A strange figure indeed.
A lean man with a bony face an elongated pointed nose, pale skin, lifeless eyes glimmering like two onyxes in the moonlight, silver hair falling in thin strands around his sharp jaw, as hard as diamond, could cut through stone like a knife through a stick of melting butter. This is what comes to mind when I think of silver.
you fade away
the light goes dark
awaiting stands the afterlife.
The silver light was drawing near
to peek out and see
the silver light
stands bright and tall
shine all along
What other people will fall for traps like this?
Things may not be like they seem
I learnt this quite the hard way
Though silver lights are catchy
Sometimes its better to keep to yourself
when harms way can be close to reach.
Make sure you know your boundaries
and silver light will recede.
Thirty-two heads... thirty-two heads lying at the floor of the valley. Blood reigns...
He stands before the heads, the ‘he’ who knows he isn’t the ‘he’ he used to be anymore. From now on, of course, he is a grander ‘he’. His name will also be something to reflect his grandness-Zermak, Ra’n of the Ra’ns, ruler of Alitia, high lord of the eight kingdoms, killer of the thirty-two heads, a god for all creatures... a god under false pretences.
Blood reigns all around the heads. It looks like...
If wondered from the beginning of the end, it’s their fault. Or... is he trying to compel his mind, to cover for his own howler, into deciding it’s their fault? That something in his head told him to eliminate them. And he has accepted the unknown voice’s order, killing them. Just... he is something greater now.
It looks like the heads have their own hair, deep grey hair emerging from tiny, invisible holes of the heads. But, this is not just a hair. That grey color...
They knew they couldn’t escape from his grip. Then, why did they flee? Such a stupidity! If they had tried to break out a scuffle between and, then, fought him face to face, they might have won. However, they tried to run, and end up dead.
That grey color is not the product of the hair itself. Souls...
He still respects them. Of course, he has just killed them, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve his respect, does It? They were also grand, perhaps, as grand as him. To show that respect of his, he will make sure the book is published, granting their dying request.
Souls... human souls surround each string of the hair. For one who could hear well...
Accepting his greatness, he turned away from the sight of the dead heads. From behind, as always, his Ra’ns, who provided quite an aid in silencing the heads, bowed low to him with a hint of weariness on their posture.
For one who could hear well the moans of the souls send stirring echoes. Deep inside the moans, there are so many other cries, grey colored cries of stone, begging, pain, and deepness that give the hair of the heads the color deep grey.
But, the problem is everyone appears to be hearing-impaired. The cries of the souls are, then, swallowed by the deepness.
Tienos okon bozv...
O’son san-kalana o’tsq...
Borvo Alitia zi...
trn san-kalana barzi anehi!
Our cries are of pain...
If we’re not freed from our grey imprisonment…
O! You shall be warned motherland...
Since you’ve made yourself guilty by imprisoning us!
I hear the screaming from down the hall.
"Just hold on, Hannah!"
I turn back to the mirror I was looking at. Getting ready in the morning almost never happens. But it never hurts to try, right?
I brush my teeth and wash my face. Something about it just makes me feel refreshed. I grab my hairbursh and start to attack this tangled mess, which is my hair.
So many knots from little hands grabbing and pulling. Daily messy buns don't really help either. Finally after a long 5 minutes, my hair is free and flowing.
"Momma! Come here! I gotta show you something!"
"Just give Momma a few more minutes, honey."
I decide to braid my hair to keep it out of my way. I tie it off and glance at my hairbrush.
What is that?! A gray hair? I'm barely in my thirties; how is this happening?
As I freak out, my 5 year old daughter comes to the bathroom door.
"Momma, I can't always wait for you. Please come see what I did!"
She grabs my hand, without waiting for a reply, and she drags me out of the bathroom and towards her bedroom.
As we enter her room, I look at the dreaded walls. This is what did it. This is what gave me silver hair.
All on the walls were so many hand drawn suns. They almost made their way up to the ceiling. I don't even know how she got up so high.
"Hannah! Why would you do this? Why would you draw so many suns?"
"Because, Mommy," she said with such an innocent voice. "You don't have any sons, you just have me. Daddy told me you wanted a son, so I gave you lots!"
