Mithgariel

“Father,” Paige whispered. “What...what are you doing here?” She knew she should have sounded upset or accusing, but she didn’t. She wanted to cuddle up; she wanted someone just to hold her. And unfortunately there was but one soul who could do this – her father. “Shh... Don’t try to speak, dear. They called me. Marie did. She told me what had happened. I came as soon as I heard. I...” Paige blinked and heard him take a deep breath. “I feared I would lose you,” her father whispered. She smirked. “So... That is why you came. To my...deathbed.” Haywood bit his lip. “No, t

Elian. His name was Elian and he was beautiful. I took him because he was beautiful and when he first told me his name, it sounded like music. Elian. Just try and say it, try and taste it as it flows down your tongue like ice, melting. Ice becomes water, water turns into steam that rises into the heavens and there it is – gone. So is he. Elian. I tell myself that I set him free but I know that I killed him. I only meant to have him, never love him. There is no such word in my language. We possess others, we take and have them, cast them aside when we no longer desire, but we do not love. Love is his word and once he asked me if I do

I wanted to call this story ‘A Minstrel’s Song’. Not ‘saga of the blind bard’ or ‘story of the beginning’ nor any of such kind. And I wanted my sister to write it for me. Write it for you. Make it a fairy-tale if you like. 1. I am Molock There was a land of marvel and magic. I was younger then but not young. I cannot remember ever being young. I cannot remember ever being anything but what I am – a lonesome demon. Already they called me a ‘demon’. But I do remember being an outlaw. My kind was chased and I was chased. I always knew I was older than those that hunted me. I think this is why

Has anyone ever asked the apple tree what she thought of God's great plan? Do her fruits taste good or evil and why God's son fell so far from the tree that he never killed a soul and why they still make such a racket over one dead man fathered by a murderer of so many if in doubt, ask the Jews Was it an apple John ate as he wrote his gospel? It must have been some good shit and I can imagine old John sitting below the apple tree smoking joint and still waiting for the long postponed Doomsday Sometimes I think God's busy or lost in the pantheon of so many faces that they stuck him to an asylum for incurable schizophre