The Significance of Jumping

I know they have seen me before. Solitude has a funny way of making your intuition more acute. What a cruel, sick joke it plays on me though. I want to remain far away from humanity, and yet, I find myself more aware of their every move than even themselves.

But I watch as an eagle above the city, standing upon the precipice, at the brink of their own, and my own, destruction. A simple ledge, but what a powerful message it sends to those who see not with their eyes, but with the darkness of their mind. The significance of jumping is only apparent to those who truly understand the frailty of life itself.

My own mind is my obsession. Seldom do I inquire further from the shell I was given. Emotions come naturally to me, but oh so uncomfortably and painfully. Rising and falling with each passing moment, I have but a second to grasp them before they slip through my fingertips. Well, there is a singular emotion that stays. It underlines every smile with a sharp, bold line, like a heavy weight attempting to tear it downwards. The only way I can describe it is darkness. Why must a mind so colorful and so bright be so stained with this blackness? Inquisitively, I began to play with it, but regret and fear is all that has become of the toying.

However, regret is only superficial comparatively. Abyss itself is poetic in nature. One may believe that darkness has no color. In fact, it is the beautifully perfect collision of them all. So much in such a small space, only for few can behold. For those who dwell on the skin will never delve deeper towards the bones. But that is the part of my mind that I most enjoy, the appreciation of the bones.

I stand again upon the brink. Hollow other than an eagerness to leap. Goosebumps form along my arms and causes my spine to quiver with anticipation. Shall it be today? I ask the Universe. Harken to me! It beckons. And as I listen, the wind begins to sing. A tear, but not of my own doing, trickles down my cheek and into the abyss of the city below. Not today, the Universe calls back. I glance at the people below and take in the feeling of being so small to those who watch and I return to home.

I wonder if they speak of me. Not just my existence, but questioning my story, my background, my secrets. Just a man? No, a mystery. Maybe a god in their midst or no, they must think me a loner. Something is off, they probably say. Why doesn’t he just take the plunge? I’ll admit, even to myself, I cannot express the frustration of my mind’s constant war. But, perhaps, that is why I wish to understand the significance of the jump. Before I allow the Universe to take whatever scars I have created and clean up whatever pieces they can scrounge, I must know the answer. Must I continue this life for much longer? Is this journey drawing to a close or am I still wandering around aimlessly along the path of enlightenment?

Days come and go and I continue the same struggles. Identity. Purpose. Curiosity. Irony seeps into my mundane and melancholy, cackling spittle into my face. But I am patient. I can await the Universe’s answer alone in my armchair. The moment that the infinite accepts me, I may just take that extra step.

Porcelain Souls

My grandmother collected dolls. Flea markets, Garage Sales, Storage Units. Never new, Always old dolls. Oh, and porcelain to be specific. Not those Raggedy Ann or Andy dolls. Not the Cabbage Patch Kids. Porcelain. Some of their faces were cracked or washed away. They would stare at you with their lifeless eyes. Others had pieces missing like hands, feet, or parts of their faces. In fact, not many in her hoard were devoid of blemishes.

When I would ask why she kept the broken ones, she would just smile. “We are all a little broken, Gwen. That doesn’t make us any less beautiful.” But I was never satisfied with that answer because she would never fix them. Sure, she would brush their hair (if they had any), wipe their faces off with a paintbrush to dust. But the weirdest thing was when she talked to them.

If I remember correctly, I was seven at the time. My mother was working out of town in Minneapolis for the summer and my father was on vacation with some friends from work. My younger twin brothers – Jimmy and Cole – and I were forced to stay with our grandmother for a week. The worst part was that her home was just as old as some of the dolls. Hundreds of years old. “It’s got character,” she would tell us. We just rolled our eyes.

First night, of course, I’m laying in bed. My five-year-old brothers are in another spare room across the creaky hallway. I can’t sleep. It sucks. Right outside the door, I hear footsteps. At first, I think they’re my brothers, but I peek through the crack in the door and see them fast asleep. Not only that, the sound of footsteps stop when I got to the doorway.

