Time and the Being

    It was a perfect place, where the Being decided to place the first man. The decision was a long time coming and yet quick as a pulse, made in the blink of an eye over the span of a thousand thousand years, but this was before Time began, and there was no one to keep track except the Being. The Place flourished, untouched, untainted, and a pleasure to behold, the result of centuries and mere seconds of the Being's creativity and effort, just like the first man himself was, and they were perfect for each other.

    The Being gave no name to the first man, as he did not need one. The Being, of course, needed no name to reference that one creation: the man simply Was. It was enough for them both, but for the purposes of the storytelling, we will call the man by the closest thing to a name he had. He is Was.

    Was delighted in the Place, and as is only right, the Being delighted in Was. For moments and aeons, there was no less and no more than absolute happiness and joy in the Place, shared and enjoyed by both Was and the Being. Was felt no hunger although he tasted the leaves, stems, roots, seeds, and fruits of the plants of the Place; he felt no thirst but drank the water of the streams and the rain that the Being poured down to nourish the plants. Neither realized that another Great One had seen the Place, the perfect harmony, and was jealous.

    Time had arrived. For mere seconds, Time watched Was and the Being, and in those seconds, Time decided he could take no more. He saw the Place and wanted it. Reaching out his hand, he cupped the Place in his massive palm, and seconds passed, then minutes, then hours.

    At first, Was didn't realize what was happening. His stomach made noise, he felt weak, and he could think of nothing else but to reach for a nearby fruit and shove the entire thing in his mouth. Looking up questioningly at the Being-- for there was no language-- he received no answer. For the first time, the Being's attention was elsewhere.

    The Being saw the Place cupped in the hand of Time, and they stared one another down. Without wordsor even more than that staring, the challenge was made. Time would design his own creature, to compete with Was over who would rule the Place.

    Time, being a tricky character, made not a man, but a woman, and he named her Moment.

    Was had discovered the regularity of hunger and thirst and sleep, day and night-- though of course he had no words for those-- since it took nearly two weeks for Time and the Being to agree to their challenge. In that time, Was had grown accustomed to keeping food with him and to staying near the stream; hunger and thirst were unpleasant, and he preferred to prevent them rather than suffer them. It was near the stream where he first saw Moment, and he was curious. Crossing the stream, he approached her, reached out a hand, and felt her skin. So like his. He fingered her hair, brushed the tipof his thumb on her cheek. Now, even more curious, he looked up to the Being, questioning. Had he sent this creature? Why?

    The Being was looking down, but not at him. Moment was the object of the attention of the Great Ones. Time looked down on her with pride and a smirk, the Being with displeasure. No time and decades passed for the Being as that displeasure was communcated to Time, and eventually it was agreed: Time would create a man, and the Being a woman, and their pairs would be the ones to compete for dominion over the Place. The Being created a woman and called her Does, and only then turned to see what had happened in the Place while the agreement was being made.

    Time still held the Place, and during the seconds and millenia it took Time and the Being to make their agreement, much time had passed for Was and Moment. In the absence of communcation with the Great Ones, language had developed. They spoke and understood one another, knowing their own names and the other's name. They had terms for water, leaf, tree, ground, food. And their sons had names: First and Second.

    Time, of course, knew that years were passing for the humans in the Place, since he cupped it in the palm of his hand. Seeing the other Great One's creature affected by his own presence was most satisfying. The Being's displeasure only grew at seeing Was with faint wrinkles on his face from Time's ravages, seeing him close to Moment, and seeing even more creatures in the Place that were not supposed to be. In a bout of temper, the Being threw Does down to the Place, and she landed in between Was and Moment.

    Was looked upon this new woman with surprise, Moment with curiosity. Not knowing any better, as morals had not been given to the Place, Was looked at Does the same way he did Moment, and he acted on her presence the same way he did Moment.

    Behind his back, hiding the Place from the Being, Time gave the Place a gentle squeeze, and time sped up. When he revealed it again, there were more children-- two more sons-- born of Was and Does. Their names were Can and Will. The Being was still unhappy with their presence, but less so since they came from the woman not made by Time. Even so, Was's hair was beginning to grey with Time's influence. In anger, the Being attempted to wrench the Place away from Time, causing Time to drop it. In falling, the Place cracked, opening a fissure in the earth, into which the unfortunate Was fell. The Being and Time fought each other for half an eternity and half a breath, and Time managed to again recover the Place, holding it where the Being could see it but too far away to touch.

