Some not so normal love stories

"A Dragon's Love
He had been deserted by his kin, and now he had chosen anew. They were gone, disappeared with out a trace. They awaited the great battle, that which would give balance to the forces of Universe, but in the meantime they had deserted their Truths. They had left the Nhyi. Now they were no longer the embodiment of the proud Nhyi that they had once been. His being cringed with the futility if their wyrd when he thought of their betrayal. His race would never gain back their power. It was lost now forever, and not even his mother the Nhyi could offer any hope.
The battle raged all around him, but of this he took no notice. Their was always a battle going on. His mind was fixed on the essence of battle; it was numbed with he blood lust which was called out in the warrior?s cry. Where ever he walked, the fiercest fighting in the battle would suddenly arise as a match suddenly bursts into flames when it is struck upon a rough surface. The soldiers of the battle field saw him as one of their kin, and he was. He was a warrior. It didn?t matter what side he fought for; he was their kin because of the passions he shared with his fellows.
So it had always been before, and so it was now. The mighty beast which stalked through the battlefield, his footprints filling with blood where ever he stepped, turned his head toward the ridge above the field. Banners flew in the air there, a symbol of pride, of hope, and of the victory which those warriors of the Dragon Standards fought for with their lives. A chariot, polished so that it glowed as if it be a second son resting on the horizon above the field, drew his attention. The chariot was drawn by two chestnut mares whose manes tossed and turned in the wind. Their nostrils flared with the sent of blood which the wind carried up to them from the battle below.
Now his eyes came to a rest upon the form which drove the mighty chariot. The driver?s own long brunette hair had come out of the tight braids which she had used to keep her dark locks neatly in place with, and now it to was at the will of the wind as were the banners and the horses? manes, as was his own tangled locks. His hair was the color of his mother, the Nhyi?s. It?s flame-like curls also seemed sometimes to be the color of battle, the color of blood. What ever side of the battle he favored would win. It was his power, the control of the Srone which the Nhyi had allowed to him.
Never before had he ever cared which side won; he simply enjoyed the passions of the battle itself. Now, though, something had changed deep with in him, something which he could not control. It was a strange new drive, even more powerful then the lust of battle, but this passion was far, far different. He did not understand it fully. Hate he could understand. Hate was easy to understand, easy to act upon, but this passion was a part of the Nhyi of which his mother had given him no warning. He stared hard at the dark beauty on the hill, and his being filled with a urgent yearning for her, his sole desire, and his doom. He would give his life for her; she wore his firestone amulet as a promise of their love for each other.
?You shall have your victory, Eiyona my soul?s love,? the dragon said. ?And I shall have you. Then. Forever.?

