Blood Moon
I don't know how to tell you the moon is full
when you've only ever see the half of what is.
You are the phases of moon that will never reach completion.
There is no togetherness in the reality of your shadow.
When the moon is full and the sky bright with possibility,
where will you be?
In shadows, under a blood red moon.
Loudly muttering to yourself
all the crimes you've perceived against you.
I suppose of all the moons this one suits you best.
You, hungering for justice that never seems to satisfy the blood lust you bathe in.
I don't know how to tell you to want to fight for all of us
when you've never seen us in the first place.
There is only you. There is only hardness. There is only death.
But that is the justice you crave.
I suppose there is no light in this shadow you've cast now is there?
Keep Fighting
Obscurity always knows how to steal joy,
Sucking it in like a vacuum of despair,
Planting kisses of death on any plan made.
Starting with the littlest aspects of life,
Dampening them with drenching acid rain,
Depression reigns supreme over my head.
Torrential tsunamis of push and pull,
Insanity versus sanity, if you deign believe
Either is on a separate, cleaner coin.
Whether there's a cleaner coin, mentally arises,
As I flip the shiny token of "joy" on knuckles
Bruised from beating the shit out of life.
Yet, every night, as I undo Mayweather's laces,
I look up to the sky and beg God to give me
A sign and let a star shine through for luck.
On the list of things I’d like to forget...
"I want to worship your body on my knees."
I was fifteen and confused. Then almost immediately I got a follow-up text.
"Oops! Delete that last text, Jake! I was texting you and dad at the same time. Sorry about that, love. What I was going to say is I'll pick you up from Mattie's tomorrow morning at nine. Have fun!"
I guess it was nice to know that they still liked each other after 20 years of marriage...in a 'things I really never wanted to know' sort of way.
Date With Death
Today you are to die. Please meet me at the corner of Main and Highland at 4 PM. Come alone.
This correspondence is expressly meant for the addressee. If you have received it in error, please call 1-800-REAPER; otherwise, you forfeit your right to be excused from said intentions. And we don't care.
Together
James
I loved her. I was betrayed. I blame myself and Timothy. I trusted him.
Aaron
She was my sister. I know he did it. James convinced her to go. He forced her. She couldn't have known, now I have to figure out a way to bail her.
Cynthia
I did what I had to do. I do not regret it.
Cynthia
Timothy is in jail. He did it. He did it. He did it.
James
I will capture one of his relatives and ask for enough money to bail her.
Then I will die.
Aaron
I went to his house. He was not there. Who is Timothy?
James
Her brother knows where I am. He knows who I am. He will kill me first.
Aaron
I found him, he has a name, James. We made an alliance. We get Cynthia, then he and this Timothy die.
James
I heard Timothy is in jail, that is not enough. I do not like Aaron, but he is helpful.
Cynthia
They will not find me. I do not want to be found.
James & Aaron
We will find her. Together.
Aaron
I do not care if he lives.
James
Then I die.
Mutually Assured Destruction
The missile tokens rounded the board, each moved by the numbers thrown on the dice. It was a stalemate thus far.
Player One: "I'll trade you New York for Moscow."
Player Two: "Moscow has 5 million more people. Will you consider adding Los Angeles."
Player One: "No way."
Player Two: "Really? It's a good deal. It's still less than a million."
Player One: "Lemme think about it. Roll the dice."
Player Two rolled a seven and landed on the USA USS District of Columbia. He drew a card:
YOU HAVE LANDED ON AN OHIO-CLASS US NUCLEAR SUBMARINE CARRYING 154 TOMAHAWK CRUISE MISSILES. SURRENDER A CITY.
Player Two: "Shit. OK, take Krasnoyarsk."
Player One: "No way, Comrade. I'd rather have Novosibirsk."
Player Two: "No deal, Yank. Look at Krasnoyarsk again. Hell, it's the second-largest city in Siberia. Lots of aluminum for you."
Player One: "Hmm. OK, we can always use more aluminum."
Player Two: "I'm getting tired. This game goes on forever. Let's just call it a draw. I mean, no one wins until one of us throws the entire board in the air."
Player One: "Then there's no winner."
Player Two: "What's the difference?"
Player One: "Haha!"
Player Two: "Haha!"
A Home Unfinished
A Home Unfinished
January 20, 2025
For Joseph
Once a builder with OCD
Began constructing his home
Instead of laying the foundation
And then beginning the framing
He worked on each four foot section
Starting in the corner
Until it was complete
Before he began the next
Four foot section
This would take time
He knew
But it was his way
And that was all that mattered
Until he ran out of money
Having only completed one wall
It was magnificent
But it was only one finished wall
And not a house
It took years before
The builder could return
To his project
Years of overgrowth
Wind and water exposure
But the wall held firm
Perhaps this wall
Was all he really required
Perhaps a wall can be a home
Seventy years have since passed
The wall remains intact
The builder is since deceased
Many have come
To visit a testament
Of unusual ingenuity
The builder is barely remembered
But the wall is forever so
Perfect, but never complete
The Whispering Deep
I’d been desperate when I took the job. The fishing boat was small and ragged, much like its crew, but it promised three square meals and a paycheck, so I boarded with little hesitation. The captain, a wiry man named Arlen, met me at the dock. His handshake was firm, his eyes distant, and his words few. “Welcome aboard,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though it held answers to some unknown question.
