One Man's Prayer

A single fall down the stairs,

The husband thought it wasn't fair.

He blamed God for that day.

The man felt He took her away.

Yet several people got to live,

From the organs she did give.

Their lives were full once again.

The thanked the Lord, and said amen.

For what are prays but shallow words,

To ease the pain filled days.

For ever pray we think goes unheard,

Another ends in praise.

• 
  

It's the time of the Civil War.

A mother enters through the door.

The doctor takes her to the bed,

But it's not her son who is dead.

A moment later another comes,

Pity now, it is he son.

The first one cares nothing of her pain.

That woman's loss is her own gain.

For what are prays but shallow words,

To ease the pain filled days.

For every pray we believe is heard,

Another ends in pain.

• 
  

The missionary prays he'll stay safe,

As he teaches God's good grace,

But as the spear pieces his side,

He pleads, "Lord did you hear my cry?"

Those who watched, their hearts are changed.

They leave their old and bitter ways.

They take upon a cross to bear,

The message that the man had shared.

For what are prays but shallow words,

To ease the pain filled days.

For every pray we think goes unheard,

Another ends in praise.

Lost Story/The Library/Eternal Story ~*Part Two*~

Rick and Allie where companions for a long time. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves. Occasionally, they would bump into someone else. Typically they would part ways after a little while, and Rick and Allie would only have each other as company again. Though once they ran into a melancholy Jew who had lived during the renaissance who stayed with them quite some time.

Rick was also Allie's first romance, and most likely her only. Rick said it was his first as well, but Allie didn't believe him. He knew too much. He swore he got it all from a countless number of romance novels he had read.

"Right, and what is a boy your age doing reading romances why he could be reading action novels?" is what Allie wanted to know.

Rick had no answer to that, so he shrugged his shoulders and kissed her.

There was also a phase where they searched for a way out, it was right after Rick had kissed Allie for the first time. They had fun doing that, though mostly it was depressing. This was also the cause of their worst argument. Rick wanted to end the search much sooner than Allie did. He thought it was futile to continue searching, and that they should just settle for the existence they now had. Allie hadn't been there as long as Rick. Not having been down that road before she wasn't yet ready to give up all hope. The argument ended with Rick storming off. All the cried. It had felt so strange to have all the right emotions and to have her shoulders heave and her breath to come in short gasps, but for no tears to come. Rick eventually came back and while that wasn't their last fight, Allie never cried again at the end of one.

All that aside, they spent most of their time doing what anybody does in a library. They looked at books and read them.

Most of the time they would have competitions, to see who could pick out the best book, who could read through a stack of books the quickest, and many more. They would find books about famous people or about people they knew, read them, and wonder at being able to read the future of their friends and family. Allie once found a book about her best friend and it was both odd and interesting to find herself in the book as well. She put it back on the shelf when it mentioned her disappearance. All the while, she continued her look for the bookcase that would hold her last name.

"Want to find your own book, mm," Rick asked one time.

"What?" Allie asked. At the moment she was rather distracted. She and Rick lay on the floor, his arms were wrapped around her. It wasn't the most comfortable position but there were no beds, and it was better than standing up.

"Find your own book," Rick repeated. "You keep wanted to find the bookcase that 'as your last name."

"Oh," Allie said, "it isn't to find my own book. My mother's."

"Why your mum's?"

Allie related the story about her mother's disappearance. "Somewhat of a moot point," Allie said once she had told the story, "but I would like to know what happened to her."

Rick thought a moment. "Some thing as 'appened to you."

"Why do you think that?"

"From the way you talk about 'er, she doesn't seem the type to just take off. With this there is no choice. You're walking in a library, the poof, you're in this place. You're mum was in a library when she disappeared."

That hadn't occurred to Allie. "You're probably right," she said. She found she liked that prospect. She could find her mother's book, and with it probably find where he mother was in this huge library. They could be together again, forever perhaps in this suspended existence. Just Allie, her mother, Rick, and any other poor sap desperate for the company.

Allie snuggled up closer to Rick, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in a fairly long time.

***

As it happens, all good things must come to an end, and it got to the point in Allie's and Rick's relationship where the decided it was best if they left each other. They had been with each other for longer than humans were meant to. It wasn't that they constantly argued, or hated each other, they simply weren't fond of each other any more. They could never think of anything to say, they never felt like playing the reading games they use to, they felt nothing when they kissed. Hating each other would have been preferable. That was salvageable. it meant they still had feelings for each other. No, they were simply dead to each other. They said their last good byes and parted ways.