By that time, my heart is racing. What’s worse? I hear giggling. Not just the voices of children, but adults too. I race down the hall to my grandmother’s room and I hear her for the first time.

“What life you had is no longer full of pain,” she cooed. “You are free of your body now your spirit may roam.”

I cried my eyes out and, when she saw me, she carefully placed the doll on her shelf and swept me up in her arms. She shushed me when I tried to speak.

“I will explain everything dear,” she promised. “In the morning.”

I didn’t sleep that night. The footsteps and laughter scared me to the core. My bones were shaking because I was so frightened. And my grandmother’s explanation did not make anything better.

My brothers were outside in the yard when she called me into the sunroom. There were three very specific dolls sitting on a wicker chair. My grandmother sat in her rocking chair and asked me to take a seat across from them.

“You’re old enough now,” she started. Her voice was high-pitched, like a tea kettle with boiling water screeching out the spout. “It’s time you know what I do here. Your father never understood this because he does not have the gift. But you, my dear, do.”

I looked at her in complete confusion. No one had ever made a mention that grandma had a gift, nor that I had the same one. What gift, anyway?

“Dolls have been used in many cultures over many time periods as a way to house a lost soul,” she explained, giddy with excitement. “When someone died, their spirit would enter a doll created for them and in their likeness. To look like them. These days, they are sold as toys. No one has respect for what they are truly meant for.”

She paused, took a sip of her Earl Grey tea, glanced at Cole and Jimmy, and continued.

“No respect from people these days. I have seen these mistreated things and I felt the pull to collect them. These people deserve the same respect in death as they did in life. Silly me, I take it upon myself to give them that respect.”

“But they’re creepy,” I said.

My grandmother frowned. “The shells are somewhat worn and weathered, but they house the beauty of a person’s life.”

“How do you know if they’re good or bad?” I couldn’t help but to keep staring at the three dolls she had picked out to present to me.

“I chose these for a reason,” she said. “Because out of my entire collection, these are the three that have given me the most trouble.”

The first doll had blonde hair and blue eyes. It was a girl, dressed in a pink lace dress, but something felt weird about it. I couldn’t put my finger on it. The middle one was a boy with a hat and old farmers clothing. He was missing his left hand and his face was cracked. One eye was green, but the other, someone had painted red. And the last doll was an old man that looked vaguely familiar.

“Not all spirits are good… Some are demonic in nature. I have made the mistake of obtaining these and I cannot seem to give them away. Well, one I have to keep due to specific events. Let me tell you their stories… as they have told me while you sleep…but….”

I felt cold even though it was the middle of winter. The room was freezing but there was no AC. “But what?”

“When I speak their story, they will come to life.”

I don’t know how far I ran before the cops brought me back. Why would my grandmother summon demons and force me to deal with it? As a seven-year-old, I had no clue. Either way, the second night was when I saw them for the first time.

It wasn’t the three that she had left in the sunroom that came to visit me that night. It was five medieval-dressed dolls, boys and girls, with swords and shields. I felt their little shoes hop onto my bed and walk over to my pillow.

“Gwen!” one whispered. “Please don’t be scared of us.”

When I opened my eyes, there they were. Moving dolls. Alive and filled with expression. I felt like I was in a cartoon. I even tried pinching myself.

“She’s awake!” they exclaimed. “Sorry to scare you before. We were protecting your brothers from the Evil Ones.”

“The dolls in the sunroom?” I asked. Even as I kid, I was really considering my sanity while speaking to these dolls.

They nodded. “Your grandma doesn’t understand. We just want to go to the light. She won’t let us go. But the Evil Ones need to be banished first. You are the only one powerful enough to help. Please.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought. I’m only seven! But then I sighed and asked them, “How do I help?”

As they pulled me into my grandmother’s room, they explained the steps. “Let her tell you the stories, one at a time. When they come to life… you demand that they return to the fire.”

“What if they don’t?”

“Keep saying it until they do.”