"To Find the Sun"
Hello, I say to you. I think the sun has come to meet me, where time meets in an hourglass. The sands like dreams run freely, through my mind as an hour. Do not ask why the sky is full of stars, know only that they are there. And if you ask a star for advice, know only that stars know nothing of time, fore, the sands of the hour melt in their core, and time is suspended there. You had better ask a planet, but they may not hear. Planets are busy little bees, swarming around their hive, the Sun. Perhaps if you asked the Sun, he?d tell you what to do, but now it is night and the Sun cannot be found. Oh! Say! Sun, where are you? Where have you gone and left me behind? I wish to follow you, but I fear the stars who sit as kings in their royal abyss in the sky. Why not inquire of the World, what it is you wish. She knows the sun best of all, you see, and if you wish to meet him, you may ask her where to go. But beware the jealous Moon, for the moon is the ruler of the Night, as the Sun is the ruler of the Day, and she guards her rule with a spiteful hand, and curses the sun for taking it away every morning. Where oh where is my Sun? Why did you promise to meet me here, in the night where you are forbidden? You made me promise to come, and so I did in a dream, where time has no meaning except to remind us in a daze of what has happened and happened again. Puddles of deja vu lie all across the sky, making paths and trails among the stars. I?ll follow one, hoping it leads my back to you. The wandering stars buzz by me, inquiring where it is I go, and I just smile to keep my faith, remembering you?re promise. Where is the sun? I?d hoped to find him at the end of that starry path, but all I find is a winding road, whose pebbled stars turn into a flowing river, which draws me to some unavoidable destiny. I had hoped to see the sun there, as he promised me he?d come, but I see nothing still but night. The river washes me up on a shore, and the sand reminds me of your promise. What hour did you say you?d meet me? Only time may know. So I pick myself up and continue on, the path familiar now. I?ve come back to where it was I began. Back on World again. Yet this dream of you will not end, so I search for you still. Walking along my forest path, I see the Moon watching me. She asks why would I love you, and I answer only that have known nothing else. She says that you would deceive me, she warns me lever to trust the Sun, fore the Sun, after all, is but another star. No! I scream! The Sun does love me! You are the one who keeps him from me, you, dark empress of the night. It is your jealousy, greed, and hatred, which bans him from the sky. The moon laughs now, mocking me as I run. I cannot stand the moon?s laughter, it ripples over me like grease. I would not have it dirty my soul, fore dark magics always corrupt, so I run and hide in a cave, sheltering myself from the sky. I cry and cry to wash away the fears of the night, then I dream of you, and know you love me still. Time has taken you away, but time will give you back. Awake, you say, Awake! And I open in eyes to see the sun, shining through the clouds. The sun has kept his promise, as I knew you would, and has come to me again, though the gates of time, and out of the abyss of night. Let the Moon mock who she will, for I have found the Sun.

"Of the love of a Goddess"
Do not love me. Don?t be trapped.

I can never take your love, I have not the heart for that. You see me as a woman, but I am not that who you see before you. I have long ago given up the right to pledge myself to any single man. My spirit is dead to that. I gave myself to the world, body , heart, mind, and soul. This fate I chose has claimed me, and I shall never be for some man, even you.

I love you as I love all, but, my child, I warn you of deception. These tears I shed are of a mothers love, and it plagues me to think of all the sacrifices I have made and worse, all that will come, so that you can continue to live in your dreams of right and wrong, love and hate, justice and retribution. The Goddess has many faces. This is my trouble, this is my doom, this is my choice.
You talk of hope and peace. You talk of love and joy. In your mind you build a Utopia, and your spirit calls out to the freedom of what you find in the promise of the world. Ah, my dear! Don?t ever lose that strength of heart! Always reach out to your mind?s desires! Dream on , child, dream on and dream long, let no shadow plague your passions, for I will protect you, hold you , as I hold all the world. Think not upon the sorrowful things, the pain, the betrayal, the deceit, and the cruelty. I?ll take them all for you. I?ll take the darkness, I?ll take the blame. Cast your fear and anger upon me, but then, for me in return keep faith in my world, for all these burdens I bare so that you may keep the best of things. Do not swear an oath to me, no, let me set you free. Let me separate you from the tears I carry, so that you may claim the future. Only promise me that you will justify my choices and repay my sacrifices by loving the world just as much as I have done.

Do not feel sorry for me, for I knew well the weight of the responsibility I chose to carry, and I would always choose it. For although I give up the possessive love of a man, to be one?s own and to keep one in return, I gain a love just as strong, of liberty and justice. And these are things which all soul?s desire deeply, long past their ends. After all, my child, endless sorrow is a small price to pay for an eternity of joy.

This one's not really a love story, but oh well:

"I Was Watching"

I was watching when the world was destroyed. From somewhere, far above, I saw the whole thing. The thousand gifts had been corrupted, and the comet was proof to this. Then the world collapsed. It shattered, like shards of glass. A thousand pieces of light which were once a planet rained throughout the solar system in burning streaks of dying dreams. I watched as they eclipsed the sun, and as they tore holes through Saturn?s rings. I watched as they passed Pluto, and traveled out into the nothingness which was the future.

