From Old Shall a New Era Now Dawn

With a breath I reach out and with trembling limbs I grasp those golden armrests with such fervor I momentarily fear that they will snap off in my hands. The throne’s velvet cushioning is faded and worn, no longer soft to the touch, but not a single tear is evident. I chuckle as my fingers drift, brushing lightly over the fabric, reverent of the object I’ve found again though with all reverence lost for he who sat upon it an age ago.

Triumph.

It fills my chest and bursts forth from my very being, insurmountable joy.

I turn to sit, grinning, and I know that I must look absolutely mad with pleasure. I drum my fingers against those armrests as I lean back and survey the toppled room from this rediscovered throne, my throne.

So long ago he ran me out. He ran me out, unloved and uncared for, but, oh, how the tables have turned. My father, the king, with his blood soaked boots and glinting eyes is long dead. His palace, the place of my birth and ...

(Excerpt from my short story, Life vs. Legacy)

“You made mom cry,” she said, “I hope you’re proud of that.”

The door opened and then closed. I was alone once more.

I looked out the window I stood beside. I watched as the stars shown through space and planets reflected their light. I looked out at the darkness that could kill with such unbelievable ease and it made me wonder how we survived against such odds.

My fingers brushed over the uniform I still clutched to my chest and I could feel the fabric against my skin. It was soft and stiff all in one and I remembered being a boy and dreaming that there would come a day which I too would wear such a uniform.

I knew not what came next for my fate had always been set and suddenly I had derailed it. I was set adrift just like the rest of my species and I knew not where I would go nor what I would find wherever I went.

I was a drifter without a planet nor a purpose, lost amidst vast nothingness.

I looked at my reflection and I saw ...

‘They Say’
They say that on this eve there is a sort of magic in the air, the sort that gives a voice to all the many creatures of this world whether they dwell in the homes, farms, or all the wilds beyond. They say that on this night, be it foggy, snowy, or clear, that the barking of the dogs become wild and jubilant calls, that the mooing of the cows becomes a soft echoing croon, and the grazing deer whisper and murmur to each other in the distant meadows which are kept hidden by many a thick wood. The foxes laugh as they tumble and play while above their heads the owls bestow their hard earned wisdom to any and all who bother to listen. The chickens, alighting from their coop, gossip in the night as they scratch at the ground and the barnyard cat scoffs at their candor but goes off, none the less, to spread the rumors he hears. Within the house, within its walls, the mice are singing a lullaby, their voices so soft that only the keen ears of the bats in the attic can hear them ...