Message in a bottle.(S)

Jared pondered as he held his own skull in his hands. At that moment all he could focus on was that he had a much larger forehead than he had expected. Then again maybe it wasn't that big. Maybe it just seemed big because it didn't have skin and muscle padding it out. He held it up and stared into the sockets, comparing it to his own head. Despite his attempts to make light of the situation, he couldn't shake a horrible feeling of vertigo as two forms of himself crossed the time stream. His guide was understandably quite anxious.

'There, you've seen your own skull, are we done now?' groaned the Djinn 'I should never have brought you here, this shouldn’t have been possible' he floated in a corner of the crypt moored to his lantern prison. He wasn’t a stereotypical Djinn, or genie to use the more mainstream pseudonym, he had no intonation of Arabian heritage, being only a ghostly wisp of pale green that flickered ever so slightly and consistently that one could mistake him for solid. He had no hair and his face was marked only by a thin mouth that never moved, even when he spoke, and two black eyes. His eyes were dark voids that seemed to look both everywhere and nowhere at once. His moorings were similarly unconventional. Instead of the typical oil lamp prison that litter fairy tales and folk stories he inhabited quite a Victorian candle lantern. It was an ornate thing made of brass and copper with six sides, each with a window to let the light out. The candle like the spirit burned with a light green glow that seemed almost calm in nature. It perfectly complimented the dark and grubby browns and reds of the old brass lamp. 'That's one wish wasted, are you happy now? My wick's almost out. unless you have a spare candle on you we should get going or you'll to be stuck here.' He paused for a moment and pondered that thought 'Stuck in your own crypt in the future, God only knows what kind of paradox that would create'.

'Relax, the fact that we're even in here means that we get out in time. For an eternal spirit you sure are high strung.' Jared grinned at the lamenting genie. Sure enough it was within his future self's will that his past self and the unnamed genie were to be allowed into the crypt, a crypt that only really existed for this point in time. Having lived through the event, accommodating his past self was the least he could do. A point that unsettled Jared. ‘So this is pretty much inevitable, I go back, I die eventually and leave my skull for my past self to manhandle’ he accidentally dropped his displaced cranium, it fell to the cold stone floor and now sported an unsightly crack. Suffice it to say this made him wince quite a bit.

‘That’s the short of it yes. Be thankful, not many people get to see their own corpses while they’re alive.’   The genie grinned having reluctantly calmed down. The wish was not as fulfilling as he had hoped, he would have expected some grand realisation or exposition of fate or something, anything better than disappointment and regret. It was an odd wish, to see his own body. One of those rare flight of fancies and wanderings of mind that can only be had by a young man.
‘Not many people have a genie as a family heirloom’ he replied.
‘You should be so lucky’ came a sarcastic retort from the spirit ‘Two left, wishing us back counts as one, I warned you time travel isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Your family never listens.’
‘Oh? Someone else travelled in time?’ He asked, only recently becoming aware of their precious heirloom. Though it should probably have come as no surprise. His family was extraordinarily wealthy and held influence within the government. All that money and power had to come from somewhere.

‘Oh yes, your great uncle back in the eighteen hundreds wished to go back to ancient Egypt. He had just about finished wishing us back before a spear severed his spine.’ He had a nostalgic look in his dark eyes that made Jared uncomfortable, swiftly he changed the subject.

‘I could wish myself to be immortal and stop this from happening’ Jared said defiantly. He had placed his skull back on the shelf with the other relics of the twenty-first century. He was surprised that tombs weren’t that much different in the future than they were of his time. They were still the monolithic and drab granite temples to the reaper that they had always been.
‘You could’ he scratched his insubstantial chin and shrugged ‘but you would cause another paradox and destroy this entire timeline, a thousand lives that have been born could potentially be wiped out by the ramifications. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience would you?’ he smiled his grim smile again, the smirk only a being as tricky as it was wise could have. ‘Besides immortality isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, trust me. If I made you immortal eventually you’d either get trapped somewhere or eternity would fly by in a heartbeat.’
‘How can you be so sure?’ Jared asked
‘I’m an immortal spirit, alive since the dawn of civilisation; I have had thousands of mortals asking for immortality and then being driven insane by it, or trapped in some cataclysm. It all ends the same, they all end up begging for the death that won’t come.’ he said in an unwavering and chilling tone.

‘I know. You could bring me back to life. I wish to be brought back to life’ Jared said triumphantly. As he awaited the usual flashes and bangs of the Djinn’s sorcery he was only met with an awkward silence and the cold dead stare of both his skull and the genie. He shook his head glumly and laughed benignly at his master's impotence ‘What’s so funny?’ Jared asked the mocking genie.
‘That you think you can beat the system. Trust me sonny I’ve seen it all. From you and your ancestors, you all think you can beat the universe, but you can’t. Just as I am prohibited from killing, I also cannot raise the dead.  At least, not in the way you’d be hoping’ He said defiantly.
‘But you could still do it?’ Jared inquired, hopeful he could talk to his future self about how he dies and if he dies well.
‘If you wanted to mindless zombie to look after then yes I could do that, but I cannot restore the spark of life or the soul. That is God’s work, not mine’. He sighed ‘It always ends the same, my current master dies and I get passed around like a commodity, doomed to eternal enslavement.’

A silence filled the small tomb. A silence accommodated by the realisation of his inevitable death. Inescapable and demoralising to say the least. ‘So, that’s it then? Humans are set on a path? We don’t really have a say in what we do, do we?’
‘Not really, you can change some bits. I imagine how you die could easily change. Or even when but it all turns out the same. No-one escapes their fate, not even me.’
‘Oh?’
‘I assume I’ll go out when the universe does, or simply herald in the next one.’ He said downhearted.
‘That sounds like a hell of a burden to bear, how do you know all of this?’ Jared asked the gloomy genie.
‘It was told to me long ago in a time that remains as only a memory of a memory.’ He glanced at his wick burning out ‘Time is short we must return’ Jared agreed and made the wish, great green flames surrounded them in a swirling vortex and within an instant he found himself back in his recently deceased father’s attic. The attic he had been clearing when found the lamp containing the nameless genie.

‘So that’s it then, anything else before I go?’ Jared said as he started to inch across to the attic ladder.
‘You still have one wish left.’ Said the genie, a hopeful look in his eye.
‘Oh well, after that I wouldn’t know what I’d want we already have all the money we need, and the power. I’ve never really been one for fame and you can’t give me a lover can you?’ he said in a voice weary from the trip.
‘Yes, I cannot meddle with affairs of the heart.’ He nodded and looked around the attic, taking in his surrounding when he began to speak again ‘It shall be a shame to be imprisoned again, To wait out eternity in the lamp, I wonder how much time shall pass before I am used again. I do miss my freedom.’ He said. The meaning behind his words was all too obvious.
‘You want your freedom. Can I use my last wish for that?’
‘You would do that?’
‘I have no other use for it.’
The genie smiled and rubbed his hands. But a stray thought flickered across his face and made him drop his smile ‘There is a catch’.
‘Go on’ Jared said though he felt he did not want to know the answer.
‘To be freed another must take my place, you would have to occupy the lamp after me’ He said with an air of remorse.
‘Oh…well you’ve hardly advertised the place to me’ Jared scowled ‘Is there any other way?’
‘No, you must take my place so I can move on as is the cycle of the Djinn. However you wanted to avoid death, this will make it possible. None have wished it so far, you may.’
‘But I thought you said it would be impossible’ Jared said, confused.
‘For an immortal body, but as a spirit your body will be allowed to die, the circumstance we visited can still occur and you will not die’ Jared smiled at the news, he may get his immortality wish after all.
‘Then okay, I wish for that. When I die you are free and I take your place in the lamp’ he smiled triumphant in his belief that he had cheated death.
‘So shall it be’ the genie clapped his ghostly hands together, A flash of emerald fire blinded him and Jared felt a link from his soul to the lamp being formed.  After this the wick on the candle went out and the genie began to fade from existence. It was then Jared asked a question that, for the rest of his life he would regret asking. A question to which he received an answer he did not truly want to know. ‘Before you go, what was your name, I don’t think you said.’
The genie looked him straight in the eyes and thought a moment, and then as his waist began to fade he grimaced ‘In all these years, none had asked my name, I had scarcely remembered it. I could not remember how I came to be or how I came to know what I knew. Yet now I know, and I weep for what I have done. I have damned us both.’ As the last remnants of his soul flickered from the universe his fading face mouthed four haunting last words ‘My name was Jared.’