    Was was dead. The very second Time had gathered up the Place again, time began, his blood flowed from injuries sustained in his fall into the fissure, and he died. The Being howled in anguish. The cry echoed across all of the Place, and the six remaining people gathered on the edges of the fissure, looking down at Was's remains. On one side of the fissure were Moment and her sons First and Second; on the other were Does and her sons Can and Will.

   Along with the cry of anguish, other forces were released into the Place. Jealousy, sorrow, pain, anger, and hatred settled on the Place, into the very leaves of plants and the bubbles in the stream's water. Moment was struck with jealousy and blamed the death of Was on Does's presence. If she had not come, there would never have been a fissure, and then Was would have lived. Retreating from their side of the fissure, Moment and her sons made a shelter beneath some wide-leaved trees, and there she began to teach her sons the reasons that this was the fault of Does.

     Does did not feel the jealousy, only the despair and sorrow of Was's death, and confusion at Moment's reaction. She too retreated with her sons and found shelter in a new cave that was also made from the fall when the Place was dropped. She taught her sons to trust in the Being, that one day he would show his face as he had to their father before even she was made, and all would again be well.

    If the Great Ones breatheed, it would have only taken a breath for a decade to pass for the humans in the Place. During that decade, Moment and Does never saw one another, nor did Moment's sons see Does's sons. None of them forgot the others existed, however.

    One morning, Does's elder son, Can, ever the explorer, wandered off from the cave in a direction he had never gone before. For a long time, he walked, eating what food he found along the way. Eventually, his feet took him to an area where the trees were tall and broad-leafed, trees unlike he had seen for a very long time. Movement caught his eye, and he saw a figure dart away. Curious, he moved toward where the figure had been, and once he was beneath the broad leaves of the trees, he felt something strike him. Recognizing the brown, coarse-haired round fruit as one from the trees, he ignored it, though the pain from where it his his head did not go away. Soon, another hit him, and another. Blood trickled from his face, his chest, his arms and legs as the barrage continued. He was driven to his knees, covering his head. Only when he could see nothing except the sand beneath his feet did his attackers show themselves, but he could only hear their laughter.

    Does and Will knew sorrow again when Can did not return to the cave. Ever looking upward, Does gazed into the sky but saw nothing from the Being. It was during this period that the Being and Time were again staring one another down for ownership of the Place. This was no more than the blink of an eye or the passing of a dozen cosmoses for the Being, but much time passed for the humans, cupped in the hand of Time.

    Knowing that Can was dead, anger began to rise in Will and Does, and they departed from their cave for the fissure. Upon arriving, they called out for a long time until Moment, First, and Second appeared on the other side. For a time, they stared at one another across the fissure, until Second disappeared, followed soon after by First. Curious, Will turned and walked the other way as well, and the three men met on the other side of the Place, far out of sight of their mothers. Second threw himself at Will and began to grapple him, while First continued on toward the side of the fissure Does was on.

    When he reached the fissure and saw Does, still staring across the gap at Moment, First was filled with rage. As his brother had done, he threw himself at Does, his momentum carrying both of them down into the fissure. Upon landing, neither moved again.

    Will and Second grappled for many minutes, gouging each other's flesh with their fingers and pulling hair. Will's hands at one time closed around the throat of Second and squeezed, and all air left Second's body. Rising, Will staggered away toward the fissure-- to the side where Moment was.

    Finally, the Being wrested the Place away from Time and banished him. Looking back down onto the Place, the Being was appalled at what was left of that great creation. A tear fell from the Being's eye, and the torrent of that tear filled the fissure, creating a salt river.

    With the Being's presence in control over the Place again, jealousy, anger, sorrow, and hatred were banished from the Place, and Will and Moment remained as the only humans left.

    Despair was not banished from the Being, though, and it was not to be assuaged. The Place had failed, and the Being gently set the Place down to hang in the heavens. Turning away, the Being left the Place and the humans behind forever. The humans were left alone and multiply without the peace and watchfulness of the Being.

    Shortly after the Being left and forever later, Time lifted up the Place and renamed it-- the World.