Too numbed to accept what my eyes were telling me, I stubbornly held on to what life I had once known. . . Before the death of the world. They had taken everything away in their vain folly. The thousand gifted. They had thought they could control the universe. They thought they could control fate. What a bitter irony does fate hold in store for all who try to prescribe doom. They were warned that they should not call upon forces far greater than those they themselves wielded, and ones which they had never begun to understand. They did not listened once, the power madness had too strong a grip on their hearts.

So they called the comet to flaunt their strength. They wished to be worshiped as gods. Their own idolatry of their selves caused in them the great false confidence which had meant destruction to the planet which they were meant to protect. But by breaking the rules which were given to them when their gifts were given to them, to never use their gifts towards the purpose of destruction, they had spelled their own doom. How easily it seemed that power had corrupted. Perhaps, I reflect now, it seems that their gift was not so much a gift as it was a curse.

The world was no more. I stared at the empty space where its glowing blue sphere had once floated, a part of the crucial clockwork of the universe. I did not cry, as there was nothing left in that empty space to cry for except memories. But as I traveled inward, I saw that my memories were just as much alive as they had always been. Why should I mourn the past? It is the future which needs to be mourned, yet there was no future in that empty space. There never was a future, so how could I mourn for the loss of something that never was?

The future can never be lost, it can only be moved. The life which was the World, can never be destroyed. There will always be something left, so long as there are memories left to build the future upon. Harbored inside those thousand shards, which had once been the World, were a thousand fragments of the World?s memories, the essence of its life. In their dying they saw where they had begun, remembered not death, but life. From those shards came the thousand gifts, crying to be forgiven, and to be granted a second chance. To be given back the future.

I was watching when the world was destroyed. I saw the comet strike the World, and saw the World shatter, it?s broken shards streaming across the universe like seeds blown in the wind. Then I saw those seeds start to grow, to bloom in the memory of life hidden beneath their barren shells. From those thousand shards sprouted a thousand new planets, each with the promise to be even greater then their mother, the World. Where there had been no future, there were now a thousand new futures. A second chance had been granted. I saw the worlds take shape, melting down in the white-hot light of life into burning balls of new life, spheres of hope to form new destinies upon. I saw as the soul of the World was reclaimed in the souls of the new planets. I saw myself and many others who had been watching as we drift down to the worlds to protect those newborn futures, as fragile as bubbles made of dreams.

I was watching when the world was destroyed. Then I saw its recreation, and I promised to never let it die.

And this is just plain psychopathic:

"Madness"
Standing upon the brink of existence, what can we learn? Looking backwards is much the same as looking forwards. . . Only one little step to infinity. . .

He had often found the stars appealing. He supposed their allure stemmed from their enigmatic beings. Requisite was his need to reach them. He longed to touch them- those shiny diamonds in the sky. They had been his faith. He found hope when no matter where he was in life he could always look up to find them, sparkling in the darkness - proof that tomorrow would come, as it had come yesterday. He liked to think of the stars as eyes, watching over him, guiding him through his most troubled times.

It?s odd how your dreams may become nightmares. He learned quickly that the stars were not the benevolent guardians which they pretended to be. They had wronged him - kept the true secret of existence away from him, hidden in the abyss of night. He spurned the stars then, turned his back on them as the darkness of being overcame his previous joy of life.

But the stars would not let him go. They refused to let him be free of their tyranny. They watched him, every night, and forced him to do their dark biddings. He would run from the sky, but it followed him wherever he went, torturing him with it?s shadows.

Unable to sleep, knowing that the stars hunted him in his dreams, and unable to wake, he ran on in futility. He could feel the weight of the sky pressing down upon him with every breath he took. Every step became harder and harder to take, pain shooting through his legs and up his spine. He felt as if he were kept back from his freedom by heavy iron chains.

