Archive for April, 2011

The hero had come far with little difficulty.

He found a stream where he was able to replenish his water supply. While he was at it, he reached into his bag and pulled out some dried meat, put a hunk in his mouth, and ground it between his teeth.

Following the tree line, he figured he should reach the ocean shore soon and his destination soon after that. At least, that’s what he was told. It’s strange to know a path but not its end. He knew he needed to fight, but he had no idea what this evil really was. He wasn’t sure anybody did.

Out of nowhere, he felt something coming with a tingle on the back of his neck. He could tell that whatever it was, it was definitely a creature of flight. He could also tell that it was strong. He turned toward the setting sun and was blinded by it. He was being ambushed from the west. He ran for the cover of the tree line and entered the wood, keeping his sight on the clearing. The pulse in his chest quickened. He needed to slow it down to keep himself hidden. He concentrated hard on slowing it down. Keeping his gaze on the clearing, he waited for the thing coming for him. Its power was already immense and seemed to only swell as it flew closer. Its direction remained unchanged. Is this the evil that I’m supposed to fight. It can’t be. I’m nowhere near the end of the path, but it’s so strong. He never knew a creature with this much power, yet the twilight was nearing its end and such a creature was nearing. He waited for it, keeping his breath light. The creature came into view from an amber sky with wings that shadowed earth and man. It brought itself down to the earth, planting itself in the dirt in front of the tree line. The gaze of the hero found the creature, and he saw…


It was one of the seven dragons, overlords of the beasts. He was told that, of the seven, four would be of the earth and three of the sky. Three would be known evil, three would be left on the side of men, and the last would decide of its own accord. He fell in awe of such a creature. The wings spread at least three times its height. He could see the diminishing sun through the membrane, which clung tightly to the claws that moved its feature. As the wind left its wings and its clawed feet touched the dirt, it folded its wings and pulled them around its massive frame. Two talons met around the neck where they clasped and held the rest of the wings like a cape around the creature’s shoulders. The dragon stood tall in its royal robe.

The hero looked to its crown where three horns stood overwhelmed only by its ears forming two sharp points. He stood gazing into those red burning eyes. They were of fire, and they told of the ruin that demons had brought to man, the death, the destruction, and the fire that consumed all. “Hero!” The dragon’s voice boomed, forcing the hero’s pulse to quicken once more. Although he knew it futile, the hero waited. “Hero, I can smell you from here! You reek of man!” He clenched his fists and waited still. He knew he couldn’t beat such a creature. If he answered the call, he would die. “If you would rather, I can level the entire forest in flames.” The pulse of the hero couldn’t hold steady and almost caused his veins to burst. “Very well, hero, the inferno it…”

“Fine. Wait. I’m here.” The hero revealed himself from the wood, keeping his distance from the dragon. “What do you want?”

“Are you afraid of me, hero?” The dragon snorted. “What do they call you?”

“Mahavir, and I’m not afraid of anything.” The hero timidly kept his eyes to the earth below him.

The dragon’s eyes closed slightly, peering but still showing their fire. “I suppose. I sense something though. I think that it’s…Yes, that’s hate. Why do you hate…”

“You kill them.”

“…them so much?” The dragon’s voice softened but still shook the earth.

The hero moved his eyes up quickly, matching them to the eyes of the dragon. He kept his focus, making no moves and keeping himself still. He wouldn’t let the dragon stir him. “I don’t hate them.” His voice quivered barely louder than a whisper.

“How can you hate something that you are a part of?”

“I told you, I don’t hate them.” He raised his voice, but it still quivered. He knew the thoughts of the dragon. It wanted to taunt him and force him to fight. Then it would kill him when he was blinded by his own rage.

Mahavir had no choice. He couldn’t let this thing live. It was his task to kill creatures like this, so he moved to kill it. The hero lunged for the dragon, keeping the power to his legs to keep him quick.

The dragon disappeared.  “What the hell?” He felt the devilish power swell behind him. The hero turned toward it and found the dragon standing where he just was. He stopped hard, driving his leg into the earth. He dropped his leg too quickly, though, and nearly broke it. A pain shot through his knee from his tendons stretching tight. He winced as he fixed his gaze to the deceiving creature. “Stop.” He panted, still trying to catch his breath.

