Day 25 - Defeated (poem)

DEFEATED

This ugly white
tank top
is stretched too
thin
over a gut that is too
full of crap
after a day of bad

choices.

Day 24 - Blank (poem)

Even in the midst of a blackout I got my daily writing done :-)

BLANK

The power
is out. The internet
down. I’ve nothing

to offer today. No
one will see
it.

Day 23 - Lazy? (poem)

LAZY?

A lilypad
floats,

aimless

but the frog
that jumps on it
may

discover
a crocodile
underneath

Day 22 - Peace (poem)

PEACE

A butterfly hops
from flower to flower.
Hungry

but
not concerned
for it.

Day 21 - Rage (poem)

RAGE

The white
wolf stands frozen
against the howling
wind.

Jaw
clenched, wishing
for warmth to unleash
the inner strength, desperate
to feed.

Blood drips
from his own mouth, dreaming
of his prey dying
well.

Day 20 - Vapors (novel chunk)

It's late.

     Mickelson started from his sleep.  He’d dreamed he was in the land across the vapors, and that his presence had somehow saved the mysterious figure he’d caught glimpses of all these years.  It all seemed so important, yet he could barely keep his mind on the dream.  He should write down what he remembered of it, questions that he had, but instead he felt the comfortable beckoning of Julie’s body pull him back towards slumber.  If it was so damn important, surely he’d recall it in the morning.

Day 19 - Vapors (novel chunk)

    Steeled for the end, and resolute in the goal to make this desert into an ocean of blood before he fell, Zoba stood at the ready, Calibos unsheathed and starving for combat.  But though he was ready to meet his fate, the throng surrounding him did not advance.  In fact, they suddenly seemed unsure.  Until they dropped to their knees.  The assault of flesh turned into an ebb tide of docile creatures, heads bowed.
    Confusion filled Zoba for the first time in his life.  Truly unsure of what was happening.  And then he looked up, and saw the impossible.  An image of the one he recognized from across the Chasm floated in the air above him.  Serene.  Eyes closed.  Not even aware some would say.
    But the Velchurians seemed to know what this meant.  The portent was as potent as it was obscure, but clearly this primitive tribe of plains dwellers were versed in the dark prophecies.  Few Alycians trafficked in that forbidden knowledge, but they were not bound by the same rules as most.  The only reason that Zoba had any inkling what this spoke to was because his role as Protector of Alycia required that he be versed in all possible threats to the realm.  But even a mind as advance as his was overwhelmed by the idea of what this indicated was to come.  He also fell to his knees.
    At that moment the vision in the sky blinked out.  Zoba heard a murmuring around and looked up to see the crowd before him parting.  A Velchurian woman approached, regal in gait and taut as a bow.  She was adorned like royalty, but moved like a warrior.  Even Zoba couldn’t help but be impressed as she drew near and he saw her height nearly equaled his own.
    “My name is Fleur Ondine,” she said.  “I am Princess of the Plains and I claim you as my husband.”
    Zoba looked around, confused as to this turn of events, then turned his gaze back to her as she knocked him out with an ornate club.