He cursed the stars. He slumped to his knees as they laughed at his insignificant shackled existence. Their, his head buried in his muddy hands trying to ward off the stars incessant laughing, he could almost see the last shreds of his sanity slipping away. He knew that if he was to save himself and this world he loved he would have to battle the stars.

Staggering to his feet with one last force of will, he climbed upwards to face the stars on their own turf in the sky. Faintly, he heard the sound of crashing and pounding below him, and he knew that he had little time, for the stars had already begun their attack on the world. He climbed as high as high would go, and finding nothing more to climb, he looked up to see the stars, still laughing. Then he looked down and saw the stars, and they laughed as well.

Before the world was destroyed, he challenged the stars in one last battle, hurling himself into them and shouting his war song at the top of his lungs. He stood for the glory of the world. It could survive on its own. It needed not sky full of surreptitious stars to spy on and steal the meaning of life and then guide with malicious hands the doings of those who live below them.

He flew through existence, fighting the stars, and reforming the sky. The stars seemed little surprised at his battle cries, and were not moved. He lost his balance and realized that the stars, still laughing, had thrown him back to world. Then with one last crack, he heard the stars destroy the world.

The stars watched the man jump of the cliff and did nothing but twinkle as he was consumed by the sea. Except for his one last shattering scream, first in fury and then in panic as he fell, the night was calm. The serene light of the stars was reflected peacefully in the ocean?s waves which swelled and crashed upon the rocks at the base of the cliff.

What does it mean when we look down and find up? If we take that small leap out of existence, we may find ourselves tossed upon the waves of fate, falling from ourselves as shooting stars. Infinity swallows us whole.

Hmmm... Don't ask me what I was thinking with this one:

Princess Jessica of Hanali thought for a moment. She brushed her long strawberry-blond hair back from her face. He was staring at her expectantly, and she could tell by his small half smile that he was enjoying this. She was a mortal princess; she wasn?t supposed to be toying with immortal affairs. Yet here she was doing just that. There must be something wrong with me, she thought to herself. I always get myself into trouble like this. I should leave right now and mind my own business, that is, I should try to wake up.

Yet his eyes were strangely compelling. They were like wells, what he said did not even begin to explain the things that his eyes told her. They were so sad, forlorn. She could see that this sadness streaked his very essence, turning his heart numb. She thought that it came from his being forced away from his land as well as his losing the only person who he could share himself with. It wrenched her heart. She wanted to help him. But how?

?You could try to contact your father. Maybe you could talk some sense into him. You?re a prince, so you must have had friends in high positions. Contact them. They may be able to do something,? she decided.

?They may be able to do something, but they won?t,? he replied.

She looked at him without understanding.

He sighed. ?I was banished, and by the rules set down by the First Council, once banished, a fairy is no longer recognized as a fairy. They are not allowed to have anything to do with other fairies. Past friends are no longer friends at all. We loose all that makes who we were: titles, family, friends, everything.?

?If you were stripped of your title then why do you still wear your crown??

He looked at her sharply. ?You see me as wearing a crown? ? he whispered. ?What do I look like to you??

Jessica didn?t know fairy laws, but she did know what she saw. She told him. He seemed very surprised at her summery, and worried as well. She asked him what was wrong. He did not answer, but turned away instead.

?What does this mean, Aaron? What?s going on?? she asked him again.

He was thinking, wondering. He looked up at her and asked, ?Do you often find that your dreams are projections of the future? That what you see in the world of sleep has in someway a relationship with what happens to you in the world of wake??

?Sometimes. Yes, sometimes that happens. Are you saying that the way that I perceive you in this dream has something to do with what will happen in the future, that it is a symbol of some sort??

?I rather think it does.? He pursed his lips and he stared up at the star-streaked sky above them. He was thinking, wondering, and his eyes had turned a grey-blue color in the moonlight.