“Stop what hero? Protecting myself?”

“You… you’re… you’re fucking with me you bastard.”

“Fucking? Bastard? You hardly have the eloquence of the hero. How would such vulgarity be seen by your admirers?”

“Demon! Stop! Why…why won’t you just be, uh, quiet?”

He pushed himself from broken stone to take down the demon. “I’ll tear your head off!” he screamed as he charged. He pushed harder, moving himself faster.

The dragon disappeared again, but he could still sense it. He felt it about to strike from behind. He turned around, parrying the demons throw, and using his own weight, pushed his fist into its snout. The demon fell back and twisted, catching the man with a thrashing blow from its forked tail. The hero reeled back and fell to the dirt. He did not lie still, though, and the moment his back hit the earth, he rolled toward the falling demon. Again, it disappeared. He sensed something to his left. He looked to it and found his face gripped in the hand of the creature. It lifted him off of the earth and flung him into a tree. The tree didn’t give, and the hero screamed as his back slammed against it. Ignoring the pain, Mahavir attacked again. He pulled more energy in, pushing all of his strength into the muscles in his right arm to bury it deep in the demon’s skull. He rushed toward the creature fast and hard. The dragon didn’t move.

Abruptly, Mahavir stopped, tumbling and grinding his knee into the earth. He understood why the creature wasn’t moving. He let the energy leave his body, spreading to each limb and cooling as it dissipated from the tips of his fingers and toes. There was nothing else he could do. His hand, limp and lax, touched the dirt underneath his knee. “You know…you know I can’t beat you.” His throat went tight.

“Yes.” It lowered its head, looking to the dirt.

“Why are you toying with me?”

It took a deep breath and let it out with a moan, shaking everything around it. “I believe you mean, fucking with you.” It kept its eyes to the dirt, eyes still fixed on it. It was so serious in its play.

“Stop. Just…just stop!” Mahavir put his other hand to the dirt in front of him. “You know I don’t have a chance. Just…just kill me. Get it over with already!“ He threw dirt at the creature, but it never came close to hitting it. “Why don‘t you just finish what you started?”

The dragon kept its gaze to the earth, now with a furrowed brow. It looked confused. “What I…” Then it stopped talking, holding its breath.

As he waited for the dragon to finish, the hero looked over his shoulder, finding his mimics gone. There was nothing there in the dark that was him.

Finally, moving its gaze away from the dirt, the demon bared its fangs and let out a howl, laughing at the hero. “You’re just like them!”

“What…”  Mahavir turned his head back, finding the laughing demon. “What do you know of them? You have no idea! You’re not human!” He forced his words out, spitting as he screamed. “How could you look into the center of something that’s foreign to you!” The hero’s lungs nearly flew out of his throat.

The demon‘s laughter quieted, and its gaze found earth again. “Show me what it is to be human.”

I wish this thing would just get it over with. They both stayed still, not even a breath between them. Even the wind seemed stalled and confused, not sure of what to say next. I’m going to die. A fallen hero and a broken hope leaves man to his own, and with his own, man finds his end with him. Have shame hero. You’ve failed. Wasn’t your training enough. This thing has found you weak and powerless, and has easily beaten you. You were meant to be the best of us all. Or should we have found someone else.

He knew there would be many that would end at the hands of this demon. He could hear its beastly taunts as it pulled at their limbs and tore their flesh between sharp fangs. Where is your hero now. It would tear into the bodies of man, woman and child, their drippings falling from the demon’s jutted jaw, bloodied and shredded. They would cry. They would cry for a lost hero as their flesh is roasted. I can hear it. I can smell it. I can taste it. It tastes like…

Then came the heat, rising in his legs and resting in his chest. He could feel the flesh on his legs boil. He didn’t care. He wanted this thing dead. He wanted to hear the last muffled howl as he pushed his fist into its face. He wanted to smell the flesh as it burned from his fire. He wanted to taste its blood. The heat kept building until it felt like his chest was going to burst. His pulse was racing, forcing his hands to shake. His gaze found the earth in front of him, even in the dark the scorching of the green could be seen beneath him. The hero threw his arms in front of him and pushed everything out.