Jared died as he was destined to; He left the specification in his will for his skull to be placed in the crypt for his past self to find. He then took over residence in the lamp and lived out the rest of the universe’s short life. Eternity passed before him in an instant and he eventually forgot his name and where he came from. As the universe died he and the rest of the Djinn heralded in its rebirth. Many more aeons later he would find himself in a familiar attic in the hands of an oddly familiar mortal. A mortal with a wish to see his grave and a Djinn with the strangest sense of Deja vu.

Free will (Warning! Depressing) (A)

I've started doing my Religious studies and ethics revision about a week later than I would have liked ( I blame procrastination). At any rate the unit im doing at the moment is all about free will and determinism. I have some interesting thoughts on it (perhaps even cynical) and thought I'd share them with my readers (that's right, all three or four of you).

I am not a libertarian, i don't believe we are truly free in what we do. All acts to me have a cause or are determined by the situation in some way (e.g: i go on the computer to do work/ because im bored). However I'm also not a firm believer in hard determinism (that i will act in accordance to how i was raised) someone raised among thieves is certainly more likely to see stealing as acceptable but may still choose not to. As a theory it only predicts the probability of an outcome and not the outcome itself.

In practice I'd like to say im a soft determinist. That yes some things are determined and i have to act in the confines of my situation. Yet i am free to choose my own actions within that situation. i can't write if i don't have a pen, but if i had a pen i could choose to not write. Everyone would LIKE to believe in free-will, that we all have a choice in what we do and how it affects our end destiny, However it should be noted that many people in situations of stress or high emotions resort to the idea that an event is ‘God’s will’ (such as horrific events as nine-eleven) or ‘in fate’s hands’ (such as the student worrying over the results of an exam.  Indeed as much as we would say or like to actively try and influence our lives there is still doubt to how much freedom we have. Many people seem happy with the soft determinist view on will and destiny where fate and choice work much like a rat in a maze. The rat wants to reach cheese that has been put in the maze and can ‘choose’ the direction it may go through the maze to reach it.
The journey the rat takes is not pre-determined and was freely chosen, at least to the rat. The world it inhabits is. The rat was placed within the maze to reach the cheese and would not be removed until that time. This can be projected onto us that we are, like the rat, focused on reaching our end (whatever that may be) in an environment beyond our control or true understanding.

Then we come to the cynical part of me and the thing that's weighing heavily on my mind right now. I don't like the idea of predestination, that our fate is already decided by some omnipotent force beyond our understanding. It makes me feel powerless and hopeless. What would be the point in life if everything is already laid out...

Yet i said i dont like it. That's not to say i dont believe in it. I can try and pretend like it doesn't matter and that im the god of my own destiny as i so righteously believe. But i can never be sure if the way im acting and what i do is by my own choice or if i was always destined to do it. The idea that free choice is just an illusion sentient beings came up with is very real and truly terrifying to me.

When it comes down to it fate is predetermined. we are all predetermined to die. nothing lives forever and there is no escape from it. Despite all we may do in our mortal lives, all the impressions we can leave and benefits and defects to society, That one inevitable outcome will never change.

...I think I think too much...

A (late) Halloween story: The Tale of Jack-of-the-lantern (S)

Our tale takes place in Ireland, way back when history fades into legend. There was once a man known by many names, Stingy Jack, Jack the smith, Drunk Jack, Jack of the lantern, but here we'll just call him 'Jack'. No doubt from the names we know him by that it's no surprise he wasn’t exactly a Godly character. Indeed he was infamous throughout the Irish towns for being a deceitful, manipulative and downright boorish blaggard. Jack had no home to call his own and so passed through every town so long as they could put up with him. As things were he never stayed in one place for very long, so most of his life he spent roving over the wide Irish landscapes. Rumours and tales of his debauchery reached far and wide, rumours sure to eventually fall upon unkind ears.

Upon one of Jack's usual drunken wanderings whilst he was between towns he stumbled and lost his footing against uneven ground. Yet it was not merely the loose cobbles of the path he walked that threw him off balance but a stone cold corpse strewn out like a ragdoll underneath his feet. Jack, as was his nature, started rifling through the pockets of the corpse when it turned its gaze to meet him; Jack drew back as its mouth curled into a malicious grin.

The corpse rose to its feet and lost the hue of death, replacing it with the hue of infernal flesh. That, along with accompanying horns, left no doubts in Jack's mind to the identity of the figure; a being that needed no introductions to the lapsed-catholic Jack for here stood the devil. He had heard of Jack's evil deeds and silver tongue and was offended that a mortal such as he could rival the father of all lies. So he had come to put an end to his tomfoolery and claim Jack's blackened soul for himself.

Now Jack had begun to sober up. He realised this was his end unless he thought fast. Luckily thinking fast was Jack's specialty and so he requested that the devil let him drink one last ale before he claimed his spirit and his life. The road to Hell is long and winding, surely they could make do with at least one drink to help them along the way. Surprisingly the devil saw no reason to deny his request. Indeed he secretly held a deep respect for the man who had managed to garner such ill repute in such relatively short a lifespan. In twice a decade Jack had managed to become as loathed as it took the devil centuries to do. So in all he believed he owed it to the man to give him a drink for his efforts.

The closest tavern was not far away and within moments the pair had drunk their fair share of ale and beers. Seeing that the devil had become sodden and lax in his physical form Jack told him that he had no money to pay the tab, and that if he turned into a silver coin he could pay the bartender and turn back later to claim him. To Jack’s surprise the devil complied and he deftly snatched up the silver piece and trapped him into his wallet, within which Jack had carried a crucifix. The devil was outraged. The presence of the cross meant that he was trapped in his changed state until Jack removed it. Confident in his victory Jack declared that he would release the devil on the condition that he leaves his soul untouched for an extra ten years. He released his captive and, bound by his agreement, reluctantly complied to spare Jack’s life, with a flick and a flame the devil had gone, vowing revenge on the man who had bested him.

Ten years hence, on the anniversary of Jack's triumph his time had finally run out. He found himself walking an all too familiar cobbled road, yet the body was no-where to be found this time around. In fact, quite done with pretence the devil appeared behind jack with a wicked grin across his face. This time he would take Jack’s soul to the underworld for good, no-more tricks and no-more treachery. Jack's time had run out completely. Jack, seeing no option, decided to flee up a nearby tree.

 The devil laughed at his pathetic attempts to escape him and climbed up after him. Yet upon reaching jack, he jumped down and hurriedly marked a crucifix into the base of the tree. Trapped once again he cried out in exasperation and demanded to know what jack wanted this time.

He made one simple demand that the devil was never to claim his soul into Hell. Cursing his name, the devil accepted and Jack slashed out the crucifix at the base of the tree. With a flick and a flame, the devil was gone.

However, Jack was not immortal. Eventually his life, now free from the burden of guilt of the prospect of Hell, had degenerated into a self-destructive cavalcade of indulgence and sin. His old body gave out and his soul rose to Heaven, expecting to be let in. Yet at the gates he was stopped by St Peter who told him that, due to his lecherous and sinful life, there was no way he could be let in to Heaven among the pure. The spurned Jack went to grovel at the gates of hell to find some semblance of rest for his weary soul. Yet the devil just looked on with laughter. He had obliged to Jack’s wishes so that he could not, under any circumstances, take his soul into Hell. He had granted his own damnation and his fate was one of his own making. As a final act of mockery the devil gave Jack an unending flame in a hollowed out pumpkin to guide him and so that others may know of his damnation.

From that day on Jack became Jack of the lantern, cursed from then until eternity's last breath to walk the earth neither living nor dead. His story remembered for falling on all hallows eve.         

Journeying (P)

Point A to B is indescriminite

The length between is not definitive.

Though I don't know what i'll find

Whether life or nought i scarcely mind.

Either emerald field or barren place

I'll see them all with time to waste.

I have no care or goal insured

The journey itself is its own reward.