She stared at him, her mind edging on frustration. How could he be so calm when the whole immortal world walked a path toward disaster? ?Will you please explain to me what?s going on? You haven?t told me anything accept you believe that what I am seeing is a premonition of the future, and I can?t see how since I have never seen you or this place before! And how did you think that I knew you were a fairy and a prince if I didn?t see those traits on you??

He looked at her again. ?You?ve never seen this place before??

She shook her head.

He sat down. ?I had assumed,? he began, ?When you had said that you had fireling blood in you, that you had been here before. I thought, that because of this, you had heard of me, because I often visit this place. Firelings also have a strong magic that lets them know things that others do not, such as seeing into the future. I assume, now, that you had no training in your immortal ancestry?? He looked at her for an answer.

She shook her head again. ?My mother died giving birth to me and my older brother.?

?And none of yo

OK... This is what I do. I don't like my reality so I make up different ones.

Here's something that makes a lot of sense:

The desert was hot and he was thirsty. There was nothing but sand in every direction. The horizon blurred as waves of heat distorted his vision, and he could not truly say which direction he traveled nor for how long he had been walking.

Angry, because he could not despair or he would not find the will to keep on moving, he stomped over the dunes. Over one, down it, over the next, his feet sliding as the sand gave way. He didn?t notice when he started talking to himself, so he couldn?t tell what he was saying. He was mumbling on, cursing whatever had put him there, not actually bothering to wonder why he was there.

Just as it began to dawn on him that he must be going crazy, he climbed to the top of the next dune and stopped, his mouth hanging open. All his thoughts suddenly rushed to his feet and soaked into the sand.

Before him lay a city. No, he corrected that. Before him lay the remains of what had once been a city. It was destroyed now. He could not tell how long ago it had been.

He walked through the streets. At first the buildings were odd and unfamiliar, some strange architecture from some strange culture unknown to him, but as he continued through he began to recognize his surroundings. The houses began to look like his neighborhood. Why, it was his neighbor hood? How could he not have recognized it to begin with? But it was abandoned, the doors and windows that were not boarded up were broken, the grass lawns were over grown, and sand had been blown up in piles on the barren streets.

He walked on until he found his house. The door had been ripped from it?s hinges, and stood wide open. Seeing no reason not to, he entered. The inside of the house was exactly as he remembered. In the hall hung the pictures of his family, of he and his sister when they were children, of his mother and father, of his graduation, his entire life documented and framed? He stood for a while lost in the memories, the pictures almost seemed to call his name. There he was with a woman? Who was she? He felt odd; he should know that face? The picture was calling, he could almost hear her voice, but could not remember who she was?

Then he realized he really did hear her voice. Startled, he jumped and moved swiftly down the hall, through the kitchen, not noticing the fresh apple pie on the table, his favorite, someone had remembered. The back door was open except for a screen door, which he pushed through with out a second?s hesitation.

She was on the tire swing which hung from the old oak in the back yard. He didn?t bother to notice how the lawn was now freshly cut, or how the flower pots were full of bright blooms. His eyes went right to her face. He still could not recognize her. So he just stood there and stared.

She stopped swinging and studied him, her head tilted slightly to the side. The warm air blew her hair in wind, and he self-consciously ran his fingers through his own, suddenly realizing that he had been traveling aimlessly through a desert for God knows how long and must look like a wreck. He stuck his hands into his pockets not knowing what else to do wit them.

She smiled and said, ?I?m sorry, but you failed.?

He figured as much, but at that moment he didn?t really care.

Here's a happy thought:

"Aftermath"
Darkness swept across his heart. He had lost everything. There was nothing left. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the desert sky. It was full of stars. Endless stars, glittering as if they didn?t know that it was over. As if they didn?t know that Meridia had been lost.

He laughed because there seemed to be no reason not to anymore. He could have cried, but his eyes were too sour. And? After it was all over, it was actually rather funny. Ironic really, he had destroyed the world. He, who was supposed to have saved it, had destroyed Meridia. He laughed again, but it was hollow laughter. He hadn?t been ready after all.