The first few days were uneventful, though the crew’s peculiarities became increasingly apparent. Captain Arlen spent most of his time in the wheelhouse, his hands gripping the wheel as if it were the only thing anchoring him to this world. He stared straight ahead, his lips moving soundlessly, his expression blank. Waves crashed, gulls cried, and storms brewed on the horizon, but he never flinched, never seemed to notice anything outside his cabin. There had been no accidents yet, but I doubted he was the reason for that.
Then there was Cole, the fisher. A mountain of a man with calloused hands and a voice like gravel, he was the kind of person who commanded attention without trying. He didn’t speak much, and when he did, his words were clipped and final. On most nights, he kept to himself, tending to the nets or sharpening his knives. But on the nights of a new moon, I’d catch him standing at the bow, staring out to sea. His shoulders would be tense, his breath steady, and his eyes fixed on something I couldn’t see. Once, I followed his gaze and thought I saw a faint glow in the water—a shimmering reflection of a full moon that shouldn’t have been there. When I asked him about it, he simply said, “The Leviathan.”
He said it like a fact, like the tide or the wind. “You’ll see it one day,” he added, then returned to his silent vigil.
The last crew member was the navigator, Ewan. If the captain was distant and Cole was unsettling, Ewan was something else entirely. He never left the lowest deck, a cramped, damp space that reeked of salt and mildew. His cabin was filled with strange books—volumes with spines cracked and pages stained, written in languages I couldn’t decipher. His tools were archaic: a battered sextant, a compass whose needle spun lazily, and maps that seemed more decorative than functional. Yet somehow, we always reached our destination.
What unsettled me most about Ewan was how he navigated. He never communicated with the captain, never surfaced to check the stars or the sun. Yet, every time we set sail, we ended up exactly where we needed to be. I’d asked him once how he did it, and he’d merely smiled, his teeth too white against his gaunt face. “The sea knows,” he said cryptically, his fingers tracing symbols in the air. “And it whispers to those who listen.”
One night, I found myself on deck during one of Cole’s moonless vigils. The sea was calm, the air thick with tension. Cole stood at the bow, his silhouette sharp against the starlit sky. I hesitated, then approached, my boots scuffing against the wooden planks. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge me until I stood beside him.
“What are you looking for?” I asked.
“Not looking. Waiting,” he replied, his voice low. “It’s out there. Watching. The Leviathan doesn’t just swim; it’s… aware.”
“What is it?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pointed to the water. I followed his finger and felt my breath catch. The sea shimmered, rippling unnaturally. The glow was faint at first, then grew brighter, pulsating like a heartbeat. Shapes moved within it—vast, shadowy figures that defied logic. I blinked, and the vision was gone, leaving only the dark, empty sea.
“You’ll see it clearer next time,” Cole said, turning away.
After that, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the boat was a trap, a lure cast into the depths to draw something unimaginable. The crew’s oddities weren’t quirks; they were symptoms of something far greater. The captain’s vacant stare, Cole’s Leviathan, Ewan’s cryptic whispers—they were pieces of a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve.
As the days passed, the atmosphere grew heavier. The sea’s whispers became louder, a symphony of murmurs that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Shadows moved beneath the waves, too large and too deliberate to be schools of fish. Ewan’s cryptic drawings covered the walls of his cabin, lines and symbols that seemed to shift when I looked away.
Then, one night, the storm came. The sky split open, rain lashing against the deck as waves rose like walls. The captain stood in the wheelhouse, his knuckles white against the wheel. Cole manned the nets, his eyes wild, his shouts lost in the wind. I went below to find Ewan, but his cabin was empty, his books scattered, his maps soaked.
When I returned to the deck, I saw it. The Leviathan. It rose from the sea, its form indescribable, its presence overwhelming. It wasn’t just a creature; it was a force, an entity that defied comprehension. Its eyes—if they could be called that—locked onto me, and I felt my mind unravel. My very being laid out for the sea to wash away in it’s salty grasp.
The storm ended as suddenly as it began. The Leviathan vanished, leaving no trace. The crew was silent, their faces pale, their gazes distant. No one spoke of what we’d seen, but I knew it had changed us.
The next morning, Ewan had returned, soaked but unbothered, his usual cryptic smile in place. The captain resumed his vacant steering, and Cole muttered prayers to the sea. Life aboard the boat continued, but nothing felt the same.
And me? I’m still here, trying to piece together the fragments of my sanity. The sea whispers to me now, and I’m beginning to understand its language. I fear what it’s trying to tell me.
Hello again dear reader and welcome back to another short story of mine! I didn't really go out of my comfort zone for this one but I hope you enjoyed reading it! As always, have a good day/night!