The Faceless Knight Pt. 1

At that moment he broke his own heart into seven pieces and scattered them into the world, hoping one day his journeys would bring them back to him. Following the others around him, he grasped the sword at his hip and drew it like a poison. The battlefield that lay before him was vast and empty, save for the darkness that slowly edged towards them, turning grass into wilted death.
Silence gave way to blood thirsty shouts as the command to charge was shouted through the frigid air. His ragged breath coming in desperate gulps, he rushed forward to the inky blackness.

Ten paces.

Five paces.

The darkness consumed every part of his being. Though he slashed at the air, his sword was met with no resistance. Then came the silence. There was no wind. No sounds of battle. Even his own breath was subdued.
The knight wandered through the darkness, not knowing what direction he was going. Months were passing in front of him... Years, decades, centuries... The madness grew ever near, isolation pushing at his bones until they threatened to break. He moved ever onward, pressing his tired body until nothing in him remained, save for the threadbare hope that he would emerge from this infinite black stillness.

The Cliff and the Tree

We stood on the edge of a cliff, it's bottom far too deep to be seen. I wanted to put my hand in yours and tell you everything will be fine, for I could see the other side, and knew we could make the jump. I looked at you, but you shied away from my gaze, it's threat unknown to me. I could see it in the way you held yourself.

You wanted to run.

You ran from me, that night. The darkness of the chasm in front of us was too much to bear, it's dark threat too looming. No caring words would convince you as you looked into my eyes for the last time.

You were just... Gone.

Gone.

No.

Not yet.

I looked for you. I left my place at the precipice and searched among the trees and leaves until I found you nestled in the trunk of a mighty oak, it's hollowed opening worn to a shine from familiar use. I could feel the might of this oak closing on me as I edged my head into the opening. There I saw in the dim light marks on the walls. Words, phrases, soliloquy, paragraphs... Characters with personalities fleshed so real you could almost feel their eyes piercing you; worlds so open and alive you could feel the wind on your face. Finally, I saw you. You were on your side, breathing heavily from the tears that were drawn from you like poison, your raven hair covering your irritated eyes. I walked to your side and stooped down to you, tears welling in the depths of my own eyes.

"Beautiful creature, why do you weep?" I murmured to you.

"I cannot follow you," you choked. "The chasm is too much for one such as I."

You thrust your arms towards me, and I could see the marks. Tallies of every person, every thought that did you ill. The marks were many, and a few still fresh.

You drew your arms back.

"Do you understand now?"

"I do," I replied with sorrowful expression as I gazed at my own arms hidden under a length of sleeve. "I have felt the evils of this world, and this life thrust upon us. Maybe not as harsh as you, maybe not as deep as you, but I understand."

"I understand."

If I...

       If I could hold you all in my arms right now I would. I would take all the pain from your lungs. I would halt the wheezes, stem the coughs. I would run through fields with you, unburdened by lack of breath and fortitude. I would add all the years to your life you lost fighting a losing battle. I would make you strong, give you the weight you needed to fight all infection. I would hold you and tell you I know what it’s like. I would bring back loved ones who were taken too early, and tell tales of our times in the city. I would never let you go, never let you suffer, never let you feel alone again. I know I can’t. I know I should not even be near you, for fear of infection. But still, I pray and hope. A cure will be found.

To My Friend

Dear Good Friend,
You are someone who has always been there for me. My mind often wanders back to that time in highschool on one of the retreats to Duluth, and you washed my feet. That small gesture now has the power to bring tears to my eyes as I write this. How blind a fool I am! I have wasted so much of my time looking into myself, trying to find out who I am and what my place is that I forgot about my good friend! You have counseled me through times when I was about to give up on life. You always did what you could for me even if it wasn't totally convenient for you. You developed into a very kind hearted individual while I've known you, and I will never forget what you have done for me, and for others. You are now the type of person I want to be, even if by chance you think to yourself you aren't all that great. I miss talking to you good sir. And that is all.
                                           Your friend,
                                                Iain

Tubes and Nurses

Medical equipment. Tubes and harnesses. This is my life, and it will be my death. I try not to think about it most of the time, but for a while, just this little while, I will.

I have always grown up thinking I could do anything; be anyone, but now I know life is not so simple. I am Iain, a man of 22 years and I have a genetic disorder called Cystic Fibrosis. To put it in layman's terms, my mucous is thick, thicker than the average person's. It breeds infection, and causes near nonexistent digestion. I've always been skinny, I've always been coughing, and I've always been dying, little by little, faster than the average person.

Teenage years can be rough for everyone, but I always felt so alone in my plights. No-one I knew quite realized what sickness is like. There would be sympathy, but no help. Counselors didn't even know what could be done, aside from even more medication. I learned exactly how cold things were, sitting for days alone in my hospital bed after another exacerbation. I would ask and plead people to make some time. It seldom happened.

Video games and books were my only salvation. My lungs were at 50 percent capacity, so I didn't want to do much, aside from walk on the treadmill for 15 minutes or so. Stories were my escape, my serenity. Where else could I go? Tubes and pumps and harnesses...

Depression. It was always there. Stemming from my grade school days and the times of being the small one. Worthlessness and emptiness bred contempt and anger. I lashed out at the people who mattered most to me, and they became the same as I. By the 16th year of my life I was becoming a shell, a husk of better days that hid himself away in the depressive mind of his own making. Tubes and pumps were my future at this time, never my past. I had always been the good little kid who took his medicine. I stopped.

It was my downfall. I knew I had done this to myself. Caring was not something I was fond of. To me, caring meant a chance for things to just get worse. More pain. More anger. More anguish. I tried to kill myself slowly, with tubes and hospitals and nurses. I never saw a light at the end of the tunnel, so I decided to stop walking down it.

Days started melting together. The hospital was becoming my new little home. In for a month, out for two. In, out, in, out. I did not care. Then there was a discordance, a little voice in the back of my hollow, cold mind. Something was hatching. I would stand and watch the skyline out my window for hours, staring and thinking. I was walking around more. Medication was taken, treatments completed. Resistance was lessened. I took advice, and started seeing another counselor. I was put on psychoactive drugs to help speed the process along. The tunnel was being walked again.

I just want to say to all the people out there who are struggling, things get better. They always get better. Until next time.

So, I've always thought of this blog as more of a less-than-personal diary than anything else. For the last couple years I had been in and out of hospitals, friendships and depression. (Which may have been quite obvious due to the content I had been posting.) I will say that now I feel way better, for the most part. I believe I'll always slip back into it once in a while. I really want to be writing more stories, so you might see some interesting stuff on here, but I'm not going to guarantee anything. It all depends on my drive to do so, and if I have any good ideas. Buttocks and horseshoes.

The Crow is Back... Back Again... Go Ahead, Tell Your Friends

     So, it's been a while, hasn't it? Nearly two years, in fact. I've grown a bit, learned a few things, dealt with a few things, and found a lot more music to share. Now, let's listen to some awesome.