“I am not them!”

A surge of light, flowing brighter than he had ever seen in colors of blue and red, erupted from his hands like water breaking through a dam. There was white in it too, bright and clean. His aim was true. The dragon was directly in the path of the burst. The light twisted and twined around itself and flew to its prey with delight. “Die,” the hero said softly, looking beyond the energy into the eyes of the fated creature. “Die,” he called again as the force neared the demon. “Die!” he screamed the moment before it hit its mark. The dragon didn’t move. It made no attempt and showed nothing of fear. It simply closed its eyes and raised its clawed hand between itself and the oncoming light. The light entered the hand, flowed through the powerful arm, through the body, and found its way back to earth.

The hero fell hard to his knees. His body was done, and his light was wasted. He was beaten. His gaze kept to earth in front of him. He could hear the demon walking nearer, and its voice boomed once more.

“A great hero.” It growled. “You were sent to destroy the evil that is plaguing man? I don’t have the power of this evil, and you couldn’t even touch me.”

“It’s over. My body’s broken. I was no contest. Take your prize. You can be the killer of the one hero.”

“What makes you believe that you are so unique?”

He glanced at the creature’s massive talons as they walked past but sill kept his eyes to the dirt. “Stop taunting me with your…malice.”

“I asked you what makes you believe that you are the only one?” The demon waited behind the hero.

“People, men, have faith in me, and I…I…“ He raised his head and looked to the sky where the stars had shown through and were illuminating the night. They looked down on the hero in audience and watched where faith would fall and fail.

“But faith isn’t enough. Not enough to keep you. Not enough to keep you strong. What would you look to before the end?”

“What are…are you talking about God? What do you know about God?”

“I know he wasn’t with you today. Until again hero.”

The hero held himself ready to die. He saw blood on the earth. It ran down the blades of grass and flowed back into the soil, slipping past the crust, soaking through, and finding its place by the roots, there to lie and there to stay, not so deep that it could not grow. He closed his eyes, and he felt nothing.

There was just darkness, and darkness he followed.


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She opened her eyes, finding the coming dawn over a burdened shoulder. The horizon moved up and down with each heavy step, gently swaying a slow swaying dance that moved the horizon and its rising light. Her brother was there, and he held her close, keeping her from the dirt. She lifted her arm and laid it gently over his shoulder. His skin warmed hers, so long without touch, now finding new sensation. Her hand caressed his back, his muscles tightened under his burden. Gliding up his spine, her fingers touched where his shoulders met the neck. He was cold there. It was such a strange place to be cold. She let her fingers wrap themselves around his cold neck in hopes that it would bring him warmth. He needed her. She knew that.

She knew he was so tired from his travel, but he still carried her. Their song came to her, and she started to sing it to him.

She found the melody and let the lyric lie. The song began softly as many songs do, broken and ambient, a slow sweeping minor melody that begins high in pitch and descends slowly like a weary traveler at the end of his path finding rest far away from home. It repeated the melody changing only slightly in its rhythm but still keeping its tempo. After the repeat, the melody subtly changed, moving in pitch and changing its dynamic. The timbre changed as well, but then it stopped. Her voice was tacit. It was a break to be filled with another instrument. There were no other instruments, though, and all was left silent. He always hated this part. He used to fill the silence with some sound, not necessarily music, but sometimes he would just say something, something to her, like how much he needed…

…never mind.

He said nothing. He just walked in silence and waited for the next line. The rest was too long to count, and the nothing seemed to last forever. Even the grinding of the rocks under his feet couldn’t be heard over the nothing.

The pick up brought the line in on meter with force, bursting through the nothing and pushing hard against it. It came in strong. The power behind the subtle line seemed inherent to the melody and the character of the line itself. It weakened the limbs, and, once the measure began, he stopped and fell to his knees. He pulled her closer as his eyes filled, welling up with the song, flowing down his cheeks. He wanted and needed her to keep singing. He couldn’t lose that too.