The fine sand was still hot, and he lay there for a while, just to clear is head from all that had happened. Just breathing in and out, he found that simple peace that he had often searched for. Funny again that he should finally have it after it didn?t matter anymore.

He scooped up a handful of sand and watched the grains run through his fingers. His hands. He stared at his hands. His hands had killed a world.

He pressed his eyes shut tight, but he could not stop the tears from coming again. He buried is face in his hands, his terrible dirty hands, and wept like a child for all the things he didn?t understand and couldn?t control.

A thousand years passed as he lay there. The sun rose and set, the moon rose and set, and still he mourned. Until all of a sudden he stopped. He sat forward onto his knees and tilted his head back one more time to look at the stars. There was a full moon on that night, just as there had been a full moon on the night that. . . That he had killed. . .

A world.

He keened. One blood-piercing howl that seemed to be his soul ripping from is body.

Then he wished for death.

But let's end this on a brighter note:

"Worlds Can?t Die"

One tear hit a cold stone floor, and no one noticed. No one cared. No one spoke a word. No one watched. No one knew they should.

Because no one knew that history was about to be saved.

In a desert world, every grain of sand is a dream. Every dream is another world. Every world is a future. Every future is infinite.

Every tear is time suspended in a moment. And when that tear hit the floor, time stopped. It stopped because that tear was the last remaining thread of innocence before a world died.

And worlds can?t die.

"What Happened"

He opened his eyes. He found a world.

He was sitting on a stone bench next to a fountain in a small courtyard surrounded by high stonewalls, an oasis in the middle of a vast desert. He looked around, to surprised to really be looking for something in particular, so he didn?t even notice the girl near the fountain watching him.

He stood up, than sat back down, blinked, and than exclaimed in frustration: ?I don?t understand, why am I here??

?Because you never had the power to destroy the world to begin with.? She came to sit next to him.

?What??

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. ?Did you actually think that anyone person could be so powerful??


"Second Chances"

There was light.

?What are you afraid of??

Of all the things that he had done, what he feared is what he hadn?t done. What he wanted was what to fix a mistake, to go back and be given another chance to heal his world. Those wrong decisions which plagued his dreams, they haunted him. He ran from them but could not be rid of them.

She told him not to be afraid. She said that he had another chance. She gave him back his life, which he had thrown away.

His world was a new page?

When he asked who she was, fore he still could not put a name to her face; she said her name was Hope.

"January 26, 1863"
The winter has kept us all penned up in our home. The icy wind out side blows on without losing any of its vitality to the passing of time; I only wish that men could stand so tall in the face of their greatest enemy, time. My beloved Kitty tells me I should not dwell on such dark thoughts, but in truth I do not choose to dwell upon them. The fears which lie in the hearts of men come to them unbidden and ride them at their own fancy. I myself have come to believe that the men whose fear is always calling on them are the lucky men. They at least may face their fear and become a stronger man for it. But men like me who have lived their lives in wealth and comfort, in peace of heart in peace of mind, cannot find their fear and are all the more fearful for it. Kitty tells me that I am merely being cynical, but that which dwells in the heart of women is different that what dwells in the heart of men. No man may deny that deeply nestled within him is the fear which will be his doom. Mine comes to me in my dreams as unbidden as this incessant wind, and mine is not likely to cease with the coming of spring?s warmth.

I came to the desert world in my dreams again. This world is the linking world, a world of endless seas of sand with endless possibilities. In this world there are endless possibilities. Where we go on from there all depends on our minds while we dwell their. Some people never make it out; they are destined to wonder the world?s ceaseless desert without ever understanding why they are their. When I was walking their, I myself new not where I was going, simply that I had to go their. Through the sands I began to realize that the possibilities of where I went from their were just as numerous as the many grains of sand on the world itself. How many worlds are their in truth?

