We have seen what the traction league has come to. We watched the battle for survival and the losses suffered by those who chose to simply fortify the mountain in place. We have combined the great engines and the mountain. We shall be safe in our fortress. We shall rule the sky.
We must haunt him.
Wake him. How can we haunt him if he will not awaken to see us? Touch him.
We cannot. There is a barrier.
Shake him. Move the barrier. Quickly, our time is short.
We cannot. The barrier defies us. He sleeps the sleep of the exhausted. He will not acknowledge us.
Perhaps he is shaken already. Perhaps his struggles outweigh us. We must move on.
We move on.
Poetry is something I’ve always struggled with. It feels like being a good story teller would relate to good poetry with word choice and the way a statement flows when spoken, but that’s just not the case. I can get a rhythm, I can work with a particular rhyme structure… but it just never seems to come together.
Haiku seems to be the answer for me.
I read a little about the history of this poetic form in the book Japanese Death Poems. It’s a fascinating bit of history if you’re into something with a little bit of a dark tint. The form was massively celebrated during Japan’s history and has changed in form and format over time.
Still not something I’m going to ever be great at, but a form I can work with. Friends of mine got married this past weekend. One of the things happening at their reception was a haiku contest. While I know these poems won’t have the meaning to people reading here that they did to the couple, I felt it was worth posting them. Get outside your comfort zone now and then. Try something different. Write a poem…
You told a story
of the man in the past – it
was always a skirt
We visit the bar
then elevator roulette
who really won?
It’s a simple word. An easy concept. The act of keeping something within limits. The process of preventing the expansion of a hostile power. Light knows that Darkness needs to be held in check. It’s not a new idea. It’s been practiced and attempted for longer than people know. Those who don’t study history and all that.
Darkness feels Light straining to enter unwanted places. Corners exposed, shadows shifted and a new vision of place and purpose. Darkness slips away and fades as light expands, but then creeps around and steals back into unwatched rooms and back alleys. Shadows always slide in unnoticed.
Sometimes it’s not so easy. Sometimes the darkness pushes limits. Puts a strain on boundaries, forces the pressure to build. Light pushes back. These forces battle unseen. The fight rages in secret back rooms, penthouse suites, shopping mall corridors and occasionally in hotel basements. Daunting, dangerous and fiercely contested these battle rage with the only true victory being the safety of those who don’t know.
That is our place. That is our purpose. The cleaners.
Light and Dark may rage and storm. Battles may be won or lost. Our only mandate is secrecy. Patching the walls to replace the char of a light blast. Repainting the ceiling to remove the stains of dampness. Unwinding the stray threads shimmering in a curtain, trying to dampen the effectiveness of a simple defense for Darkness. Sometimes mopping up liquified darkness and replacing carpet…
I had the opportunity to submit a story that I had published previously. There was going to be a reprint anthology and I had a story that just fit right in. I was pleased with this idea ~ I had already made the money from the first sale (almost enough to buy lunch!) and this was a chance to get another lunch!
I sent it in and I waited. I suppose the wait time wasn’t terrible compared to some things, but it seemed like a long time. Maybe I was just impatient? Perhaps I am used to my rejections arriving faster than that. I waited some more. Then I got this:
Regretfully … We will not be moving forward with publication.
While we have received some great submissions for this collection, we feel that we haven’t received enough to proceed. We prefer to publish a good anthology, rather than a mediocre one, and we hope that you’d rather be published in a good anthology (rather than a mediocre one), as well.
In the past, our re-print anthos have filled very early in the submission process. We can only conclude that our timing must be up for this subject. We’ll revisit dark military science fiction in the future, when there may be more reprints to choose from.
This rejection is not a reflection on the merit of your story. Though, if your story has been held for a long time, it would have likely been selected.
I guess it’s a nicer rejection than normal? It seemed like they held my work for long enough that I should think it would be considered? I’m honestly confused by this one as I haven’t had anything like this before. So, rejection, but different.
Then I thought I should probably look at some of the other things I’ve got hanging around out there. Turns out the other things I’d sent out had been rejected and I’d simply never actually been notified. The contest and the other works were published and I was not part of them. It certainly makes a canceled project sound a lot better.
Then I got an update on a work of mine that was actually accepted for publication. The publication has been delayed and no firm date can be given at this time for when it will actually come out.
What does all this mean? Back to the keys. Keep writing, keep creating stories and keep trying to find the right place that’s looking for my kind of story. I’d say fingers crossed, but it’s really had to type that way…
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Transfiguration (2020) from Universal Everything on Vimeo.
He would not stop.
Most thought it was rage. Some thought it was pure spite and malice.
He was coming. He would not stop.
They tried the physical to no avail. They called in all the wizards they could find. They cast, the chanted, they threw magic. There was fire. There was acid, there was stone. There was anything and everything until pure chaos was the result.
He would not stop.
They cajoled, they pleaded. They wailed and moaned.
He would not stop. He could not stop. It was not rage or spite or malice at all. It was love and it drove him onward.
Artist: Jong Min Lee – https://www.artstation.com/jongminlee
“This is clearly my next evolution. I am a troll, I belong on the interwebs…”
“No. Please. Just put the phone down.”
“But the screaming goats…”
“No.”
The desire to soar like an angel was overwhelming. Driven to madness by continual failure to achieve the glory of divine flight extreme measures were needed. The faithful would see. The faithful would understand.
I shall soar in the light. I will bask in glory.
Love the purity of my being.
The tipping point.
All the struggles, all the sacrifice to get here. Her past was as ruined as the temple where she stood facing the oracle. Now, in that moment she hesitated. There was no going back once the question was asked.
Could she go forward?