forth the thickest of blood.

Somber skies glare at the remnants of shattered beauty.

"Betrayal!" cries the earthly mother.

For in ashes she slowly deteriorates.

Left with a dark future where can we find serenity?

Our visible certainty has been drained by our carelessness.

Where creatures once roamed is now a kingdom of soot.

A once green world now plagued by bones and rot.

Picture perfect beauty damned by the hands of humanity.

There's no turning back.

We have built her coffin.

And we await for our own desecration.

-D.S.

If I don’t object

I’m a coward,

barely a member

of the race

because I am brave

enough to kill

but not enough

to risk disgrace.

They say cowards die

a thousand deaths

but for me that

comment’s out of place.

I’d rather die

a thousand more

and live at peace

within my faith.

--------

In 1974, the Assistant Secretary-General of the United Nations, Sean MacBride said, in his Nobel Lecture, "To the rights enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights one more might, with relevance, be added. It is ' The Right to Refuse to Kill.'"

“A long time ago, when faes flitted through the forests and leprechauns stashed their gold in hollow trees-"

Joruhm groaned. "This part's boring. Can't we skip to the end?"

Jalen giggled. He rolled onto his back and his outstretched legs crossed over onto Joruhm's side of the bed. "Tell us about the demon horses!"

"Don't you want to know how Sorrow's Eve began?" their father said.

"Nobody gives a cow's udder about faes," Joruhm said.

"What's a fae?" Jalen asked.

Joruhm elbowed Jalen's ribs. "Don't be dumb. Scooch over, you're hogging the whole bed."

"If one little boy doesn't mind his tongue-"

"I'd rather have no story,” Joruhm said. “The festival's over. The Veiled Lady isn't real. She's never once visited Hobbins Glenn. Every year mama cries fake tears because she wears an onion around her neck, you put on a shroud, and we throw our stupid, little-"

"Hey!" Jalen shouted.

"Stupid, little statues on a bonfire, say some dumb prayer, and hope we're the ones The Lady picks."

"Who told you The Lady isn't real?" their father said.

Joruhm shrugged.

Joruhm's father laid a hand on Joruhm's chest. "The Lady's as real as the beat of your heart, the warmth from my hand. She won't come if you don't believe. If you misbehave."

"Is that why she never came for you?" Joruhm asked.

"I believe," Jalen said.

Their father smiled. He tousled Jalen's hair. "Would you like to hear the rest of my story?"

I wish she were real. I'd let her demon horses eat me! At least then I won't have ears.

"Tell us, Papa!" Jalen squeeled.

"Alright, Jalen. Close your eyes...Hmmm...Where was I?"

"There was some dumb woman who lived in a mansion beside a brook that channeled into the sea," Joruhm said.

"Joruhm."

"Sorry."

Their father cleared his throat. "The woman had twelve sons-"

"Were any of them twins?" Jalen asked.

"No twins. Just twelve boys, more vigor in their blood than wits in their head."

This's gonna take forever.

"The children loved their mother and she loved them, and for many years the family was blessed. The woman's husband had his money. The woman had her beauty. The children had their health. One and all were happy.

"Many years went by. The woman's husband died, and one by one her eldest sons grew into men, and they each ventured off to seek their fame and fortunes.

"One by one they returned. Some with frayed nooses around their necks, some with bones bent like broken twigs. Twelve became ten, ten became six, until only two children were left."

"What killed them?" Jalen asked.

"Same things that'll kill any man. Boastful bragging. War. Greed. Things, by The Lady's grace, you won't need to understand."

Joruhm sighed. "Her grief was so great she stitched together a mourning dress and veil made from the scraps of their bloody, torn clothes."

"Hey!” Jalen squeeled. “What about the black tear stains on her face? Her blue eyes turning red? The sheep shears she used to cut off all of her hair?"

Jorhum pinched Jalen beneath the blankets. "Who cares about sheep shears, idiot? What's important is that she was sad. Sad enough to spend every day the same as the next, every night the same as before, praying on her knees inside the chapel where she'd laid her sons to rest."

"Papa, make him tell it right, or not at all!"

Their father picked up the rushlight's saucer. "There'll be no coffin this Sorrow's Eve," he mumbled, as he blew out the candle and headed off to bed.

"I wanted to hear about the horses."

There was a sobby, boo-hoo quiver in Jalen's voice.