The song swelled and he swayed in anticipation of the next movement. When she hit the legato, his stomach tightened, and the feeling spread to his fingertips.

He couldn’t hold her anymore. Her burden was too much for him. He laid her to the side and fell to the earth with his face in dirt. Tears mixed with the soil as he pushed his face farther and farther into the earth. If the song didn’t hold him, he would’ve buried himself there. She stopped, leaving the song unfinished. She never would finish it.

She looked away from the rising sun. He was walking away from it, trying to go home. There was no home that she knew of. It was gone, or maybe it was never there in the first place. She hung her head down and stayed silent, but she knew where she needed to go. There was no home there, and she knew that her brother wouldn’t follow. She looked at him with his face in the dirt. She knew what they had lost, and she knew his burden. She stood herself up and faced the heating light of the rising sun and let it pushing away the cold night chill. She turned toward her brother.

That’s when she saw the shadows. They knelt down by her brother and touched his face and the faces of his shadows. Her shadows kissed the cheeks of his and guided their heads to their breasts. They didn’t speak. They simply moved with grace and elegance that seemed foreign. They were such lovely things. She looked to where she was and found another vague and faded shadow lying there in her absence. It looked back at her as she stared it. Its head hung to one side, wondering at the wonder that she shared. She smiled and knew that they were more than just mimics. They moved regardless of her movement. They always moved. Even without her, they still moved. Fine. Call them mimics if you want. It doesn’t matter to me. She reached for her brother and knelt down before him. She lifted his head and looked into his tear filled eyes.

“Ewald, I won’t stop singing for you.” She ran her fingers along Ewald’s face, clearing the tears and mud from his cheeks. She kissed him, her warm lips against his cool, damp, and muddied cheek. She brought his head to her chest.

He listened to the pounding beneath her breast. “I’m so sorry, Lilavati.” He pressed his head closer. “I thought we could go back, but there’s nothing there for us. Is there?”

Lilavati shook her head. “Whatever we have, we make ourselves.” She held him tighter with her back to the path. “You know where we have to go.”

“I don’t want you to go, but, if you go, I won’t argue. I’ll follow.”

Lila broke down. She couldn’t hold back anymore. She shared her brother’s tears. She felt her brother to be the best among men. He was brave and he would gladly give up his in exchange for hers, to make her happy. It won’t, though. It will only bring scars. “Let’s go then.” She smiled.

They walked for a while without speaking and just simply held each other’s hand. It was Ewald who spoke first. “Where do you think we could get some clothes?”

Lila chuckled. She didn’t even notice that they were naked until he said something. Well, she did notice. She just didn’t care. She thought of how shy he was. Of course he would be the one to notice. “I guess we have to find something.”

He found a dead rodent and carefully skinned it. Once the skin was pulled free, he rubbed the inside of it with leaves and mud, cleaning off the blood. He fashioned a tie, a bit flimsy, but it seemed like it would hold. He offered his creation to his sister. She put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. She waved the other at him. “Keep it.“

Being careful not to tie it too tight, he put the skin around himself. It hung loosely, but it didn’t seem like it would fall off. Most importantly, it covered everything that needed to be covered. He looked to his sister who was already chuckling. “What are you laughing at? Least I’m wearing clothes.”

“Is…is…that what you call that little thing…little thing hanging around your waist?” She burst out in laughter.

“Well, it’s my first try. Now we’ve got to get something, huh, to cover you up with.” He started laughing too.

“I’m fine,” she said, calming down.

“You can’t walk around like that! What if we run into someone?” He was almost screaming with his eyes wide.

“I suppose they’ll be naked too, and you’ll be the only one with…with…clothes and…and you’ll be the strange…one.” She laughed again, only harder this time, roaring so hard that she almost fell. She had to sit down.

“I’m serious, you can’t walk around like that!” His eyes were still wide.

“Fine I’ll use this.” She swept up a hand full of muddied leaves and smeared them on her breasts. Then, she stood back up and gave between her legs and her backside the same attention. “How’s this?” She asked when she was done.

“You’re strange.” He rolled his eyes and walked. After the laughter died, it was a long while before either of them spoke again. They continued to walk and moved far in a little time. Again, it was Ewald who first spoke. “Where do you think everyone else is?”