There was a small feeling of dissatisfaction for Allie after this happened. This was more due to her long for for what she and Rich use to have more than the fact he was gone. Parting ways simply affirmed the fact that what they once shared was no more.

Her search for her mother's book seemed to go much quicker. Without someone there to talk to there didn't seem much point in reading random books or play the reading games. A few times she would run into someone else, but they never remained companions for long.

Then Allie found the bookcase that bore her last name. Feeling real excitement, she rushed through the bindings on the books, looking for the one that said Prelesky; June. She found it. She took in a sharp breath, her finger resting on the binding of the book. Slowly, Allie drew the book from its place.

The book looked much liker her mother. Not too tall, but a comfortable thickness. It was bound in a green/yellow fabric. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, All opened the book.

At the top of the first page there was a note which said, "See Stewert; June." Allie had seen this before. It happened when the person the book was about used to have a different name. The events which happened to that person while they had their other name, would be somewhere else in a different book.

All read her mother's story, the story she had wanted to know for so long. Suddenly she let out a cry of pain and the book tumbled from her hands. She stood there for the longest time, clutching herself as if she would fall apart. Eventually she bent over and picked up the book. She slid it back to its spot. Turned out her mother wasn't there. June had abandoned her family, her life, and committed suicide. Simple as that. Allie didn't spend much time mourning her mother. Having existed for so long had left all of Allie's emotions dulled, and there was no point in feeling sad over the loss of what she never had.

'What now?' Allie thought to herself. Dimly she remember what Rick had said once, "Want to find your own book, mm."

Allie thought , 'Why not?' She was already in the right place for it. She went back to the beginning of the bookcase, now looking for Prelesky; Allie. She found it and began to read.

It first Allie read slowly, unsure of what to make of her own life. Then as she continued, she couldn't read fast enough. She stumbled over the words in the desperate need to choke them down. Her eyes darted across the page feverishly searching for the answer. The book knew her so much better than Allie did herself. She was fascinated by the telling of her story more than any other. The book reawakened the old feelings and emotions that Allie thought she had lost. She relived her life over again, hanging on to every word for dear life. Then she got to the part where she ended up in the library, and she once again felt her life turn dull and pointless. She reached the moment when she read her own story, and her passion flared up one last time, before it dimmed to a grey forever as she reached the end of what had happened to her, and came to what was happening to her right them. Still she kept on reading, and reading, and reading and reading, and reading. Even though the book only repeated its self, still she kept on reading, and reading, and reading, and reading.....

Lost Story/The Library/Eternal Story/ ~*Part One*~

Despite all those titles, I still haven't found one that suites me, (or as I feel the story.) If you come up with a good on, be sure to tell me.

Allie's finger tips brushed along the book spines. Some of them were old cloth bound hardcovers. Others shiny new paperbacks. Along with ever other book in between.

Allie pulled out a promising looking book. She read the description and the reviews. She flapped the pages back and forth, to let a slight paper scented breeze touch her face. After taking a deep breath, she put the book back to its place. She continued down the aisle.

As always, Allie was taking as long as she possibly could at the library. Her house wasn't a pleasant place to live, especially after her mother had disappeared. Most likely she ran away. It wasn't that Allie's father abused her, he wasn't even a bad person, but even the best man in the world can take only so much. Can take only so many job losses due to his lack of a degree since he had to leave high school early to help his father at the farm. A man could only take being called a lazy worthless idiot so many times before he became one.

The library was also the last place Allie had seen her mother. She remembered like it was yesterday.

Allie's mother, June, had left her daughter playing on one of the computers in the children's section. Each child was only allowed half an hour so that the other kids could play, so after half an hour, a librarian had come and told Allie to get off.

Allie had wondered the children's section for an hour or so before going to a librarian to ask about her mother. The librarian had taken Allie upstairs to look for June. She was never found.

Allie winced as she remember how her father had yelled the librarian to tears when he had come to pick his daughter up.

As Allie crouched low to get a good look at the books on the bottom shelf, a voice on an intercom said the library would close in fifteen minutes. Allie sighed and picked a random book to slip in her back. Most of the time this just got her books she didn't particularly like, yet a few of her favorites had been found that way.