This is traumatizing for a child to witness. Not only am I about to confront my grandmother because of some talking dolls, I have to exorcise demons out of a few of them. Apparently, my grandmother knows that these dolls move as she greeted them at the door.

“Where have you five been?” she scolded. “I was worried about you.” But then she saw me standing in my pajamas.

“They told me to come help them. Tell me the dolls stories.”

“The three in the sunroom?”

“The three in the sunroom.”

She quietly led me down the hall past my brother’s room and mine. We made our way down the stairs with the five medieval dolls following close behind. Through the dimly-lit living room kitchen. Finally, we were in the sunroom.

“Sit down Gwen and company,” she said and found her rocking chair. “I chose these three because the others have told me you can get rid of them. Trust me, I have always felt that you were a strong medium. It runs in the family, you know. Mainly through females… and since your father was my only child, I hoped that he would have a daughter. And here you are! Your abilities have exceeded anything I could ever do.”

I had no clue what she was talking about. How do you sense abilities in someone who has not even done anything with them? One of my favorite personality traits is my stubbornness. It has gotten me through a lot and this event was what started it all.

“Nellie Smith was a beautiful young woman,” she pointed to the only female doll on the chair. The moment my grandmother spoke her name, the porcelain head tilted ever so slightly. “Rich too. But she was born in a time where witchcraft was looked down upon. In such an affluent town, she would brew potions in secrecy… Until one day, her own father found her in the forest, performing a ritual. To keep the Smith name clear and pure, he had his own daughter burned at the stake for Witchcraft.”

I don’t remember gasping, but the dolls said that I did… very loudly. The moment Nellie’s cause of death was mentioned, a black cloud appeared around the doll. “But I did not die without a fight. Through the pain of the skin on my legs bubbling and charring, I yelled out a curse to my town. To all those who ever underestimated me and their families. I cursed them.”

My grandmother chimed in. “We are related to her father.”

But I did not have time to waste. “I demand you return to the fire!” I yelled as the doll jumped off the chair and started to run towards me.

“If she touches you,” one of the dolls screamed. “She’ll kill you!” The medieval doll with a red beard jumped in front of me as Nellie jumped towards me.

“I demand you return to the fire!” I screamed again, but it was too late. Both dolls lay on the floor, motionless as they should be. The knight had sacrificed himself to save me. Someone I did not even know from a time I never lived in… died… for me.

For the next doll, I stood up, ready to move if it tried to attack me. I would not let another life be taken. “He can’t go to the light now,” my grandmother said sadly, picking up the little armored doll. “But his sacrifice was not in vain. Are you ready?”

I nodded. The four remaining dolls watched in anticipation for the next story.

“Lawrence Callford… Farmhand in the Twenties. He never told me much about his life, but maybe he will tell you.”

The second doll twitched and it’s red eye blinked. “I don’t mean to brag, but I enjoy cutting animals open to see what’s on the inside.”

“So,” I whimpered. “You killed animals?”

The doll nodded and crossed his arms. “Yeah, and people. So what? I got what I deserved, didn’t I? Death?”

“But you aren’t entirely dead.” Perhaps my observation should not have been so cold. The frown that appeared on this demonic doll still terrifies me to this day.

“How did you die Lawrence?” my grandmother asked softly.

“Drawn-and-quartered, I was,” it said shortly. “All the families of the idiots I killed got to ride the horses that pulled me apart.” It pointed to it’s missing hand and cackled. It’s laugh sounded more like a cough, but still just as creepy. “Didn’t pull me completely apart though. Just lost me hand in the process.”

I took a deep breath. “I demand you go back to hell. Go to the fire!” I didn’t care how many people this evil soul had killed. I just wanted this to be over.

“Not until I finish what I started,” he growled. “I must cleanse the world of idiocy.”

I’m not sure how, but I ignored him. “Go back to the fire. I command it.” Just before the doll went limp mid-jump and crashed to the floor, I felt a hand on my throat.

As I tried to claw at it’s grasp, it only tightened. But I couldn’t fell the hand with my own body. There was nothing there. Until, the dark figure of a monster appeared in front of me. When it hissed at me, a long snake-like tongue licked my cheek. It burned like a hot iron.