My Waking Nightmare

Seven black hills sit side by side
And I alone must face them all
For you are not with me
You do not answer my cry
Though the gap between us is not great
My demons, my weaknesses, my fears
Await me at the peaks of those hills
It is not a heavy feat
But I am not strong enough alone

ALways in shadow will I hide
Until the one heeds my call
The someone who I know can be
The one to give me strength to fly
Who can take my life and take my fate
Fill my needs and remove my tears
Without my one, each moment kills
I wait so long you to meet
And to be part of what you own

When you come, here I'll wait
By these black hills, as near as I dare
I cannot climb them alone
But I must, without you
Without you
Life is my waking nightmare

Sleeping Boy excerpt

I decided to go a little different this week. I wrote this a few years ago as the beginning of a novel and never finished. It's still an idea I'd like to develop in the future. This was the whole first chapter. Please let me know what you think.
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The monks and nuns had carefully positioned his body so that it looked like he was sleeping, which in a way, was exactly what he was doing. His hands were on his chest, but not clasped as if in death, not laying one on the other, but simply placed as though he had fallen asleep with them resting loosely on his torso. They had even positioned his head so it tilted to one side-- to his left, so that those who came to the sanctuary to look upon his body wouldn't be able to look directly on his face. To look straight on at his face, even with him in sleep, would undo the church. The monks and the nuns had covered their eyes with strips of cloth when they had first bathed and dressed him two years ago.

Two years, and still people were lined up to see the young man-- no, the boy-- who lay motionless on the simple duck-down mattress in one of the back chambers of the sanctuary. They came in a few at a time, under the supervision of one of the monks-- lest someone disturb the body. Some wept at seeing the boy's stillness; he didn't even have the steady rise and fall of breath. It was a symptom of the drug the highest priests gave the boy every third day, when he began breathing again. The drug was a powder, placed under his nose so he inhaled the fumes and promptly slept again.

There were visitors who held up children to look on him; some even held up infants and mewling newborns, no doubt to tell them they too had looked on the Sleeping Boy so carefully kept in the sanctuary. There were those who brought candles and lit them in his room. Most were left to burn away on the floor or given to the watching monks as a gift to the sanctuary. Few were taken away. Some fell to their knees or prostrated themselves on the cold stone floor, praying what were probably the most feverish, desperate, pleading prayers of their lives.

It was Harion, a young monk of only sixteen years-- not too much older than the Sleeping Boy-- who first spoke words of fear and doubt to the highest priests. What if those who fell and prayed were not praying to the god, but to the boy? If those who came had plans to bring out the boy's body and set him out against the church? Surely there were those out there with evil in their hearts that would dare enter a place of the god only to see his enemy; to plot and plan the unleashing of the one who could bring about the end of the church's society, or even the church itself.

Peace, the highest priests told him. No fear. The unrighteous cannot enter any place dedicated to the god and therefore cannot take away the boy's body. Peace, and have no judgment, have no doubt that the ones who come by on your watch are the pure, the good, the devout. They come in the unspoken name of the god to conquer their own fear and confirm in their minds that all is right in the world.

Harion slept uneasily, his dreams full of people trying to take the Sleeping Boy from his place. They days when he drew the watch over the cell where the boy lay seemed unending, the people all sinister. He became edgy, twitching whenever anyone knelt or rose, or leaned over the body to get the tiny glimpse of a cheek or the side of his nose that was permitted anyone who dared. His edginess carried over to his time away from the cell, and he began to snap at the nuns and other monks, and even some of the priests. It was as if his senses of calm and peace, friendliness, and humor had gone and been forgotten. All the virtues that the god taught and valued had been sucked out of him.

In less than three months from the time he first spoke of his fear, Harion was sent away from the sanctuary with all the church could provide him: a knife, a hammer, a stout walking staff, a waterskin, and a sack with bread, cheese, and the last of the orchard's apples. He didn't look back at the sanctuary when he left; the open doors mocked him. They were closed to him now. He would never come back.

The day after Harion was sent away, the Sleeping Boy showed his first sign of breathing again. The highest priests had expected it and ushered away the visitors and the watching monks. They closed the doors to the cell so they could administer the drug. Their own noses and mouths were covered with thick wool so they wouldn't breathe in the fumes themselves. The boy breathed them, and his body settled, the steady rise and fall of his chest prevented for another seventy or so hours. At a glance, it was as if he had never moved at all.