'I wish I never had to go home,' Allie thought brushing the spines of the books lovingly. 'I wish I could stay here with the books forever. Where all hurts are healed and life is worth it.'

Allie walked out of the book cases and started down the center aisle between the rows of book cases. It led to the lobby where one checked out his books. Only as Allie walked along it, it seemed to go on forever. Leading always to more book cases. Allies' paced quickened, a small throbbing nervousness bubbling in her gut. Her faster pace got her no closer to her destination, just took her past countless books. With each book case Allie passed, her heart thrummed a little quicker, a little harder with true fear. The fear broke, taking control of Allies legs and sent her running through the aisles, taking random turns through the cases. She no longer cared where she went, as long as she could get somewhere else.

Eventually, Allie's fear had ebbed. She stopped running, breathing hard.

'Well, this is what you wanted,' Allie thought, 'to live in the library.'

Allie figured as long as she was stuck here, she might as well go exploring. The first thing she noticed was the book cases. Instead of being the backless part wood part metal contraptions they were more like traditional bookcases. Also the call number usually on the bookcases were engraved instead of being a sign of shiny plastic.

That though, held nothing on the books themselves. Many of them couldn't even be called books. There were tablets, and scrolls, and even thin strips of wood with writing on them. The more strange the 'book' it seemed, the more exotic the name of the author. Most of them were using characters she couldn't understand, but occasionally she would find one that used English letters. Not that she could pronouns those name any more than the other ones.

The 'books' also seemed to keep to the time the would have been written. One of the stranger books, the author's name was was written with ink, drawn with paint, or chiseled, while the more book like books had the typical white sticker with clear plastic over it.

How long Allie wondered the rows and rows of books she had not idea. Even though there wasn't a source for light it never changed. Allie never felt thirsty or hungry, or tired. All concept of time had been taken away from her.

One time, she found the spot where all the books of her favorite author were, even the ones with the copy right date set in the future. She sat down and read all of them in one sitting. Last of all the books was one where the author's name was the title. Allie had noticed that most of the books were like this.

Allie pulled out the book that bore the author's mane, and flipped to what normally would have been the copy right and dedication. This book didn't. It started on the first page with what Allie realized was the life of the author.

Allie looked up from her reading. Could it be that all the books were the call numbers were the same as the titles, were the stories of those people?

Suddenly, Allie had an idea. She jumped up and searched for her own last name. She had just past the twenty-second bookcase dedicated to Smith, when she heard someone speak.

"So 'ow long 'ave you been 'ere then?"

Allie stopped abruptly. The voice sounded young, with a really bad British accent. She looked all around herself, but couldn't see anybody. "Were are you?"

"Look up."

Allie did so, and there sitting on top of one of the bookcases, was a boy around fifteen or sixteen wearing a school uniform.

"Soooo," said the boy, "you're a Yank?"

"And you're a Brit," Allie retorted.

The boy smiled a crooked grin. "Crazy place, America. You from the states or the colonies?"

"Um, excuse me? I'm from the states, but...the colonies?"

"Sure, the colonies in Iraq. I know some Yanks think they're evil, but when you go in to a country trying to change it, you either got to go in and make it 'urt, or you got to colonize. You guys went in there with policing in mind and never came out."

Allie looked up at the strange boy for a few minutes, simply thinking. "What year did you...come here?" Allie asked.

The boy tilted his head to one side. His legs swung back and forth. "Not sure, it's been so long. Somewhere around twenty seventy."

Allie couldn't help but let out with a burst of nervous laughter. "I'm from twenty ten, no colonization yet. I've been here for a while, and if I was to compare it to regular time, no more than a week."

The boy leaned back, his palms braced against the top of the bookcase. "Yea, you'll notice that. Someone from long, long ago will just 'ad arrived when someone from the future would 'ave been 're forever. Not to mention the people from different places."

"By the way," Allie said after digesting all she'd been told, "what are you doing up there?"

"Oh," the boy blushed, "I love books and all, but eventually I got tired of looking at them. I climbed up 'ere and can't for the life of me get down. I've read all the books I can get from 'ere and dozens of times each. You've been the first new thing to do in...forever."

"Well I'll see if there's something I can do to help you down."