I suddenly became very frightened at the idea that my world was only one of uncountable others; that everything that I loved was so inconsiderable on the scale of existence that I began that it truly did exist. I have always been a pious enough man throughout my life; I take my family to church every Sunday as my father took me when I was a boy, but at that moment I began - and not for the first time in my life I must shamefully admit - to doubt that the existence of God, our creator, our great benefactor, could ever be possible. How could it be that our prayers were ever heard; we are but one tiny grain of sand in an immense desert of sand which stretches over the infinity of a some world, and that world only one among millions, billions, uncountable others.

I staggered to my knees in the fit of weakness which followed these unwelcome thoughts. All that I was seemed to slip away and I became merely one more nameless wanderer of that nameless sea of sand which plagues my dreams. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, why would it? After all it was so small; so inconsiderate when compared with the rest of creation. I found myself slipping away, shrinking so that I was only the size of a grain of sand myself. I began to forget every thing; my memories drifting away without my notice. When I lay there in the sand with not even enough strength to focus my eyes on the cruelly bright desert sun, I forgot completely who I was, or rather I came upon the cruel realization that I never was anyone to begin with; no longer did I have a name or did I ever have on that I could remember calling myself by. The coldness spread throughout my mind, leaving my motionless body numb, and for the first time I realized how exceptionally this world was for all that it was an endless desert. I did not care; it was only the fleeting thought, the unobjectionable observation of a man who was losing his consciousness.

That was when I realized that I was dying. It seemed at the moment more of a relief that I would finally be released from some meaningless existence into a peaceful state of unconsciousness, but in order to have

OK, I'll end this madness by saying:

"Sunrise"
The sun rose over the sandy dunes of Meridia. It was a cool morning, not too warm and not too cold.

There is a little valley in Meridia, at the bottom of four large dunes. If you stood on the dune to the east, so that your figure would be silhouetted by the rising sun, you can find a path through the world. If you look directly at the sun, you?ll find a path leading towards the gate to Elsewhere. You can leave Meridia here, and travel to other worlds, other dreams.

But if you turn so that your back faces the sun, you?ll find a path leading down into the valley. And if you follow this path you?ll find an oasis.

There is a fountain there with water so clear it is like a mirror. There is also a bench. There was once a walled garden here, but the garden is overgrown and the walls have fallen to ruins. But there is shade, and a place to rest. The water is always cool, and will quench the driest throats of their thirst.

If you?re traveling through Meridia or Elsewhere, you may choose to stop at this Oasis, to reflect upon the past, before you move on to the future.

"An Ending"

The child wakes up. It is still dark outside. The air is chilly and cold, and the child can?t see what lies in the shadowy corners of the room. After staring for a while at a lamp which seems to be a face, the child gets up and runs into its mother?s bedroom, running and jumping into the bed and under the warm quilts.

The mother wakes up and asks what?s wrong, and the child complains of having a bad dream. The mother comforts the child and says not to be afraid. The child says there are monsters in the darkness. The mother promises that she won?t let the monsters touch her child.

Wrapped in the warmth of the mother?s arms, the child falls back to sleep, no longer caring about what lurks in the shadows.

Darkness does not hide in the shadows, waiting to jump out on you when your back is turned. Darkness hides inside you, waiting for your will to weaken to eat away your strength. The world that needs to be saved is not that outside, but that inside.

The story begins when time begins. It ends when time ends. Meridia is an idea. The era is a frame of mind. The age is now. Fate is a concept. Wyrd is a plan. Faith is a subconscious belief. Hope is duration. Troubles are real. Solutions are not always solid. The future is a liquid state.

The Apex is the decision. The savior is yourself.

Time passes but though it may shift the sand dunes from one place to the next, it may never touch your tale, your thread in the tapestry, your single grain of sand.

Your story is yours.

Life is a blank page. You hold the pen.