“Ssssayyy that again,” it taunted. “I dare you. Ssssseee what happensssss.”

I was completely glued to the floor. Fear and the weight of the creature kept me firmly in place. Suddenly, my lungs filled with air. My grandmother used a special knife and plunged it into the scales of the Demon. It spun around, screeching like a banshee and shoved a claw into the old woman. I cried so loud that it woke my brothers up. Two of the dolls rushed upstairs to keep them in their room during the scuffle.

“Go back to the fire!” I screamed with tears running down my face. “Get out of here!”

Just as quickly as it came, the Demon was gone. My grandmother lay slumped on the floor. Her breathing was shallow, but she was alive. I started to help her up when the third doll lunged at me. I ducked in just enough time for it’s tiny body to soar over my head and roll on the floor.

“Chandler McGregory,” my grandmother sobbed under her breath. Her calm demeanor changed drastically to pure fear and I knew exactly why. Chandler McGregory was my Grandfather’s name. Her husband.

My grandfather was a horrible man. My father did not talk about him much… well, at least to me and my brothers. My mom told me that Grandpa Chandler was abusive to his wife and son, drunk or sober. She also mentioned that he had ties to the Mafia, but said nothing more than that. We never really found out how he died, either. That is, until he told me himself.

“Grandpa?” The doll stopped. “Why are you trying to hurt me?”

“Not you,” it croaked. “Your grandmother.”

“What? Why?”

“Because… she killed me and put me in this doll.”

I hope you enjoyed my short story! I have a good prompt for everyone who would like to give it a whirl!

“We Only Have Twenty Minutes”

Love is something that the Old Tales cannot grasp. Mere words cannot fully encompass it’s depth, color, or sound. Even the taste of love is but a mystery in days like these. It is not spoken of. It is not allowed. It is against the laws of our Leaders.

Sometimes I sneak out of the city and into the wasteland that was once our beautiful world. I recall the times before the world crumbled before those mystical creatures called ‘humans’ stood upon our ground. They came in ships from the sky, settling and spreading like a sickness. Some of them told me of their former planet, Earth and why they were forced to leave. At first, I felt pity on them. They did not make it seem like they realized that they were depleting resources, burning their air, and filling their waters with a substance they called plastic. “It killed everything,” they said. “We had no clue the severity,” they said.

Oh, how we were misled. Because these humans played the game quite well. Our planet, unlike their robust one that withstood the test of these unthinkable acts, is much more delicate. Some scholars told us that they did not realize what they were doing here either, but most of us truly believe that the humans knew exactly what they were doing.

Humans destroyed everything. Our cities are now all that is left and they have left us behind. Gone to another planet to wipe out their resources and leave it’s people to live off of what we have left. Understand, we will live for eons on this planet without issue, but our once-blooming lands are now grayed and cracked. Cities are only crumbling skeletons of a former life. But my people have endured.

Since the time of the humans, our people have turned to tyranny in fear. The High Leader Lasander has outlawed everything. What started with stringent laws to protect our resources has transformed to even more laws to – as he claims – protect our race. Marriage is one of those laws.

My mother’s generation was the first to have this law enforced upon their lives. She always spoke of how it felt so suffocating to await the Leader’s decision. Mind you, they not only get to decide who you will marry, but also if you will marry. Luckily, my mother was paired with her true love – a gift of luck that most are not granted.

I was not so lucky. Three months to this day, the Leader’s attempted to grant me what they called ‘a special honor’. I was to wed Lasander’s son, Roderick. But I could not bare the weight of that event because I had spent so much of my childhood reading books of Old. They speak of love – a word not spoken on my people’s lips for a time. Stories of the beauty from two souls as they come together. The sweet simplicity of a kiss and the taste of another. Hairs raising on your arms as the soft touch of passion trickles up your spine. To be quite frank, I fell in love with another.