On Morality in the 21st century (A)

An old man gets on the bus on a cold Wednesday afternoon. He relies on a heavyset frame/trolley combo to keep balance, there are no available seats. He stands blocking the aisle expecting a seat to be given up for him as the patrons look on in apathetic detachment. No-body moves to give this man a seat and eventually he has to get off the bus and wait for the next one. Elsewhere a drunken man falls over at a bus station and gains a nasty gash across his head, not deep but bleeding profusely. He is asking for help while people again go about their business as if he did not exist. Help eventually came (thanks to one Good Samaritan) but for the most part people ignored this bleeding man.  Both cases are true and both are unsettling to me. I want to take a moment to say that I am in no way about to rant about how ‘the people of today are immoral sadists’ or get on a high horse about how everyone else is immoral. I was a witness to both these examples and in both I pretended to be on my phone. I am no better or worse than anyone else and so I can’t judge others unfairly when I’m guilty of the same thing (don’t throw stones in glass houses and all that).

It all comes down to incentive nowadays. People don’t act unless they gain from it in some way. That’s the mantra of our age, ‘what’s in it for me?’ and honestly that’s pretty fair enough. Why would someone want to bend over backwards for someone they’ve never met, who they don’t know the character of and who may never repay the favour. Immanuel Kant proposed an idea of Duty for duties sake. In which our ‘duty’ was to act in a way perceived as morally good. However there is argument to exactly how far this sense of ‘moral obligation’ stretches. If I hold the door open for someone am I then ‘morally obligated’ to hold the door open for every person to walk through, or every time I use the door? If I then relent from holding the door open for someone have I failed at being moral? With all the effort it would take to uphold the standards these seem to set it is no wonder many people would rather not bother.

Not all good deeds are done for a good reason. Aquinas called these interior and exterior acts. If a young man helps an old lady across the road to impress a girl then this is indeed a good exterior act but the interior act (or intention) is wrong because it is only for personal gain (which goes back to the incentive point). Likewise someone could do a good exterior act for an honest reason but the intention could be misinterpreted by a witness (for no-one can truly know someone’s intention). For example a young man could help an old lady pick up her handbag if she drops it, but the old lady could misinterpret this as him trying to steal it and so calls for help. An innocent action of good will does nothing positive to help and only damages the reputation of the good boy.

This is probably one of the other main reasons people today are wary to act benevolently. We are afraid of how we will be perceived for it. Society and the media has made us paranoid of our neighbour and our fellow man to the point of ridiculousness. As long as we don’t stab them in the back or steal their child that is acting morally, everything else is excessive. In the workplace if someone brings up an issue they feel is wrong or causing a problem they could be branded a ‘troublemaker’ and hit the formidable glass ceiling, unable to gain a promotion. The distractions that we surround ourselves with daily also contribute. Not to put too fine a point on it but morality needs social interaction to function properly and it can be argued that isolation prevents someone doing what is morally wrong it also prevents them from doing things that are morally right.  People are complacent with simply not acting in any way that can be misconstrued and leaving others to fend for themselves.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. There are many charitable people on this planet they probably outweigh the immoral and complacent too. Only it’s easier to notice when people aren’t being good. During the London riots the worst part of society was revealed but it also created a snapshot of some brilliant people. In many communities people banded together to clean up the mess and defend their livelihood. I couldn’t help but smile at how fantastic it was that apparently there were no words said, people just got to work helping one another for a sense of community. All I hope for is that if we truly need an incentive then let the sense of fairness and community be enough. 

On my Face (N)

If anyone was wondering this is my profile picture in full size. It's just a quick drawing I did when I was around my 5/3 year old cousins (the three year old, Georgia, wasn't afraid, she even watched me draw him). Anyway that's besides the point. I based it on a morphed picture of my own face because, if anything, it's an improvement on the real thing.

Ode to a forgotten Volkswagen Van in a field (P)

Lonely old van,
Left to be consumed by the earth.
Off the road and in the field
Your last journey uncompleted.

Rusty old van
It's skin burnt and flaking
Like auburn leaves in winter.
A dying metal tree.

Blind old van
Its stolen eyes
Leave only empty voids
Staring at the horizon.

Lonely old van
With only the sun and moon for company
And a cricket chorus
To sing the days away.

Home (P)

For mine is the earth, the land and the stone.
For mine is the sea, the spray and the foam.
For mine is the sky, the clouds and the birds that roam.
For mine are the stars, the space, the unknown.
All of this, this is my home.

Isabella (P)

She sits by her reflection,
Her face a pale complexion,
The graven image of death


(A knock at the door)


Her corset locked around her
She tightens though it may hurt
To eradicate the breath


(As before, a knock at the door)


She smells of the graveyard at night,
Of bones so pearly white,
And of a losing army's trench


(As before a knock at the door)


So she puts on perfumes from india
China and malaysia,
To cover up the stench


(As before, a knock at the door)


She has two glass eyes to fill
The large and black eye sockets,
Voids that stare off into space


(Knocking once more, at the door)


'Isabella my love,are you there?'
A slow reply from the girl inside
'Im just putting on my face'

The Cosmic Widow (P)

The blackest velvet of the night


Illuminated by gods shimmering plate.


It's half empty of the heavens.


Half her face is shrouded by a veil of shadows.


The night, her long funeral dress (as long as night lasts).


Is held together by evanescent pins


Some stuck well, some long since fallen


At the corners of existence.




Serpentine clouds slither through


Wisping through her hair and past her face


Flickering as demons, faces, lovers


All eternity's memories of love.


She wanders the empty sky alone.


The cosmic widow of the night.


Ever waiting above the earth


For her solar lover to return.

The scholar's folly (P)

Late a dismal night i took to finding
The ancient tomes of Occult aligning
And I found the texts justifying
My dark and dusty soul.

Though when at last i came to dreaming.
A fetid sound, my own horrid screaming.
Foreboding forms in dreams are reaving.
The peaceful sleep they stole.

For in the tome i chanced of reading.
Was written the codes of evil's scheming.
That the devils hand had been leaving.
Beckoning dark spirits to my fold.

Within my mind was a hellish feeling
Of terror's grasp and daemons seething.
Upon my form to restrict my breathing.
Caught in deaths damned atoll.

That Satan may stand before me accusing,
Of selfish thoughts and of misusing
The knowledge he bestowed through his choosing
To his wretched prophets of old.

I begged that he would see me grieving
For the Devil's secrets i was stealing.
I begged for a chance of redeeming
My long forsaken heart of coal.

I saw that he took to absolving
The matter, his demons abdicating..
Until he himself was absenting.
Leaving me alone and in control.

In the river i was throwing
The ancient books i was forgoing.
For the things i thought worth knowing
Were not worth knowing after all.

Magic Places (P)

I want to be in the magic places.
I want to see the space between spaces.
I want to charm the seas in merlin's lair.
I want to sit and think in the devils chair.
I want to see the sun rise and set in stone henge.
I want to watch the flowering of a buttercup.
I want to see the first steps of a newborn pup.
I want to see the settling morning dew.
I want to be in the fields with you.

Crashes and Crushes (S)