“I’m not sure if there is anyone else.” She knew he was still reaching for the past. He wanted things to be the way they were, however they were, and he would hold on to that hope until the end. Whatever past there was, if there was one, was lost to them both. Still, he wanted that lost past, so much distance from it, so far gone, already so much earth covered, and so much left.  Lila looked down at her feet as she walked, stretching her toes between steps to keep herself occupied.

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The young girl’s voice tried to carry with her broken bits and the other bits, all that pull and tug and push and shove. She sang as if the world would stop to hear her. Even the motion of the earth would obey new laws that would bow to what sounds her breath pushed. Physics would become a flick of her tongue. Phenomena would be the push of her diaphragm. Gravity’s hold on humble things would be humbled by her scale. Let the dark haired child sing. Let them all sing. Even with their broken bits, let them sing.

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When the sun had left him to the dark, the frightened man started running again. The dark was his enemy, and he was left alone with it. He ran night after night, dark after dark, avoiding the forests that were shrouded in shadow and shade. He wanted to catch the sun and keep himself in its light, but he knew there was no catching that fire. It was lost to him.

Once he reached the water’s edge, he knew his legs couldn’t carry him any further, and he stopped running. His head was pounding, and he needed sleep. He hadn’t slept for so long. The frightened man laid his head to the rocky shore and felt its cold and clammy touch bury itself beneath his flesh. He pushed himself away from it. I can’t sleep here. If I do I’ll die. There must be others, others that can help me. Companions. I need to find others. It’s the only way. He followed along the waters edge until he reached the mouth of forest, hungry, empty and surrounded by towering trees. As he fell to his knees, they glared down at him, showing him their power. They swayed only slightly in a harsh wind, standing tall and staying strong against the same wind that nearly blew him to dirt. As the branches floated on the raging winds, the trunks showed their power by not trembling. The man kept to his knees with his gaze caught in awe. He found power there, and it was so much greater than his.

The frightened man hesitated. He wanted to move around the forest instead, but he knew it would take too long. He needed others, and he couldn’t wait. If he waited, he would die. He bowed his head and entered the shadowed domain. They ferociously shook their limbs at him, telling him to leave. A clattering of the leaves, the din pushed against his ears and made his knees shake. The leaves scattered the pale light, bouncing off of his surroundings. The light was strewn against dark objects, tricking the eye with its deceiving motions.

Amongst the blinding dark din of the forest, the frightened man found a creature drinking from a flowing vein. It drank from darkened waters that reflected with the white light of night adding to his confusion. He wasn’t sure if it was there at first, but as his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was not deceived.

As his gut grumbled from its empty hollow, the creature looked up from its drink and saw the frightened man. It lowered its head and shook its horns at him as it stomped on the rocks, showing its dominance. The man stilled out of fear, out of awe, and out of need.

The creature lowered its head further and started drinking from the stream again. Slowly moving closer, the man bent down to the earth and reached for the largest stone he could find. He strained under its weight but slowly brought it up. Holding the stone in his hand, he poised himself to strike.

The creature’s gaze caught him moving. It brought itself up and started to reel, pushing itself onto its two hind legs and throwing its fore hooves out wildly. The man didn’t move. It huffed and circled around, irritated at being disturbed by the frightened man. You have no power here. You don’t have any power over beasts. The creature stopped for a moment and seemed to calculate its next move. Suddenly, it charged, moving toward the man with its horns poised to strike.

The man stayed still. He watched the creature dig its hooves into the rocks, pushing hard against the earth, coming fast and coming hard. The shallow water did little to stay the creature’s speed, and it made it to the other side without missing a step. The frightened man’s pulse raced with the thump of the creature’s hooves on the earth, pounding to a quick triplet. He held his breath as he held his stone. The creature’s horns neared the man’s face.

With a breath, the man moved to the side and brought the stone down on the back of the creature’s head. With the strike, a gush spurted from the head and the creature fell to the earth, its face tearing through dirt and rock. The man leapt onto its back. The creature wasn’t dead yet and flayed its head back and forth, struggling to get him off of its back. It was its last fight. There was nothing else for the creature now, just it or this man.