Haydynn is a simple man. He runs the general store that I frequent. To think, a business man! A scholar like myself would never be paired with a man like him. But a man he was indeed. From the moment I first laid my eyes upon him, I found myself swooning. His entire figure was lean muscle. And, despite his hardened look, his voice was kind and sweet – like his eyes. The novels that the humans left behind say that you can truly see someone’s soul in their eyes and I believe that with both of my hearts. However, I knew in that same moment that we could never be together. Because he was one of the humans who stayed behind.

A small populous of Earth-borns integrated into our society, learned and adopted our traditions, and made their lives here alongside us… not despite us. Even our Leaders took care in their laws for the humans. Unfortunately for them, they were not permitted to wed. My people believed that their race would die out and that was the fate that their people deserved – the fate that those who remained reluctantly accepted. Over many years, Human Laws were loosened, but never the law forbidding them marriage.

Love endures all. I could not bare another moment without Haydynn in my life so I took the leap. We spent many a season together as time slowly crept closer to my Council Day. Only in the recesses of our mind did we worry of that day when I would stand before the Leaders and be paired. Never did we believe this day would come. But it did.

We rejected the laws and now stand before my planet and his as a true testament to what love truly is. I have tasted the sweet nectar of it, smelled it’s perfume, listened to it whisper. I have felt it’s delicacy and seen it blossom into something I could have never fathomed. Even if death is my fate, I accept it gladly.

And here we stand. Haydynn and I with a brave clergyman in the wasteland. A small cottage we use as a makeshift chapel for his people’s tradition. Jewelry – two rings as he spoke of – reaffirming the infinite that is our love. But we only have twenty minutes before they find us. Today was meant to be celebrated inside the city to my ‘betrothed’. There will be an execution today, but we are ready.

Words blur together like a poem that I lose myself in. It swirls around me and through my lips as I profess my love in this rickety shack. But the place matters not as my hands interlace with his. Our eyes meet and a seldom-seen tear rolls down his cheek. For he knows, just as well as I, what will become of us. “At least my life would mean something,” he once told me. “You make my life mean something.”

Gunshots and footsteps echo in the evening’s desolate cloak. Our hearts are already racing, now even more so. We kiss to seal the vows we made to one another for the final few moments of our lives and the clergyman slips away. They will not be looking for him, only for the lovers in the dark. Twenty minutes has already passed and they stand at the threshhold.

I remember very little about my death. Two bursting sounds, a sharp pain, and warmth throughout my body. And then, I heard the thud but did not feel my body fall upon the wooden floor. My eyes were wide open as Haydynn too dropped alongside me. We looked into each other’s eyes for the last breaths of this world and a smile crept across his mouth. He slowly reached for my hand, and I, his. That was the moment I truly understood what love was – it was sacrifice.

Use the same prompt as above and write your own story! I’m interested in hearing them!

Getting Back Into It

“You know what? I didn’t think it would end this way.” I told the young boy with his dirt-matted hair. His eyes were large with fear as we watched the world collapse before us. Like a large mouth, it opened before us and split in two. A tear wet my cheek, but I felt nothing. Just numbness. I just watched the end of the world with the nameless child. All I could think was how it crumbled a lot softer than I thought it would.

We looked back at those who had received the message and realized that there was nothing left. Nothing to go back to. And there were so few of us. Maybe they believed that more people would have been listening to that song that day. Come to think of it, none of us even knew who sent the message in the first place. We were safe for now. That much was certain.

“So…” I figured I’d speak up again. The rest of the blood-drained faces just continued to watch as we drifted away from the pulsating sun. Just as we exited the solar system, it absorbed the planet we once called home. Although we could not hear, we all felt the screams of billions silence in that same second.

“Why were we chosen?” a young woman asked, desperate for an answer. We must have been chosen, right? There was no way that this happened by chance alone. But that must’ve been the answer. No one of us could stomach that…

Suddenly, a voice spoke over the crowd. My head was on a swivel, but I could not pinpoint the source. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere and no where at the same time. But, then again, this was a space ship. A space ship.

“If I may speak freely,” it rang through all of our ears. It was a calm, soothing, male voice. “Please understand, I do not mean to be heartless with the response to your question… but you were not chosen specifically. That is not to say that you weren’t chosen as a group. We needed younger individuals to repopulate the human race.”