It was a Saturday in the bustling streets of London and three blackbirds flew from the high reaches of a skyscraper down past the veranda of a downtown cafe, just brushing outside of the sight of two friends talking over a mid afternoon coffee. They talked about their lives and kept one another up to date. They had not seen each other for quite some time. having lost years in the chaos of everyday life and the sheer hurricane of humdrum activities they find themselves in. The last time they talked was five years ago. At her wedding reception. She was young and marrying who she thought would be the love of her life. He was watching the loss of what he thought was his. Now theysat and talkeddue to the breakdown of that union. They looked so happy in the photos. Happy and fulfilled. The woman and her fiancée had been inseparable as a couple. And nothing could break that bond. Nothing that wasn't two Asian hookers and a marriage bed that was.Now she was a different person to how she used to be (happy, bubbly and energetic) now her posture and mood suggested loss and pain and a crushing realisation that he wasn't what she thought and a paranoia that nobody ever is. He on the other hand was exactly how she remembered. Cool and collected and willing to help a friend he hadn't spoken to in years. They sat upon chipped white decorative patio chairs, he sat casually, she sat exhausted, white t-shirt tight around her breasts but loose around the arms and waist. She felt good in it, legs crossed in the safety of a plaid skirt and black tights. He sat with his legs crossed in his knee less blue denim jeans, red and white converse trainers gleaming in the sun. (They were caked in mud, suggesting the feet of a man who walked a lot.) His right arm rested upon the table to hold his cooling latte (two sugars) while his left hung behind the back of the chair with a cigarette in between the fingers. (Giving up, on the patch, not working) this made the black blazer he was wearing open to reveal his 'guns 'n' roses' band t-shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow to cool off in the mid afternoon sun. He could tell she was downhearted and could use a pick me up. So he told some joke he heard at work (computer programmer, nothing fancy just basic numbers) she laughed, her button nose wrinkled up and her small mouth curled into a cute and petit grin. He felt a pang of something. Must just be indigestion, he'll look into it later. He sighed and shifted in his seat, changing legs to get the feeling back in his right one. 'don't worry, you'll find love again soon' he smiled, it made her feel a little better but did not change the timbre of her reply 'I don't believe in love, not anymore' she moved her head to the side slightly, covering her face with her drink as a single tear rolled down her cheek. 'Lauren...don't be like that...' he pushed his rose tinted sunglasses back to his brow and swept the ginger hair out of his face. He needed a hair cut.
'Why? its just a load of shit, you read about it but you think it'll never happen to you and when it does it is only so that you get hurt by it, always love and lose and its shit!' she said in a small outburst. She had been keeping this inside for a while. Her cheeks went a little red and her blue eyes shone in the light. 'I just don't see the point of love anymore, if love was so 'real' then why does it only lead to broken hearts, divorce and misery' silence from the man as Lauren waited for an answer. She sighed and slumped back in her chair, fiddling with her pink and black studded belt. 'Please Nathan; give me some reason why it's worthwhile because I really don't know'
Nathan sighed again and looked almost meditative. Lauren thought he came across as slightly arrogant and patronising at times, though it may just be her. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and she could tell he was thinking about it carefully, his mouth moved from side to side as if chewing the words. 'That is love, that's how someone knows they've been in love. I cherish those moments, yes they hurt like hell but it makes you feel such strong emotions and makes you feel more alive than you've ever felt. Men have killed each other to define it and most can only vaguely grasp upon the subject of this profound emotion ' he was well educated, no hiding that. He could say things only a dictionary could know. And he was poetic. But that's the tools of the trade for a part time musician isn't it? Lauren laughed again, 'well, when you truly fall in love, promise to tell me' she chuckled, he was naive, she thought, and it was adorable but annoying.
Something caught her eye. It was a Honda civic, brown, it didn't really have much significance to anyone else but for some reason it was all she could look at. a strange sensation came over her, it was the unshakable sense of deja-vu and a sense of displacement, as if she was there and not there and her mind floated just above the ether beyond reality, a real what the fuck moment that made her feel light headed. She shuddered. As soon as the Honda was out of sight she realised Nathan was looking at her with concern in her eyes. 'Everything alright?' he asked slightly slowing the words a bit. 'Yeah, just...I don't know must have just seen that car before' she muttered, not really focusing on anything in particular. Nathan stretched and gave a little sigh of relief and amusement, 'deja vu I get it too' he laughed.
'As for what you just said my dear girl' he put on a fake posh accent 'life, love and music are my muses. And ive fallen in love before, many times.' he frowned and closed his eyes for a minute, something painful went across his mind, 'to my own downfall' he said solemnly, 'have you ever been in love?' he said, changing the subject.
'No' the answer was quick and a lie. Not what he was hoping for, 'Then you'll feel differently when you have' he picked up a napkin and began folding it, over and over and over again until it made a flower, he put it in his coffee cup (now empty) and the sun made the white of the napkin blazingly bright, it hurt Laurens eyes a little, she looked for a little while then turned back to meet his eyes. A look of hope in her face and a curious tone in her voice ' what does love feel like?' she looked right at him and rested her head on the palm of her hand.
'Better poets and passionate men than me have gone mad trying to describe it' he said, and he looked down at the tissue-flower, 'Try, for me?' she asked and pulled a puppy dog face that she knew no-man could resist.
He sighed and leaned back on his chair, looking up to the sky and letting his ginger hair flow down. 'put simply' he began and trailed off, then he lurched forward and surprised her a little, he leaned forwards with a silly grin on his face and eyes wide 'its both wonderful amd terrible, its addicting and its devastating' he laughed 'but its worth it just to have that special someone in your arms and watch as eternity passes you by' she looked puzzled, 'I don't understand it' she moaned. 'If it's so great, why does it cause so much pain?'
Nathan shrugged 'balance, no great joy comes without great pain' he rested his head on his arms on the table and looked up at her, like a tired bloodhound, knackered but content 'That's just not how life works' he yawned. He was unusually tired today; maybe he just needed more sleep. She did ring him in the middle of the night to be fair, but he could hardly ignore her, she was in tears and 'needed someone outside her loop' to talk to.
Lauren looked at him bleary eyed, tears formed in those pools of blue 'I don't want that pain' she whispered 'not again' 'So to avoid it, I won't fall in love' she laughed weakly and accidentally grabbed the tissue flower to dry her eyes with. She looked down at it and apologised, he said she didn't need to.
'You can't control whether you fall in love or not, and if you can you're missing out.' he said, holding her hand reassuringly. She laughed 'No im not, nothing is worth that pain' she murmured loud enough for him to hear. 'It's like a cut' he sat up and looked deep into her eyes, deep into those pools of blue. And the feelings all came back to him. She was his first crush he could remember, and one of the longest and what was a huge devotion had now bubbled and cooled into a curious affection and comfortable desire. And his failed relationships came back to him, all that hurt over the years that left him crying on his bed for days at a time. He went silent for a while and it was becoming uncomfortable as he remembered the loss and the despair he felt and the hope that came after. and it was these experiences that made him able to sum it all up into one realisation, one philosophy that made it all worthwhile 'it hurts at first...Infact its agonising, but it heals and you look back on what you had and remember it fondly and you'll be glad you felt so bad, so sick, so alive and so utterly human.'
She stared at him for a moment stunned, then she realised she was blushing and shied away, her phone rang (la cucharacha, it was a cheap phone) 'sorry, I have to go, they need me back at the shop...' she took up her brown Prada bag, turned and started to walk away, then turned back. 'hey...Nathan?' he was about to get out of his seat and go, somewhere, not the apartment, too many memories right now, the park, he'll go to the park, 'yeah?' he turned and saw her there, hands knotted and legs bent...like a schoolgirl talking to a teacher 'are...are you free tonight?' she blushed again.
He smiled, 'sure...let me give you my number' and the sun shone still on that hot Saturday afternoon.
* * *
They had dinner at one of the typical trendy restaurants of London. The kind of restaurant that was named 'Da-Vinchi's' or 'leonardo's' or something like a foreign fruit. She hadn't really noticed the sign; she hadn't really noticed anything about the outside of the bar. Infact she couldn't remember anything about the previous day's in-between her being there and the previous afternoon in the sun at the cafe. They sat at a polished wooden table covered by a light violet table cloth. looking at her glass she saw it was empty, she had ordered champagne and he had ordered water not five minutes ago and yet here it was, empty, she couldn't remember drinking it.
'Nice atmosphere here huh?' he said, obviously noticing her discontent and trying to distract her from it. He wore a blue blazer now with blue jeans and a black shirt and tie. She wore a white dress, she didn't even know she had this dress, that was what she did, she thought, she must have gone out dress shopping with her friends. She always thought that was tedious, and that must be why she doesn't remember it. It made sense...at least Lauren hoped it did. She was drifting off.
Nathan cleared his throat to bring her back into reality as a waiter came by to take their orders (Hispanic, teenager probably paying for college or uni. or whatever) she ordered the lobster and he had fish and chips, keeping it simple huh Nath.?