I picked her up and gave her a hug. As a tear rolled down my cheek, I realized maybe silver hair wasn't all that bad. Maybe this was worth that silver hair.
Super Baby Vegeta
“Silver hair” reminds me of one of my favorite Dragon Ball villains. Super Baby Vegeta is the result of Vegeta being possessed by the Tuffle parasite Baby. A villain that controls your body, changes your body to fit their appearance, and can also infect and control a planet worth of people is terrifying, making for an interesting adversary. I found Super Baby Vegeta’s arc enjoyable on Dragon Ball GT. Dragon Ball GT is widely not considered canon, and this isn’t a popular opinion, but I wish it was canon because I really enjoyed a lot of things GT offered - Baby Vegeta being one of them. I hope that someday Baby Vegeta is introduced into a new canon Dragon Ball story. Regardless, I can always enjoy the character by rewatching GT or by interacting with him (or playing as him) in a handful of Dragon Ball video games.
Image from https://www.clipartmax.com/middle/m2H7i8K9A0A0K9A0_dragon-ball-z-dragon-ball-gt-baby-vegeta/
threads of silver and threads of gold.
the golden thread asked the silver thread
how can i be so wise?
how can i be so powerful,
and command a world of ties.
the silver thread merely hummed in reply,
as it knit itself into a blanket.
the silver thread was nearing the end of her life
and she wanted to make herself last.
her memory and voice was crumbling,
she no longer had what she used to.
the golden thread, fresh as can be,
thought the silver thread was trying to make her angry.
so she went out, determined to be wise.
determined to be powerful,
and knit a world of lies.
the silver thread finished her work,
and her blank gray eyes lost their luster.
the silver thread was gone from this world,
and the golden thread was just beginning her tirade.
the golden thread found
that people thought her beautiful,
suddenly, her golden shine
was worth a fortune.
so the golden thread sold her precious locks,
traded them for money and power,
but one she had sold them all,
she found no one wanted her any longer.
so once again, she ran to the silver thread
only to find the silver thread was gone,
replaced by a knit canvas.
so the golden thread lay her fingers across,
and wished for it all to be undone.
she had no use for money,
her beauty was gone, and with it, her fame.
she set out to be wise and powerful,
yet she remained foolish and weak.
she only wished she could bring silver back.
but she knew such a think was impossible.
so, as gold neared the end of her life,
she took her last golden thread.
she could no longer speak,
nor quite remember,
but she knew that she had to do one last thing.
she weaved her last golden thread
into the silver canvas.
and so silver and gold,
once locked in a battle of misunderstanding,
were now back together again;
mother and daughter.
There's long, silver hair flowing from the old lady I'd like to be. Silver bands climbing up the arms, silver wrapped around the fingers. A sugary sliver of pie for the grandkids, picking out which rings they'd like to keep, not dwindling my collection acquired from years of a life well lived.
Be Nice To Yourself
Go to bed everyone, you are tired, too tired to dream while awake.
Close your eyes and get lost from this world.
It can smell really bad sometimes, give your nose a break.
If you need to rock yourself to sleep, moan in pain, or cry, let it.
Hug yourself and sleep till morning or when well slept.
We all hurt, it’s human to do so. I hurt too.
I hurt a lot actually,
Especially of late.
So much so I have trouble with sleep.
But however I sleep, when I do get some Zs.
The next day has a power all its own.
It’s another day, another chance, one more try.
I might cry again, feel like I not making even a dent.
But it’s also human to keep at it, until one is spent.
When well slept one can daydream again.
Make plans and do things again. To be human again.
So sleep, everyone. If you did little or a lot, you tried.
Just be nice to yourself and everyone, it makes the world stink less.
Your heart will like the smell of that.
A cascade of silver holding within it slivers of ice.
While holding the warmth of moonlight within an empty night.
Ripple with the slightest movement.
Strands of color to shimmer in the dusk light.
Motion capable of revealing even paler skin.
And soft blue eyes framed by snowy lashes
A silver waterfall that hides more secrets than stars in the sky.
With a pale blue moon watching by Song's soft starlight.