The priests left the room, and the monk who was supervising waited the standard ten minutes, counting each second himself, before opening the door again to take up his watch and allow others in.

He stopped abruptly in the doorway, his rather bulky frame blocking the way so he was the only one who saw. The Sleeping Boy was not in his usual position. He was on his side, his back to the door, mercifully. No one would accidentally look on his face. His left arm was flung out on the bed, his right arm pulled tight to his body.

The monk screamed. As it echoed through the sanctuary, it sounded to all who heard it like the voice of the god himself.

Can't

Can't sleep
Mind won't turn off
Can't concentrate
Mind won't focus
Can't think
Mind won't turn on

Can't feel
Emotions have left
Can't cry
Emotions don't work
Can't smile
Emotions won't come back

Can't dance
No desire to move
Can't sing
No desire to speak
Can't play
No desire to

Can't breathe
Suffocating
Can't move
Freezing
Can't heal
Bleeding

Can live

Can die

Appearance

Hey, everyone! I will be making an appearance at the Books Alive Festival at the Maury County Public Library in Columbia, TN on Saturday, October 22 from 1-4pm. There will be a few other authors making appearances as well as activities, contests and booths. Mr. History, a good friend of mine, will be there as well. it's going to be a great event! It's geared toward teens, but all are welcome.

For my part, there will be readings, and I will have copies of Empeddigo and the newly-released The Trials of Hallac for sale, as well as order forms in the event that I run out of copies. Autographs, talks, and more! Come and enjoy yourselves at the Books Alive Festival!

Play Around Me

Others play around me
But I sit alone
It's not that I don't want to
Or I can't, or I won't
But I have nothing to play

Near to the fence
Thought my companion
If there's more to be had, I want it
Or I need it, or I wish it

There is someone there
On the horizon
Unclear to my eyes, a shadow?
Or a phantom, or a ghost?

The vision approaches
Can I play?
Someone to save me, a friend
Who can save me? Unneeded.
Because now I have something to play

The Krakenobo

Come here, everybody. It’s time you should know
‘Bout a creature that I call the Krakenobo.
With the bod of a bird and the head of a snake
She destroyed almost everything that man could make.
She terrorized lands: East, West, North, and South
Chewing everything up with her huge, gaping mouth.
She set fire to towns: New York, London, Berlin.
Watching them burn, she then sat with a grin.
“This thing must be stopped!” said the mighty King Lee.
He chose someone to kill it; that someone was me.
I set out that day with my sword in my hand
To get rid of the monster and rescue the land.
I traveled by day and so searched for her nest
Stopping every once in a while to rest.
As I rested one day, I happened upon
A sort of a cave; it was just before dawn.
I looked inside and to my surprise
Looking right back were eight pairs of eyes.
“Baby Krakenoboes!” I shouted in fright
And I sank to the ground to consider my plight.
As I sat there, a brave one flew right at me.
I swung with my sword and so chopped off its knee.
When the others saw what happened to their sibling, they fled.
I caught up to each one and then chopped off its head.
I then ran away; I was too scared to stay.
But I knew I would meet the mother someday.
For seventeen years, the monster took leave
No doubt, over her children to grieve.
Then she came back, stronger than before
To wreak havoc on our planet once more.
By that time I was withered and old,
But my young son Dalton was ready and bold.
He left our house to finish my quest.
The townspeople yelled, “Surely you jest!”
“This is no joke!” my son Dalton cried.
“I’ll return with Krakenobo’s hide!”
He left that day, his sword to deploy,
And I hoped once again to see my boy.
For three years more I still had not learned
Whether or not he should have returned.
I had to see my son; I wanted to go,
But my wife stopped me and firmly said, “No!
He’ll come back when he’s ready and good.
Now go out and chop me some fresh firewood!”
I went to the forest and readied my axe
And chopped down a tree in twelve solid whacks.
I almost said, “Timber!” But someone else did.
And I turned to see a figure with his face hid.
It was then that I saw my sword at his side
And over his arm was Krakenobo’s hide.
Dalton pushed back his hood, took out a comb,
And said, “I just want you to know that I’m home.”