We all looked around in disbelief. In that moment, I realized that there was no one in that great room over twenty-five or younger than six. An indistinguishable murmur spread through the group, but myself and the young boy remained silent. We observed. We listened for further clues to our host’s intent.

I knew he was talking about me the moment the voice started again. “Near the window. Yes, young lady. Stand and state your name.”

With the other hundred people watching, I slowly stood and looked up to try and, once again, pinpoint who was speaking. “Hannah Ingram.”

“Tell me Hannah, how did you hear the song? The message that my people sent.”

“Through my headphones.”

“Recount the entire event please. It is for logging purposes. You know, you can tell a lot about someone in how they speak.”

For a moment, I closed my eyes and recounted the event that happened no more than twenty-four hours prior. A vivid, monotone, and yet unrecognizable voice bursting through my earbuds with a call to drop everything: You are in grave danger human. The end of your race is evident and inevitable. It is you who is the future of this planet, but the rock upon which you stand is aging. Those around you have not respected it and resources are dwindling. Please believe us when we say that there is a way out. There is a new world awaiting you. If you wish to embark on this journey and heed our warning, find your nearest center for further instructions. The Center? Go to the place near your residence where all other life avoids.

“Well,” I lifted my head as I was becoming particularly interested in my shoes. “I was sitting in my campus courtyard. I’m a professor, not a student although my age may be deceiving… but I digress. I was listening to my playlist when the song came on. It was not even on the radio. So my question is how you managed to intercept…”

But I was cut off before I could finish my sentence. This man or this otherworldly being refused to answer anything he or it did not wish to. Truthfully, I believed it was because the others could not stomach the answers he possessed.

“No inquiries please. My people and will reveal your answers in time… Now… What made you believe my message?”

“A gut instinct.” The annoyance in my voice could clearly be heard by anyone within earshot at this point. I refused to go into detail. If they aren’t going to answer any of my questions, I’m not giving them an entire psychological evaluation by my words. By this point, the ship was well outside of the Milky Way Galaxy, something I never thought I would see in my years. The further we traveled, the amount of questions increased exponentially.

For a moment, silence fell over the entire room, choking off any ease of this place and killing it. Had I annoyed our host?

“Deepest apologies for offending you Hannah of Earth. You must understand, there are some within your group of humans who are extensively distressed. My reasoning of having you speak above all others was that your stress response is minimal, comparatively. I wish to use you as… what you call… a liaison between worlds.”

The lump already in my throat grew. Where was this ship headed? What was our final destination? No matter what I said, the voice would not answer any of these questions in front of the group. So, my thoughts turned to inquiring about a personal meeting.

“If that is the request,” I cleared my throat and spoke so quickly that it almost ran together like I was in a drunken stupor. “Then I wish to meet with you in person to have my questions answered. That way I can answer my people when they are ready for the information.”

Suddenly, a doorway opened beneath my feet and slid on a slide away from the rest of the group. Some looked on in horror as the door closed behind me. Would this be the last time I ever spoke or even locked eyes with another human?

After steeping in my thoughts for a few moments, I found myself face-to-face with the most beautiful creature I ever laid my eyes upon. The face was human-esque. It was so beautiful, it looked like a mask. Flawless skin, large, golden eyes. This creature bore long, pointed ears that pushed back strands of hair akin to sunlight. Unlike the others standing on the stairs to either side, the creature that stood above them seemed female. However, I did not know how to address it.

“Does knowing what we look like release any tension about our intent?” A woman’s voice spoke, but her lips did not move. “We are, rather were you in another place in time. Other races across the universe call us Watchers. Because our race had been gifted with telepathy, we could tap into other humanic races and aid them if need be. You may call me Magdalia.”

I paused and considered the question that was burning in my throat like a white-hot iron. “Magdalia… How do we compare to other races like us?”