It pushed its head back hard and drove its horns into the man on its back. With every movement, it felt the rock being pushed harder into the back of its skull. With every hit, the world shook and went black for an instant, each holding longer and longer with every strike. The creature tried to push itself up, to throw the man off, but with a crunch to the back of its neck, the creature’s legs fell limp and were never able to recover. The creature pushed its head back once more in a final attempt, but it didn’t matter. The last hit came anyway. It was then that everything went dark and remained that way, and the creature would know nothing more of the world in which it was born.

The frightened man continued to lift and bring down the rock even after the deer had stopped moving. The head split and blood flowed with bits of bone and matter. He brought the rock down one last time and fell off of the fallen creature. Now that the fight was done, he felt the damage done. The deer had not left him unscarred. He looked down at himself and saw that the blood that he was covered in was also his. An antler had pushed its way into his belly, and his chest was torn from shoulder to shoulder. His left arm was not only broken, but another piece of antler had impaled itself into it, lodging itself deep under the skin. He reached for the broken piece, but his head spun, and he fell limp to the earth. He was lying beside the dead beast, and although he was the victor, he would not be able to enjoy the spoils.

He would sleep after all. The frightened man closed his eyes. So far away from home, the frightened man slept and waited for the shadow, waiting in a darkened place seeking slumber, where shadows hold as still as the things that cast them. He waited for that shadow, the one that would wrap its cold touch around the back of his neck and drape itself around his head, drowning him in its hold and keeping him still with stillen things.

The shadow did not come for him, though, and he felt heat on his face. Even in slumber, warmth pushed through and touched him. He opened his eyes and saw the sun, and silhouetted by the sun was the shadow of a wild man.

The wild man didn’t move. He only looked at him. The frightened man pushed a sound through his lips. He wasn’t sure what he said, but the wild man seemed startled by it. When he spoke, the wild man moved quickly from his sight.

He needed this man. He pushed his broken and bloody body up from the dirt, and with all he had left, called for the wild man with garbled words. Where is he. I can’t see him. Please don’t leave me alone. There’s nothing here. Don’t let me wander. Don’t let me roam. One last cry came from the frightened man. He didn’t have anything left, and, as he fell back down to the dirt, sleep took him again.

He wanted to dream, to flow from both ends and meet himself in the center with the knowledge and the experience that these things had to offer, if there was any. He couldn’t find his dreams, though. There was only a void where he used to be.

Then he heard a song, the song of a man brief and ordinary. It ran through him and pulled him out of the void. When he woke, the frightened man found himself looking up at the blue sky. He was disgusted by it. Although he was sure he was probably missing parts of his stomach, hunger still pained him. To tempt his hunger further, the sweet smoky smell of roasting flesh filled his nostrils. He heard footsteps of a man, moving from one place to the other, oblivious to the fact that he was awake.

The man continued to produce the most irritating noises, whistling, humming, and singing some indistinguishable tune. It wasn’t indistinguishable due to its foreign or vague reference, but his poor performance of the melody was so out of key that the composer himself would not even be able to identify it. It must be the wild man he saw earlier. He must be the one cooking and making those horrible noises. The frightened man’s stomach roared. He needed to eat. He tried to speak, but the only sounds that came out were gurgles and gasps. The frightened man knew that he must have heard something because the wild man’s singing stopped. After a moment’s pause, though, the song resumed, this time with more vigor.

What the hell was his problem. I’m starving and probably bleeding to death, and this wild man just keeps on singing and dancing. I would think that he would be more concerned with tending to my wounds. The frightened man was becoming increasingly aggravated with this individual. He figured that since he was so preoccupied, he would have to do something more drastic to gain his attention. He felt around with his right arm and found a small rock, smaller than the palm of his hand. With all the strength that was in his body, he picked up the rock and tossed it. The whistling abruptly stopped and was replaced with the noise of a child crying. What the hell is a child… In the middle of the frightened man’s thought, the wild man stepped on his left arm, jumping over him to the child’s aid. The pain was so excruciating that he passed out again. When he came out of his latest slumber, he decided that he had enough sleep for a while.