Oh no.

"If I finish the story, you promise not to cry?"

Joruhm felt Jalen's head nod against his shoulder. "If you tell it like Papa."

"I'm only telling the end."

"Deal."

"One night, the woman fell asleep in the church.

"She was awakened by a whisper.

"The whisper asked the woman why she was sad. Why she couldn't be happy.

"The woman told the whisper she missed her children.

"In an instant, a flurry of wind swept through the church. The candles' flames soared up to the ceiling and ten sillouhettes were cast upon the walls.

"One shadow swung from a gallows. One laid on a rack, its arms stretched as thin as a cobweb above his head. One danced in a bed of fiery coals.

"The whisper told the woman that as her sons grew into men the loss of their innocence had multiplied their sins.

"The woman vowed, there and then, she'd spare her remaining children, and the other children in the world, from the tortures she saw inflicted on the shadows.

"She marched her last sons to the sea, and held their heads beneath the waves until their feet lay still and their hands went limp.

"Every year, on the anniversary of their deaths, The Veiled Lady's funeral carriage rattles over the hills and she delivers coffins to all the deserving girls and boys. The end."

"Hey! You forgot the horses and-"

"Go to sleep."

"You think she'll ever bring coffins to Hobbins Glenn?"

Joruhm yawned. "If she does... I hope your name's on the lid."

The verging apocalyptic night was very familiar. Its black satin sky rhythmically waved with exhaustive sighs. Oxygen siphoned fueled my innate bonfire, and I found myself wanting to succumb. But chance resonated in the Pharaoh's snake of glowing orange embers, and they burned hot in my gut. I steadied my soul and fixated on the soft grey ashes. I fell dancing like rain and I was once again a child.

But with an innate anchoring to an indescribable burden, my spirit eternally dropped. My ready eyes widened into a panoramic orgasm for the unending hell before me. Its comforting darkness perversely swaddled the blank space in my wandering isolation, and it felt like home forthcoming.

(The bartender is pouring for the lonely hearts. He fills their stained glasses with tears and crimson ice floating. One for the rambling new lovers and their hopeless despondency haunting, and one for the House.)

Under the wailing sirens, with their soprano pitch of sadness and unflinching sorrow, my cries are reassured. But the lonesome musician, playing piano for his ghosts, continues to tap for my heartbeat. And in my hollowed chest, his sound echoes my plea for mercy.

Your Honour, I have fulfilled my duty in

the courtroom as Evidence Exhibit A,

helping to shed light onto the deed.

But I have more to tell you.

Ever since you used my reflection to straighten

your wig, you've been ignoring my signals and

attempts to catch your eye.

You won't get anywhere asking the defendant.

My witness statement is silent to your ears.

I first looked into the defendant's eyes when I was trafficked

over the counter that morning, and was plunged

straight into his pocket,

with upbeat music playing in the car

to avert suspicion.

All remained dark until

I was released into woodland.

Once again,

I took in the sight of

my trafficker's eyes, but from above this time.

I saw a woman beneath me, at least briefly,

and I dazzled her with sunlight before

he hurtled me downwards and

I nestled my way past her

protective sheath.

I suppose it's my form of a handshake.

We enjoyed a long embrace.

The rush of cold air which engulfed me as I

withdrew made me gasp, and the woman gasped too.

My vision was veiled with crimson and

I saw the woman spattered in the same hue.

A heartfelt introduction as equals.

"It's for the best, mother," my trafficker said,

making the woman scream even louder than I had.

They must have been better acquainted.

I expected her to reciprocate

his greeting, but she didn't.

He must have been the chief.

She bowed down and stayed down

until he grew tired of her subservience and wandered off.

He washed me in a nearby river so I could see again,

before leading me back to the car.

And for the first time in having been by his side,

his skin upon mine,

I felt him draw breath.

As for what happened after that... well,

you know the rest.

He can breathe, he can speak,

and still the only words

he can muster with

that breath when

he stands in

the box

are:

"No" and "comment."

What a waste.

The plan was simple: Set the school on fire. Save the guy. The "live-happily-ever-after" end.

Let me answer your questions. How old am I? Sixteen. Why am I literally playing-with-fire? Well... Am I crazy? Perhaps. Don't I see the danger? I do, and that's exactly why I planned it so.