After much, much swearing, bickering, and sweating, (just a metaphor, they didn't actually sweat. Allie pegged it to the fact that nothing about their physical state seemed to change," the boy finally half climbed, half fell down the book case. After that they continued talking. Allie learned the boy's name was Rick, and he learned Allie's name. They talked about their lives before the strange library, they talked about the books they had read, and about how they would get back home. All the while Allie led them closer to the bookcase that would have her last name on it.

"You know," Rick said slowly after a lull had come into the conversation, "there is no way out. I've tried everything."

Allie looked at Rick, fully realizing exactly how long he'd been there.

"I've come to this conclusion at least a dozen times. Every time I keep the conclusion for a good long while, but then I read an inspirational coming of age book or something, and I'll start looking again. It's a terrible cycle. Avoid it if you can."

Allie nodded. "I'll try."

The Duel ~*Part two*~

For one terrible moment Eustace waited for the moon to turn black and the clouds to go dark. He waited for the flash of lighting and roll of thunder. He waited for the wrathful voice of God to condemn him, and for the devil's eager hands to grab him around the ankle and drag him to the fiery realms of hell.

Nothing but silence followed.

Eustace looked down at his hands, expecting them to be stained red, but found they were white. Whiter than usual, in fact. The blood seemed to be completely blanched from them.

Forcing his stiff hand to relax, Eustace dropped the pistol. He stepped over the weapon as he went to his-now dead-enemy. He reached the still body and looked down at it.

He expected to feel a rush of horror and disgust directed at himself, knowing he had banished the soul of another man from his body. Yet all he felt when he saw the bleeding body of Cadmus, was an overwhelming peace, and joy. He was free, free at last! Never had Eustace know such bliss.

Bending down, Eustace pried the pistol from Cadmus's cold hand. He inspected the gun, still unfired.

"Eustace!" Marcel cried, running towards his friend.

Eustace straightened up and smiled, sure Marcel was going to congratulate Eustace on his cleverness. Here he was breathing and his foe still forever. And Eustace had never been in any real danger at all.

"What have you done?" Marcel gasped in horror. With an expressing of complete disgust on his face he looked at the dead man. "How could you do such a terrible thing Eustace?"

"Terrible?" Eustace intoned. "How can you say what I have done is terrible? I have done nothing but rid the world of a filthy demon who dared call himself a man."

Marcel turned his gaze away from Eustace as if he was ashamed to look his friend in the eye. "I thought it awful enough that you wanted to end this, this way, with a duel. You should have been strong and ignored his bitter words. But this! This is an abomination."

Eustace groaned and pushed past Marcel. "Don't be ridicules. You know as well as I that there is no shame in killing a beast, which is what he was. And be strong?" at saying this Eustace's voice took on an edge of bitter cold. "What do you know of what calls me and how greatly it calls. I would rather like to see you be that strong."

"Now you even sound like him," Marcel let out in a wail. "You just now said what Cadmus said while he tried to convince you to murder me! Only you have twisted the words around."

"I am nothing like him," Eustace growled, while he glanced at Cadmus.

"You are! And your reaction is exactly what he would want if he were yet living and whispering vile words into you ear." Marcel paused for a moment and Eustace cut in.

"I am not where near as wicked as the animal you compare me to," Eustace said, his voice full of loathing, but for the dead man or his friend it was hard to tell. "I will leave this event behind me and be a better man for it."

As Eustace spoke those words a look of hope lit Marcel's eyes, "True, you are not as far gone as him yet. There may yet be hope. Get down on your knees and beg the good Lord's forgiveness. For surly if you do you will realize the greatness of you sin and you will be truly repentant!" Marcel's words became stronger has his his excitement grew. "Your soul is not yet gone, you still have a hope."

Eustace's eyes flashed with barely suppressed anger. "If a man were to tell me I did wrong upon this night, I would sooner nail him to the cross myself than ever get on my knees and beg for his forgiveness," he spat the word out like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

All hope left Marcel's face and a look of utter sorrow took its place. The words which came from his lips were both sad and gentle. Like the words spoken to a dieing man by a loved one. "Then you are truly dead. You have become the man you so despised."

The words which were so softly spoken caused Eustace to loose all his control. He lashed out at his friend, driving the butt of his gun into the side of Marcel's head.

With a cry of surprise and pain, Marcel fell back, dropping heavily to the ground. Eustace flung himself on the prone man. With his left hand, as his right still held the pistol, Eustace grabbed the throat of the man before him.