'Remember, when we were kids, and you scraped your knee on the pavement after falling off the fence we used to sit on?' he asked, staring intently at the glass of water as if he was trying to lift it with his mind. 'Yeah I remember, I cried for hours. You carried me home, that was sweet' she reminisced. Suddenly her mind was awash with sepia toned memories of her, Nathan, Jessica, Billy and gale all having fun by the creek, good times, simple times, where the fuck did they all go she wondered. She frowned at how serious her life had become, and then came that odd sense of displacement again. The colours of the room blurred and warped and moved around her, she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head. When she opened her eyes it was as if nothing had happened, it probably seemed a lot longer than it was and Nathan probably thought the lights were making her eyes hurt. He was still smiling.
'What made you bring that up?' she asked, still slightly dazed but steady. 'I was just thinking how if you've been in trouble ive always seemed to be there for you no matter what's going down with me.' he cupped his hands and propped them up on the table, he rested his chin on the backs. 'Seriously, remember college?' she did. Again the sepia flashback hit and she remembered a boyfriend, Charles? John? Barry? One of the many, god she didn't realise how much of a slut she was for them. ah well, times change and you do stupid people when you're a kid, then she remembered the end of one of them, she was sitting in her room alone at their shared flat and Nathan came in with a pizza and beer (how American) and had instantly cheered her up, he sat on the bed with his arm around her consoling her all that night. She came back into the room, no dizzy feelings there. 'Yeah I guess you have kind of'
The waiter came back with their food. The lobster sat on the plate like a fat sunburnt sunbather on the beach. The butter like the pathetic was of sun cream applied to say 'there I tried' and its beady black eyes staring up at Lauren. Suddenly she had no-idea why she ordered lobster, she hated the things they made her feel sick. Nathan however had already finished his meal 'god damn you're quick' she gasped in astonishment 'im a fast eater what can I say?' he smirked; he burped a little to illustrate his point and took a swig of water, a gulp even, downing the glass in one. Lauren looked back at her plate and noticed it was being taken away. It was empty. Again she did not remember eating it. this was starting to weird her out so she stood up and picked up her black leather coat and turned to go to the bathroom ' I have to go for a sec to breathe. 'She rushed. she didn't see the other waiter carrying empty and used dishes from the adjacent table, they collided and a rain of metal forks and knives and the clatter of the plates resonated through her mind, she heard a crash and screaming and again she felt that strange sense of displacement, only now with a massive headache and the unpleasantries of nausea. She collapsed to her knees and Nathan leapt to her side 'Lauren, what's wrong?' he held her and helped her back to her feet. She was shaking and she felt tired and weak. Tears welled in her eyes again. 'I...I think its time for me to get home. They gathered their things and left. The lobster was carried off lonely an uneaten, Nathan paid the bill.
* * *
The next day they met on a corner a few streets back from the cafe. Nathan had dropped by and offered to take her for another cup of coffee. This was good, she thought, the third date and nothings gone really wrong, well with him anyway. She seems to have been all over the place lately in her mind. It took about five or so minutes for them to get to the street the cafe is on. Its normally quiet and humdrum atmosphere was today a buzz of shock and excitement as an ambulance stood guard over a nasty road accident. As they crossed, a police officer was diverting both traffic and curious onlookers away from the scene and urging them to continue with their lives.
Nathan had to stop and ask 'what on earth happened here?' The police officer (a gruff stout man of about thirty, small stubbly beard and the tired eyes of someone who works unfairly long hours) only told them that 'it was a road accident, nasty one, all you need to know, move along' But as they crossed the kerb Lauren saw a young woman, bloodied and in a neck brace being wheeled to the ambulance on a stretcher, she had an oxygen mask on her face suggesting that the poor girl wasn't breathing. Though she was sure the workers moved fast the scene was in total slow motion for her. What really stood out however is the type and colour of the car involved? A brown Honda civic. She turned away, suddenly sickened by the scene and just wanted to focus on Nathan.
She ordered an espresso, no sugar. She needed something strong for today. Today she felt like crap. She felt like she hadn't slept in weeks and had a killer migraine that started up when they got to that accident. It must have been the ambulance she reasoned. The flashing lights and bright greens and yellows must have set something off. She felt a bit nauseous too but it wasn't that bad. At any rate it made her need to drink her coffee slowly. He just sat and watched her, even more intent that she should notice he was there.
'Lauren...how are you right now' he asked quite coldly and seriously. He was concerned. 'You seem a little, well, peaky to be honest.' 'im im fine I think, im just tired a lot and, yeah I think the ambulance gave me a headache' she was not focusing, her attention drifted back t the girl on the stretcher, something clicked in her head about her that seemed important. But she didn't know why. 'You sure? You've been phasing out a lot lately, like at the restaurant a few days ago' 'Wait, a few days ago?' she was sure it was yesterday. 'It was last night!' 'no Lauren, it was a few days ago, ive been calling a few times since then, ive left a couple of messages on your phone too' he was surprised, his eyebrows raised and met his fringe. She didn't like this. Suddenly she felt like the birds had stopped singing and she couldn't hear anything else around them. She felt like everybody was watching her, waiting for something indescribable to happen. When she looked to them though they clearly weren't looking or listening but that general unease crept back into her spine, Nathan was messing with her, she was sure of it and she hated him for it.
'fuck you Nathan' she blurted, holding back scared tears 'if you want to fuck with me and mess me about then just fuck you' she choked on the words, he had seemed so nice. Still he sat there, looking at her, unflinching, slowly he closed his eyes and laid back, a pang of something on his face then, coming forward again, he wiped his brow and sighed. 'Okay Lauren...you need to realise what's going on here. Ive been silent enough but im just going to have to tell you because you're too stupid to realise it on your own.' he muttered. This shocked Lauren, how could the man who seemed so nice call her stupid. 'Fuck you' she said again but the words had lost all meaning. She was numb all over and scared, very scared. She felt like she couldn't move.
Nathan got up and walked to her, almost gliding. 'There are things you haven't realised about the last few days, things that aren't right isn't there?' he asked, she knew what he meant, the food, the memory loss, the flashbacks. 'Lauren what I tell you now is as your friend.' he looked older now and solemn, almost grave. 'I don't exist' he said 'I never have, you haven't been talking to anyone' he croaked. 'im just part of your psyche, a guide you made to help you through a rough time'
Lauren knew this was bullshit, how could he call her, how could he order food? 'no Nathan fuck you, if you don't exist then someone would have told me I was talking to myself' she shook with fury and wanted to punch him, that would prove he's real, a solid punch on a solid torso. The only thing stopping her was the doubt that what if he was right? What if he didn't exist? No, her mind went back to the factors of why he should.
'Maybe, but what if this world is also part of your imagination?' he gestured to the scene around them. People chatting and talking, cars speeding by on the road, she could feel the air and smell the coffee, how the fuck wasn't that real? 'You're lying, why you are lying?' she couldn't help but cry now. She had never been this scared. 'am I?' he growled now 'look at their faces, really focus,' he looked at the old woman next to them, she looked too, slowly, no need to rush one of the biggest freak outs of her life, she felt sick, the feeling was now a throbbing pain in her head and she tasted iron, blood. The old woman had no face. It was just pale skin but no immediate features. She screamed right in the old woman's face and no-one noticed 'what the hell is going on? What are you trying to prove?' she said, exhaustedly looking around, none of them had faces. 'Want more? Look at the cars' he said. The cars didn't have drivers, none of them did. Just empty cars running about on a road that might not be there.
'What the fuck is going on? What are you trying to tell me? im dreaming, im insane, what?' she screamed, she hurt her throat and felt out of breath but the people around them paid no attention or care to the drama happening around them. 'im saying' he took a deep breath 'you should sit down somewhere' he pointed to a chair that appeared behind her.
'You are in a coma. The signs are there, the brown Honda? The crash? The headache and sickness, the scene from earlier?' he hurried up and the world around them became a hazy red whirl. She felt dizzy and fell off of her chair onto the pavement and couldn't get up, she couldn't fucking breathe and the world was going dark and all she could hear was Nathan screaming at her. 'There never was a Nathan, im a part of your mind, you found your husband in bed with whores and screamed in his face and brained him with a chair. In shock you ran out of your apartment where you were hit, by a brown Honda civic. You didn't eat the food you had earlier because you never had it, you only had the meetings with me because im inyour subconscious trying to get you to move on and wake up but your to stupid to do that right!'
She was crying and bleeding and she felt the warmth on her face, was she going to be trapped here in this hellish place for the rest of her life, no she wasn't because blackness seeped in at the corner of her eyes. gradually getting bigger, she was going into the black, she was dying she could feel it, she could hear the beep of the heart monitor and the rushing of the nurses and it faded in and out, in and out until all she heard was noise, horrible static, white noise that hurt her ears and made her scream.
Then came silence.
* * *
The electric pulse of the defibrillator surged through her igniting every pain receptor in her body.A massive jolt that smacked her fucked over brain and demanded it go back to work and wake her up. The doctors and nurses rushed about to get her aid and she felt a massive headache on the side of her head.
'Miss Do you know where you are?' a grim looking doctor asked slowly, she said yes but it was apparently too weak to hear. So she just nodded feebly. 'Do you remember anything about who you are and what happened to you?' he asked, in an annoying condescending way. A word came to her mind, no a name. she whispered it too quietly for the doctor to hear 'pardon?' he asked and leant closer, she whispered again 'Nathan' and went to sleep little knowing that Nathan was the name of the body that had died when they had arrived at the hospital when hisbrown honda hadhit her just outside of a nice downtown cafe. Outside it was a sunny saturday afternoon and three blackbirds flew down past the window off into the streets of london.