He and I conversed during homeroom through Morse. His desk was behind mine, so it worked out well. Special messages were often carved on bits of chocolate, double-sided-tape and aluminum foil wrappers. It was cute.

But lately, he'd shut me out. Not a word. Not even a response to a "...---..." SOS message. And so it went on for months when I snapped. I needed him back at literally any cost.

It was perfect. The remote-control solar-powered car from the science-fair was set on the window by my desk. The weights from the physics-lab, placed perfectly to pull down the lighter on the key-chain, just long enough to light the oil-dipped newspaper that stuck out from the edge of my wooden desk. I had the classroom keys, being the class rep: doors sealed. Archery was right outside the window, two floor below. His chess club was two rooms away, and the only other member had quit the day before.

All I had to do was slip out of archery training and press one button. The rest would take care of itself.

And then, things went wrong.

The sirens flared up as expected. My plastic lighter was molten by now, so I was safe. I slipped in through the back staircase and beelined to the chess club.

Empty.

This wasn't the plan.

The school was clearing out. The general panic was hardly a hindrance to my concentration. The smoke, however, was. I could hardly breathe. This was wrong. Plain wrong. He was supposed to be in the chess club, perhaps passed out. I was to come, first-aid, and make a quick exit, if necessary, through the window. I thought I'd covered all the worst case scenarios. I had to think fast.

I rushed to the store-room. The chess boards were to be returned there after practice. Empty. Sports room: Empty. Terrace: Empty.

Tick-tock-tick-tock.

After what seemed like forever, and what probably cost me much more, I realized the real worst case scenario. I ran back to my classroom in slow motion - my feet couldn't move any faster. My shoes were melting in the heat. My lungs were giving up. I thought I was done for. Yet, that would have been better:

The classroom door lay burning on the floor. There he was. His head on my desk. Eyes open. Absolutely still. Perhaps, in an alternate, fireproof universe, we'd laugh about his flaming hair.

All I saw now was the smoldering silver foil that lay beside him:

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- ( I love you)

My tears vaporized before they fell. I hardly felt the pain.

"I love you too, stupid! I've always loved you!"

Can you believe it? 

It just slipped in. I thought...I thought we were tougher. Risen from the ashes of ancestors that have seen a million suns dip beneath the horizon. 

My skin, calloused and weathered by those years spent shielding myself from the harsh winds blowing from the western plains. I had imagined it as an armour. Yet how with such little force the blade eased in, reminding me of the early days when my feet disappeared into the heaps of black snow on the northern mountains. I would look down at my foot, a sunken spirit in the wasteland. 

Now all that remains is the hilt that erupts from my chest. Red lava slithering down and pooling beneath me. 

I manage to lift my head and gaze with bewildered awe at the mushroom clouds dotting the horizon. Peer down the rock face, stare at the broken body of the boy I killed. I caught him stealing from me. He tried to take all that I had left of her, the only thing I tried to save at the beginning when the white flashes filled my room.

I yelled. Grabbed. 

He slipped. 

The valley beneath absorbed the waves of sound that carried his last guttural scream, bounced them off mountain walls so that they should seep into my heart. 

Then he stood before me, the Father. Lips curled, eyes wide. Hand flashed to the hip.

So quick.

As my last sun darkens before me I am peaceful in the knowledge that I would have done the same as him. 

I can die with that. 

How do we go on courageously

Knowing that it will all end?

Lives will finish

People will change

Societies will crumble.

Yet we continue

Ignoring the inevitable.

For we cannot allow ourselves to be crippled

By the finite nature of our universe

If we keep the end in sight

The end will become all we see.

If we remained sheltered under the umbrella of conclusion

Then we miss out on the sweet rain of experience

For that is what life is

Building a shelter of memories and feelings

That you may retreat to in the most trying of circumstances

So go on

Bravely

Forge connections and live as brightly as possible.

Don’t let the resolution snuff your soul

Because after the end

Sentiment will prevail

Twilight falls

Creative light

Moonbeams shine

Her page

Needs my quill

Written in

The heart

And soul

Words that never

Will fade away

This plain of existence decides to fill itself, holding strong the bond of emptiness. For even filled to the brim with concepts, these may be empty in meaning and usefulness, except to those who support the notion of sharing. Sharing to expand the mind and build bonds between others, however, if empty of useful meaning, then they remain empty, thus causing a negative action within. We humans create from that which is not.