Maybe it’s time to take a ride all the way back down good old memory lane. Except, this is not a sun-dappled stroll along a path of fond recollections. This particular route is dark, overgrown with tangled knots of lies and secrets, and full of hidden potholes.
We all make mistakes. We all have good and bad in us. Just because someone does one terrible thing, should that overshadow all the good things they’ve done? Or are there some things so bad that no good act can redeem them?
I wait for the significance of this to dawn. Moss grows around my feet. Glaciers form and melt.
You drift in and out,
in your alluring waves;
rapids of undignified morality.
A free falling spirit,
in drunken lucid dreams.
Potently skewed enigma.
Your ethereal aura
of crimson and gold.
Bewitched by one;
remorseless muse to another.
Light the match,
my Prince of Darkness…
let’s watch it burn.
Her almond eyes stared up at the canopy of sycamore, beech and oak, but they didn’t see the tentative fingers of sunlight that poked through the branches and sprinkled the woodland floor with gold. They didn’t blink as shiny black beetles scurried over their pupils. They didn’t see anything any more, except darkness.
She just couldn’t live seeing death all around her. Hopeless, inevitable death. She couldn’t keep looking at the faces of neighbours, friends, family, and seeing death in them.
She couldn’t keep locking herself in the dark to stop seeing it. Couldn’t keep hearing the screams, the gunfire, the pleas for help, the mad laughter.
Eventually her depression and despair would turn to madness. And she feared, actively feared, that the madness would turn her into one of the vicious who hunted others and caused more death.
Better to end it… just end it and go into the quiet. She wondered what they would find in her blood. Something tainted with this horrible ability?
Even with the doors ripped off their hinges, windows shattered, the beauty held stubbornly on.
It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds, not the deafening blasts of doom.