A Note on Instincts and Morals (N)

It could be argued man has two primary drives in life, to procreate and to self preserve. It is because of these (think of Aquinas' primary precepts) that men created 'absolute truths'. For whether anything is purely absolute is debatable, after all 'someone' had to think them up in the first place and they at that point would have been relative to  their creator. It should be more apt to say that an 'absolute moral truth' would be a moral standard that applies to a base instinct. 'Thou shall not kill' applies to the instinct of self preservation, the moral abhortion of rape stands to  the instinct of procreation and it is wrong to steal counts  for the hunter gatherers  among us. The moral of 'thou shall not kill' serves not just to protect you should you adhere to it but also acts as an assurance that those who follow it will not harm you. A double whammy of moral safety that fulfils this instinct of self preservation.

An artist's perspective (N)

Take an object in your home, try to get the most bland and mundane object in your house or even get the most interesting. Get a sheet of paper (it doesnt matter what kind). Now draw it, it doesnt have to be neat, doesnt have to be detailed, doesnt need  to be a picasso  or da vinchi-esque mural to the selected item just make sure you get the vauge shape of it. Done? Okay good, Now colour it (i  find pastels the best for this but it hardly matters what medium you use). Colour it not as it is but as i want you to see it, look at the faintest shades of colour and bring them out to the extreme. Make a bland grey or white cup yellow with  red highlights and a teal shadow blazing with vividity and passion and personality. Make the  colours so utterly magnificent that you cant HELP but be proud of it. Dont be neat, Dont be tidy just make it so full of emotion that people cant help but  feel moved by it.  Now do the background. Do swirls of two or three colours and blend them together. Make a fantastic aura around the object of whatever you desire, swirls, flames, spikes. Anything and everything is beautiful in this insane medium of colour.

Look back at it, its nice isnt it? Ii want you to apply this way of seeing things to how you live your life, bring out the vivaciousness of colour in the most drab and mundane days. Thats all that we really see in the world, colour, things are never purely black and white. The night sky is of the deepest blue and the pure white of the arctic snow  is still a fragile glass prism ready to reflect light into a wonderful plethora of colours. Even the most depressing or gloomy circumstances can yield great  beauty if we apply this method of seeking out the good parts and bringing them forward, its a nice little view of life i want to share with you and i hope it alteast  makes the pessimists amoung us feel happy, and hopeful, for just one sublime moment.

Pantheism and the cosmic nautilus (N)

Aristotle's prime mover is the source of all knowledge and is unaware of our existence only thinking of itself. This is a problem for philosophers because it begs the question 'if it only thinks of itself then how can it create us?'. However this problem only applies to the theists that believe in a separation from god and the universe, or a transcendent god. For pantheists (like me) this is not an issue.

Pantheism is the belief that 'god is whole' or 'the whole is in god' i.e god essentially IS the universe and so the prime mover can be explained that it still 'thinks of itself'. However it can still know of us as 'itself' is now 'all of existence'. To put it in a different metaphor inside us are contingent beings that are 'born' and die' these are the various cells of our bodies. This can be compared to how we live and die in the universe. We are the cells in the body of a universe.

Now what about the nautilus thing? Its mainly an artistic expression to personify the universe. To think of a being that contains our 
whole universe and isnt a specific 'form' as we would know it is difficult, So the symbol of pantheism on wikipedia inspired me 'The symbol for Pantheism is the spiral as seen on the curves of the nautilus shell, or the spiral 
arms of a galaxy, showing the link between the vast (hundreds of light years) and the small.' The spiral represents a variety of things, it means evolution, eternity, spirituality, growth and above all it is fantastically Lovecraftian.

Bat out of hell (S)

Adam began to share his exile from Eden with his wife Eve and with her he conceived their first child, Cain. Eve had both received and gained a man with the help of her lord and in due time she bore another son, Abel. In their growth they became close. Their brotherhood knew no rivals, no contempt or hate and their childhood years were happy and peaceful. When they became old enough to rear the animals and tend the land Abel became a keeper of sheep where Cain became the tiller of the ground.

Their parents did not falter to teach them about the ways of their lord and maker so they knew that an offering was demanded from both of them to their creator.  Cain brought the lord an offering of fruit of the ground and his brother the first born of his flock. The lord looked upon Abel with respect and regard for his offering but looked upon the offering of Cain with only contempt and disregard.

The lord felt a rising tide of darkness within Cain and spoke to him ‘my child, you bear a terrible sin within your heart. It crouches at your door; you must be its master.  Your brother is more natured in this act and has resisted the urge to sin more so than you. Truly he is more pious and it is this reason I have chosen him’

Within Cain boiled the rage of seven hells and the dark winter of depression. He fathered resentment to his favoured brother. Why should he, a man of more youthful beauty and untemprered heart be favoured by their lord? Had Cain not already suffered enough and done more than his fair share of work whilst his brother as nursed on his mother’s breast?

That night under a shroud of darkness and unplanned and brash desires he led his brother to the field. As they tilled Abel turned to his brother and spoke ‘my dearest Cain, you have said hardly a word to me since the offering and I have been told by our father you talked to god, tell me what did he say about me?’

Cain looked at his brother, bitter bile rised in his throat. ‘He said nothing about you. He talked to me and me alone!’  He snarled, his brother was taken aback by his brother’s countenance and his jealousy became clear. ‘Cain, do not be moved by the sins of jealousy and hate. Resist them and I am sure god will find favour with you as he has with me’

The words twisted in his mind, his rage took on motion and he struck at Abel with his tool. ‘My fist will find favour with your head and my lord will find favour with your death!’ he struck at his brother’s head thrice and stopped. He was dead and crimson blood lay in a pool at Cain’s feet. As a final act of sacrilege upon gods lamb he tore out his brother’s heart with his knife and devoured the still beating flesh. He looked up at the thundering night sky and roared ‘I have killed and devoured that which pleases you, it is now a part of me as it was a part of him, his heart that resisted temptation and sin now resides within me, O lord, do I find favour with you now?’

Upon hearing Cain’s declaration the sky boomed with fury and the voice of god roared across the earth ‘What have you done? The Voice of your brother’s blood is crying to me from the ground! You are now cursed by the earth that has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand! When you till the ground it shall no longer yield to you its bounty. You shall be a fugitive and a vagabond on the earth, a degraded outcast to be in perpetual exile.

Cain cried to the lord in defiance ‘Behold, you have driven me out this day from the face of the land, and from your face I shall be hidden and I shall be a wanderer on the earth. I am a savage but you have made me forever in your image, you are the same as me!’

‘You are not of my image you are of the devils and I now mark you as such. Your very skin will burn with hellfire upon the mere utterance of my name and I forever forbid you to enter a domain of my presence. No food will save your hunger and no drink will satiate your thirst other than the very blood you have spilt this day. I send my dogs of vengeance to hunt you to the ends of the earth and rip the flesh from your bones for infinity. You will walk among man for eternity, not as a kinsman but as a scourge and they will curse your name. In time so will you as you shall act as a harbinger for peril and doom to all you meet. Now begone from this place and cease defiling your brother’s remembrance with your very presence!’

Thus Cain felt pain for an eternity. Indeed no drink could quench his thirsts and no foods satiate his glutton but the lifeblood of the creatures of the land. No home could welcome him and none of the lord’s houses could provide for him a room. His father and mother wept not for their elder son but for the dear sweet Abel, who now lay cold and blue with the hue of death upon his face.

Cain was set upon by hounds in human form, with eyes of wild rage and coats of black fur. They made his travels only possible at day where the very sun burned his flesh unless he consumed the blood of man. At night the wolves come out to hunt him, hungry for his flesh. And always able to find him for his hair was scarlet, his eyes crimson and his skin of the palest marble hue. Thus was the origin of the vampire.