A few of her male guards looked up at their leader while others shook their heads. What was once a smile upon the woman’s face had now dropped sternly. “Unfortunately, your people do not fair well among others like us. But that is what we wish to rectify. We did not destroy your world, your people did. But we intend to take advantage of this opportunity to show you how to properly be.”

“Be?” I repeated.

“Exist. Your kind do not understand how to exist. Humans did not know their bigger purpose. We will teach you.”

“And the message?” I asked. “How did you-?”

“Ah yes… To be honest, it really did not come through your headphones at all. Rather, your head. Telepathy is a great gift, but we did not wish to frighten many of you. If you were hearing voices, your kin would have you institutionalized. And here you are.”

I swore I was having an out-of-body experience. “Yes,” I heard myself say. “Here we are.”

“We are going to your new home. For the others, and for you too perhaps. My people searched and found a planet close to your Earth, but nothing in the universe is exactly the same. What is most important is that it is safe and it is habitable.”

“Water? Oxygen? Food?”

“Plentiful.”

“And you will just leave us?”

“You must learn to survive. We will aid your transition for a time, but not for long. Once you learn to exist properly, we will watch from afar as we had for multiple millennia before. Now… go back to them and await further instruction. You and I will become very close.”

I hope you all enjoyed this short story! I’m sorry I’ve been on such a sporadic posting period as I am battling with motivational issues so I’m working through to hopefully get this first draft of Book 2 (Preservation) done!

** Enjoy this writing prompt I came up with **

Those Who Stayed Behind

History books do not always tell the tales of old. Only stories from the victors of war, boastful half-truths and the like, manage to be passed for centuries. Ancient civilizations crumbling underneath the sword and the shield and the iron fists of tyranny. Those stories may be lost among the commonfolk but small tribes still pass them down from wrinkled lips to eager child smiles.

Fantasy has absorbed the truths into myth, deceiving those who would deny our existence. No longer do we bear the pointed-ears of our ancestors and yet our grace and connection to all that lives has not wavered, never changing, just shifting. Long, flowing robes of silk exchanged for modern-day attire. And although our weapons may have changed from sharpened steel to sharpened tongues, our message of peace and unity remain steadfast.

Denying the enemies of old is folly. Today they do not bear wings like a hurricane or claws like spears, but the fire of the dragons clad in human flesh burn brighter and hotter than ever before. Just as the times change, physical warfare wages far from rich lands, but the Elven harbingers remain scattered across the globe, witnessing the tragedies of our day. Bombs explode across the land, tarnishing it with death and destruction. Guns extinguishing lives in the blink of an eye. Our fate is to heal as we have always healed. We may be few, but our power is infinite when we bond together through the energy of the unseen.

History books do not always tell the tales of old. White cities glittering against forest like starlight and songs sung only seem like a lifetime ago. Troubadours and minstrels traveling by foot, brandishing lute or harp or pan flute. Peaceful waterfalls and babbling brooks through bridges and white stone paths, dusted with colored leaves of Autumn. Hues of pink and purple flowers flow through the air, carrying scents of Spring. Summer and Winter stay mild in the land of the Elves, a light snow or warm summer rays. Animals of all sizes and ages walk alongside my kin. All of this. All peace.

Races that have been all but forgotten wandered the lands winding dirt paths. The short but strong and stubborn Dwarves. The small but stealthy and loyal Hobbits. Our kind entered this world to usher it into peace, but Men’s greed and sheer numbers have proven a challenge. Persuasion over generations have only softened hearts of the few, and many of my kind have grown weary. Elders say that this world no longer belongs to the Elves. The time of Men is among us.

One day I may join the countless others who have taken the ships to the West. One day I may walk those marble steps to the docks, the scent of salt water and sound of lapping waves to greet me. In a place not known to those who do not know the way, I may go when the sea calls me. For now, I must continue the work of so many before me.

History books do not always tell the tales of old.

Sorry for the long delay in posts! Unfortunately, I have deleted my Facebook account so I no longer have my page active. The past few months have been very emotionally consuming and I’m taking my writing day-by-day. I’m hoping to get back into working on Book 2 of The Wanderer Trilogy soon!