The frightened man looked to his right and saw the wild man sitting on the dirt eating with a child next to him. Both of them were naked and unconcerned with the world around them. Their only concern seemed to be for each other. The wild man took little bits of meat and ground them between his teeth, pushing the pulp into the child’s mouth. Then he fed himself.

Reuel uttered a word, his own name. The wild man stopped chewing and moved his gaze away from his child. Reuel was startled by the wild man‘s stare. Maybe he thought I was dead and just left me here to rot. Reuel was afraid that the wild man might just decide to kill him. What if he wants to eat me. He could barely speak at all, much less enough to explain things to the wild man. He wanted to explain that he was only interested in companionship. We can help each other. You owe me anyway. After all, that is my meat that you’re eating. Please help me. I’m a fellow human being you must help me.

The wild man kept his gaze to him, searching for what to do. He shook his head, as if he found something. The wild man spit the pulp of meat that he had into his hand and pushed it into Reuel’s mouth. Reuel swallowed and nodded.


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I know it’s hard to believe, but sometimes my sunny demeanour slips into a dark arid wasteland where my usually vibrant enthusiastic self settles into a depression from which very few dare to venture.

Then I smile as I recall Calvin and Hobbes. I’m brought back to those innocent days where a kid races down a snowhill with his tiger towards certain doom and only laughs in the face of it. Snowmen lay eviscerated and decapitated in the winter wonderland of a family’s front lawn. An old teacher will find new spring in her step as she has to restrain a little boy whose delusions of space travel and alien fighting bring him to an outburst in the middle of a history lesson.

Then I see this…

As the adrenaline pumps into my blood that sprays from a blood vessel in my head I grip the steering wheel so hard that my fingers start to crack. You see, this purloined image was never signed off on by the magnificent Bill Watterson. In fact, whenever the topic is brought up with him, it is an obvious source of disappointment. And, in his brilliance, Mr. Watterson has every right to be upset. I don’t use the word brilliant easily, but Bill Watterson IS brilliant. He stood firm against the merchandising of his characters specifically because he knew that it would cheapen them, and viola, you have it where one of his characters is smiling as he maliciously whips his dick out and pisses all over the place with his ass hanging out.

The ever gracious Mr. Watterson would never say any of this, but I will. Any sister-fucker who has this sticker anywhere on their hillbilly ride or anywhere else for that matter should wrap their lips around that diesel tail pipe while one of his dick dipping chew chawing backyard yokals heavy foots the gas pedal until his lungs are so filled with exhaust that they combust right out of his ass.

I wouldn’t even look favorably on anyone who looks at this image with anything other than pure disgust. Calvin was mischievous but NEVER malicious. His innocence was part of what made him so endearing. Had he just been a prick, everybody would’ve been hoping that Hobbes would’ve eaten him viciously. For those of us who read Calvin and Hobbes religiously, and understood it, this picture is an aberration on the same level as this…

So, you hillrodcockslurpingmotherfuckers, how did that feel to see your lord and savior as banging himself? Not very good did it. I’m sure I’ll get some hate mail for this, but it’s worth it to make it clear that it’s not funny or clever to have a pic of Calvin pissing on anything. In fact, you would be hard pressed to find anything dumber.


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A.F. Stewart, the author of Chronicles of the Undead as well as many other great works has posted a review of my novel Becoming on her blog.

“I found the book an allegorical and metaphorical banquet, full of symbolism, with many of its characters standing as fantasy archetypes. Part myth, part dark fable, Becoming by Marc Johnson is a swirling gathering of lyrical thoughts, characters and images dancing outward in a non-linear story…”

You can read the whole review of Becoming:

You can also check out my review of her work, Shadows of Poetry.

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Oh good cheeseburger crumbly meatiness you you what kind of expectations of cheesiness misbegot political compulsions conduct! I sink my tooth buns to you savor tangy condiments fragrant savor that I only you are in the service of further said. You Mayo agrarian! Oh juiciness to bring it to you I my chin eaves and soak my shirt God if you onion! I said to you but I really like me you with my bias.

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