_____________________________________________________________

Cain’s curse entailed that he should be functionally immortal. No man could harm him and no beast could feast upon him. He evaded death at every turn and devoured the blood of his would be assailants to keep him mobile. This undying immortality was the only power that god gave him; he was still doomed to a misshapen mortal body. He tired from hunting, tired from walking and tired of the beasts at his back, baying for his blood, the eternal hunt. As quick as those next eighty years went by spent traversing the vast and lonely deserts of the lands to him an eternity was hell to suffer with only the powers of a human.


Eventually Cain came to a halt. He had resigned to his fate of either being devoured by the beasts in pursuit (though far off in the distance now, he could feel them still trailing his scent) or simply letting himself drop there, immobile but conscious and buried by the sand to become as much a part of the desert as the rocks and dunes that littered it.

Then a shadow stood behind him, blotting out the sun. Cain turned to find a human figure with skin stained  an unearthly cobalt black  with two massive feathery wings adorning his back, each jet black and quivering with power, extended so far as to reach the very end of the horizon itself. The figure stared at Cain with wonder and amusement wit blazing amber eyes that left trails of embers wherever they went.  ‘Stay back, I warn you that I am cursed so that no-man or beast may harm me’ the creature laughed and it echoed past the mountains and silenced the carrion birds above ‘Oh poor lost lamb, forsaken son of Adam and punished child of God. It is true no man can harm you but you know well that I am no mere man’ his voice was beautiful and well-toned, like an angels chorus but it had a hollow and cruel resonance within that growled slightly beneath his speech. ‘Know that you now look upon your equal in God’s eyes, a forsaken soul, a vagabond of life and a victim of his cruel machinations! I am Lucifer the enlightened, betrayer and traitor to the heavens and like you I am cast down from his grace!’ He declared, the setting sun cast an unearthly scarlet halo behind his head and made his fiery eyes all the more startling from beneath his shadowed face.






‘However, unlike me you are so much more than you once were; you think this new-found immortality a curse? You are untouchable by blade or blunt, immune to disease and capable of single handedly winning wars. God is a fool to give you such power’ he praised. Cain’s respite was obvious; he dropped the stick he used to support himself on the weary days. ‘Damnable being, it is not only mere immortality that makes up my living damnation, I am spurned by the light of the sun, it’s very touch right now burns me so that in my waking hours I am subjected to agony and pain, my nights are spent running in fear from the hounds of god who wish to rip at me and extend my suffering.  To propagate this I must feed off of the blood of the living to have the strength to continue this unending farce! I bring suffering and misery to all I meet and those who know me know only pain. You would have me win wars? I would wager a war against god himself by now if that was true but I am still only a man, I have a man’s strength and a man’s stamina. ‘


Lucifer smiled once more, wicked silver teeth behind sinister black lips ‘Yes, but I offer you a gift of truth’ he said while producing a small scarlet apple. ‘I have the last remaining Fruit of the forbidden tree of knowledge, after the eviction of the custodians of Eden, your progenitors, the garden withered and paradise died, the fruit of knowledge rotted and decayed so that no man may taste its honest flesh. However I managed to salvage one last seedling and kept it alive with my own soul and craft.  Come, partake in the sin of your father so that you may know the truths behind the world’ he extended his arm, the fruit glittering in the dim light.  Cain was hesitant to believe him; indeed would any sane man believe the fallen angel? ‘You trick me, surely you must trick me, and you would not give away knowledge if you wouldn’t gain. Tell me what dark truth lies beneath your generosity’ Cain asked accusingly. 


‘There is no trickery here Cain, this fruit symbolises true knowledge, were I to even attempt to mislead you or betray your trust it would be revealed to you by this. I offer you this fruit in all honesty for what it is, the key to the powers behind the soul and the world. This is access to the dark arts and gifts I am blessed with, god may have made you immortal but it shall be I who shall truly create you.’ Lucifer’s voice was indeed truthful and honest and Cain was tempted by this promise of power. Night was soon to fall and the hounds would be upon him again ‘I shall not have to run any more if I accept, men will fear me and power will be mine, is all of this true’ asked Cain once more, clearly and slowly. ‘Take this and let the power of the ethereal world fill your mind and become like a god’ Lucifer answered, Cain took the fruit from his extended hand and had taken only one bite before the wealth of knowledge of good and evil, right and wrong, life and death rushed at his mind, barraging him and burning inside his mind. He could hear Lucifer’s joyous laughter as he blacked out.


When Cain regained consciousness he found himself alone in the desert, the setting crimson sun replaced by a velvet sheet of darkness.  Cain’s mind and body burned with power unimaginable by man. Far off in the distance he heard the hellish barking of the hounds. Wasting no more time he took off at the speed of a desert wind in their direction, eager to end the pursuit once and for all.


He advanced upon them quickly; it was a pack of three, Blue eyes glittering in the moonlight, each as big as a man on all fours. The pack circled the unflinching Cain; he could smell the blood in their veins and hear their heartbeats. One growled and threw itself at him, snarling and roaring with fury. Cain was however able to grab the beast by the throat and tear it from its body, he flung the corpse at another advancing wolf and heard the bines in its skull crack as it hit the floor.


The last to attack was the largest, the alpha of the group. It reared at him and went for his throat, tearing out chunks of flesh from his chest, Cain’s own innards spread out in a sinister plethora upon the sand, sending blackened blood flying and covering the both. Yet still he fought on. He ripped and tore at the beast, ripping eyes and chunks from its bulk. He was so consumed by bloodlust and rages that he scarcely noticed the beast changing into a humanoid form, it grabbed him with clawed arms and threw him against a nearby boulder.


Cain would waste no more time, he was bleeding profusely and the pain from the wound in his torso was too great to bear. He leapt at the beast and with all the strength he could muster he tore the head off of the neck, sinew and bone cracked in an insidious chorus. Wasting not a drop of blood he drank from the wound, as he drank his torso healed, organs regrown from nothing and flesh replacing flesh. Cain understood the true knowledge Lucifer’s fruit had given him and as he stood in the midst of blood and death he truly understood what he had meant. He was now a god among mortals.

The City in the Sand (S)

Exploring is an occupation that I find the most gratifying, I suppose the urge to roam the darkest most mysterious reaches of the world first took hold of me when I was about eight. My father was quite well read and I came from quite a privileged family. I was the latest in the Oswald family name, a family that made its name out of coal and industry. My name, for those wondering, is Harold Oswald, but that is immaterial at the moment. I read his books of the tales of Christopher Columbus and the like and it gave me a taste and a fancy that there was still much to explore. I was young and naive and the world was a much bigger place.

I was in my mid to late twenties when I graduated from the queen Mary University in London with degrees in geography, ancient history, languages and sufficient knowledge to support my endeavours with. It is upon my travels I began to learn that every culture had at least one old folktale, myth or legend about cities that fall victim to horrible disasters that served as a cautionary tale to its beholders.  Intrigued I delved deeper and found that each of the tales involved an ancient civilisation that forsakes a powerful deity, Atlantis, Camelot, Lyonesse and countless others that fade only into distant memories.

It was during my travels in Mesopotamia and whilst on a search for the lost city of Lagash when I happened upon a discovery that yielded a very different culture. Tales came from the east to the locality I was staying in that a huge temple and the portents of indeed a large town or civilisation had recently been uncovered after a series of sandstorms had cleared away. Piqued to have possibly found a metropolis unknown to the entire civilised world I organised a team of expeditors and local men to search and seek out the strange constructs.

The travel across the desert took days and I soon began to feel disheartened that I would not find the source of the rumour. It was just as I began to seriously contemplate going back to the hostel that I found the temple. It sat in the deepest of chasms I had seen in all of my years illuminated by the sunset giving it an ominous crimson glow. It was a pyramid much like the ones found in Egypt but it had only three sides that were segregated into vertical columns reaching to an apex. It sat atop what I can only describe as an elegant ziggurat base. In essence it blended both Sumerian and Assyrian cultures into this strange new and wonderful one. It stretched out to the back for about a mile before it was cut short by the sand and it loomed above us about a thousand cubits in height and half that in width and its great stone steps loomed before me to a sealed entrance. Where I am sure it once had colour had faded to only dim orange and red stains on the rock. It was adorned upon its two levels by a hundred statues of sandstone soldiers kneeling behind their shields with swords drawn and flanked at three corners by beasts of indescribable ferociousness and stature. They were not like any I had seen, being a mix of a lion, a bird and a dragon poised to attack any mortal fool who  was careless enough to approach.  The soldiers while lean and muscular knelt behind circular shields engraved with one swirling symbol and many patterns of squares and triangles. The top section of the temple was triangular in design and flat at its face had it not been for the idol of a sitting bearded giant, upon first impressions a noble king, robed and armoured and with a plaited beard. His face was a mix of sternness and of a look focused out on the vastness of the desert as if contemplating the existence of each grain of sand. He was flanked by two symmetrical statues of Nubian looking priests again with shields of swirling lines, triangles and squares, ever in service to their powerful contemplative master.  Each statue was weathered by the sand, some missing arms and some missing heads all a testament to their grand age.

Indeed the fact that it still stood was as much a miracle as its discovery. Surely it was a sight to behold and I nearly fell to my knees and wept had I not been excitedly ordering my workers to excavate the entrance immediately.

As they worked more and more of this hidden world became apparent, we uncovered building upon building from the site in the same style of inverted triangles and squares. We found elegant statues similar to those seen upon the pyramid of the noble bearded king. All buildings followed the basic ziggurat shape and what we assume to be the housing of the previous inhabitants were big enough for a medium family. Each hovel possessed one chimney hole, one door and the remnants of wooden shelves for bedding.

However the excavation laid out discoveries less serene and more morbid but no less enthralling. Mummified bodies of the inhabitants were found dried out and crushed by the weight of the tons upon tons of desert sand. Some were contorted into horrible malefic grins and grimaces and all were tanned brown or black by the time we unearthed them. The eyes and outer flesh long since gone they stared at us with empty black voids of desolation. But perhaps the strangest thing was the shape of the heads. They were much like our only the skull had been elongated outwards and so were slightly conical in shape, this baffled my men and myself as to why and more importantly how such a vast disproportion could occur. They were also much taller than us as humans each averaging around six feet in height.

The sheer number of corpses found suggested to us all that the city was lost suddenly to them, perhaps overnight and they had no time to prepare. Perhaps the towering chasm proved to be too high for them or maybe they were simply resigned to their lonely fate. Nevertheless they were dead now and these were their relics, their inheritance passed to me and my crew. Their bodies being valuable among the finest riches we found in the city.

We also found the vestigial laying of ancient roads and pathways and within three months we had uncovered a large part of the city centre. However even in the wake of this great feat much of the chasm still laid buried and a desire burned within me to search more and find out how expansive this societies tomb had been. But that was not the task at hand. The entrance into the ziggurat had been cleared and I stood before it, trembling at the thought of being the first living being to set foot inside this wondrous building in decades.

The entrance beheld a face similar to the one upon the top of the ziggurat. It was again of a bearded man. But it was enraged and snarling, its mouth opening into a corridor of darkness within and glaring down at me, the intruder, with contempt and extreme prejudice. The windswept plaited beard flowed to the very edges of the building in wild locks. I could almost hear the beings screams of anger forbidding me to step inside. Taking an oil lamp (the only available light) I ventured deep into the unknown. I was eager to quench my thirst for knowledge and discover one of the deserts many buried secrets.

The inside was adorned with treasures of their age, a time capsule of their culture. I saw ornate blades that twisted like serpents upon the walls and I saw statues of their various gods, one of whom being the statue above me on the throne and the other three being vastly different to him. One was a female with braided hair and a long flowing robe that showed her finely sculpted breasts and gave her a sense of serenity and tranquillity. 

The statue’s robe had no end instead being seemingly connected to its base with what looked like water around her feet.  The other two were male and again very kingly. However where one closely resembled the idol outside the other was very different. He had no hair and his face was contorted into pure rage. He wore the armour of the warriors outside and was decorated with waves and curls that mean the same to any culture. He wore fire upon himself and burned with a fury like none I had seen before in a statue. The detail of their faces was a marvel at as he held his flaming sword out to me. He was clearly put here as a deterrent to early and impressionable grave robbers. The one remaining statue was much like the first one I had discovered but it lacked the beard instead having longer braided hair tied at the back. Instead of being a figure of battle like the seated one or the fire one, he wore robes and the crown and the neck guard of a king.  He again was calm but his face showed the potential for fury illustrated also by the fact he had one hand on his sword. These figures alone gave me an insight into their religion and culture. I admired each face and each figure, astonished at the level of detail. The swords were actual swords. The robes flowed as a real one did. Their sculpting ability seemed to rival that of  even the renaissance artists.

Upon the walls I saw a crude symbolism. It was similar but not akin to Hebrew or Sumerian and was alas rendered unreadable to me, its meanings lost to the ages. I could however pick out the egyptian-esque murals. They depicted a humanoid race, robed in full length robes for women and waist skirts for men. They wore headdresses of gold and silver (inlaid into the murals) and as I progressed down the temple I began to gain hold of their history as the murals flowed together to paint a story before my eyes.

they had once lived and prospered as we do today, they had carts and slaves to pull them and the indications of education, literature, music and art indicated by the scholars, writers, the players shown blowing on strange elongated horns and the artists sculpting the very temple I stand in. another mural showed the people worshipping their god (which I now understood to be the colossal seated king atop the ziggurat) by engaging in a human sacrifice at his feet. The gods to them embodied vital aspects of their world, the blazing burning sun, life giving water, the air which we breathe and of course sand. Each of the elements to them could have both beneficial and malevolent aspects. To avoid the latter they worshipped them all fanatically. They would sacrifice willing members of their own breed at the feet of the statue of the earth god (seemingly their chief god) and danced in a grisly ritual of blood.

As I pressed on I soon found myself in a large chamber. At the centre of the room stood a pedestal and atop the pedestal was a totem-esque statue similar to the seated king. The murals continued in this room but the style had changed, they were more frantic as if intentionally rushed in a state of panic. They depicted the people turning away from their gods and refusing or even questioning sacrifice as a method of worship. This enraged the gods and they turned against their patronage. The sands and the seas became violent and uncross able, the air became thick and carried diseases and the sun burned down relentlessly than before. These once proud intellectuals and masters of masonry began a downward spiral of decadence. Eventually the sacred idol of the earth god behind me was stolen from the temple.  In a violent fury unlike any they had experienced before he sent down a sandstorm powerful enough to bury the entire chasm in one night.

Irked but not disillusioned by this I approached the pedestal. The statuette was made out of pure gold. No apprehension seized me and no conflict grappled with me. I had to take this to my partners and tell them of the tales have learned.

 I grabbed it without a moments thought. As I held it in my hands, remarking at its beauty a hollow wind echoed through the entire tomb. A gushing roar of a breeze that knocked me to my feet, the screaming of my acquaintances roused me to come rushing out the exit towards them where I found a sand storm brewing overhead, furious and powerful. This hurricane sounded like the enraged war cries of a mad god, though it may just have been fancy after that story, but nevertheless we scrambled out of the chasm and hid in tents as a violent maelstrom of the deserts anger whirled around us.  I swear to god that I heard the bellowing of a man in the wind and could see black shapes roaming about in the sandstorm. I put it to tricks of the light or my eyes and waited for it to end.

After some hours it finished. An eerie calm descended over the desert and I slowly emerged from the tent. One of my older guides looked at me, terror and bewilderment in his eyes as he looked upon the golden totem in my shaking hands. He became angry and grabbed the figure and began to scream at me in fury 'Terra’th!' just that one name over and over again. It eventually dawned on me he was naming the figure; he was Terra’th, the god of the sand, the face upon the entrance to the temple and the colossus atop it.

What had become of the people who hadn’t made it to the tent was horrific; they lay out on the sand slain, not only by sand but by many grievous cut wounds and injuries that stained the white sand a deep muddy red. As for the citadel I had found that the desert had once again claimed back its secrecy from me and the sand had once again filled to quarry to the point that, had I not been previously standing in it, I would not have known it was there. Nothing suggested the corpse of a great people except for one detail. It was the one sign that shocked me more than the sandstorm or the murder of my people. This last sign was to me the breaking point of all I could bear. It was of one solitary mummified body, which had half emerged out of the sand dune before whatever force imbued it with movement fled its remains, a sword in its mouth and blood on its hands.