Marcel fought back. His body twisted and writhed as he struggled to be free. He jerked his arms, trying to yank off the hand that was trying to choke him. With his right hand he reached up and clawed Eustace's face, gouging shallow cuts on Eustace's cheek.

Eustace grunted in pain. His left hand was loosing its grip and soon Marcel would completely over power him. Eustace brought the pistol to Marcel's head, and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and Marcel ceased his thrashing.

Eustace spent a moment breathing heavily. He looked down at the glassy eyes of his friend and felt a sting of guilt, only to banish it before it had a chance to truly grip him. He did what he had to do.

Taking a kerchief from one of Marcel's pockets, Eustace wiped his hands clean of the black powder and some blood. Once he was done cleaning himself, he got up and went to his horse. He untied it from the tree it had been tethered to and mounted it, never once looking back.

***

It was only a few hours till dawn when Eustace unlocked the door to his home and walked in. The house was dark and still. He considered for a moment going to sleep, but for several reasons he didn't. He was not tired, he would wake his wife and she would scold him, and it wouldn't be long till he would have to wake anyway.

His nerves were a bit raw, so Eustace thought he would calm them by reading before starting the duties of the day. In the dim light provided by the moon's soft rays which fell though the window, Eustace lit a candle. The window was next to his favorite chair, and usually the natural light was enough to read by. He left the room, looking for a particular book. It was one Marcel had read and told Eustace it was complete nonsense, so the chance were that it was fantastic.

Eustace walked back into the room, book in hand. He walked in slightly distracted, reading the first few lines of the book. He looked up from his reading, and froze mid stride. There was Cudmas sitting in his chair.

Eustace tore his gaze away, telling himself that couldn't be right. Having convinced himself that his tired eyes were playing tricks on him, Eustace looked back, and sucked in another breath of surprise, though his heart slowed some with relief. Cadmus was not inside sitting in his chair, but rather outside looking through the window.

Eustace considered the possibility that is was someone other than Cadmus, but discarded it immediately. The blood shot, evil eyes, the sharp cheeks, the two scrapes along the left, the disheveled cloths...it was Cadmus.

Eustace crept forward, and Cadmus walked towards Eustace as well. Eustace paused, so did Cadmus. When Eustace once more started forward, Cadmus did as well.

Wondering what game Cadmus was playing, Eustace walked all the way to the window, staring at it intensely. Upon reaching it, Eustace realized with a start that it was not Cadmus he peered at, but rather his own face reflected in the window.

The Duel ~*Part One*~

One could say that the night was relatively bright and warm. The moon was full and there was the slightest cloud cover trapping some of the warmth which had collected over the day. yet for the benefit of casting the right mood of this tale, I shall say the night wad dark, and bitterly cold...

***

"Are you sure you wish to proceed," Marcel said as he got down from his horse and went to help his friend.

"I can get myself down," Eustace snapped. "you are my friend, not my servant. And yes, I am sure I wish to go on."

Marcel shook his head and sighed. "But why? Why do you not forgive the man and not run the risk of a bullet through you heart?"

"Did not you ever read stories as a child," Eustace cried, "from them you learn good always wins, always prevails, even if it is form luck.

'I have read such stories,' Marcel though, 'but who is fighting for good in this one, and who is fighting for evil?'

Silently they waited for Eustace's opponent to arrive. Eustace, of late a nervous man, paced, his fist clenched and his breath heavy. His eye darted looking for that face they knew far too well. A face where the cheekbones protruded from a sick yellow face and staring out from sunken sockets were orbs of obsidian. The eyes seemed to reflect the evil state of the soul which belonged to the man cursed with such a hideous face. The man was known as Cadmus.

But is was not by sight Eustace first noticed Cadmus.

"Hello Eustace," slithered the thick oily voice.

Eustace abruptly stopped his frantic pacing. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a chill went down his spine. A well timed breeze blew, rustling the leaves on the trees which surrounded them. From behind one of these trees, Cadmus stepped out.

As always, Cadmus's eyes were blood shot and he had two ragged scraps on his left cheek. never did they heal, they were always open, and oozing clear fluid and blood. His cloths were nice, but worn in a disorderly fashion. He always looked as if he just got in a fight.

As he came closer, Cadmus smiled his alluring smile. The one that encouraged Eustace to do wicked things. The smile Cadmus always used when whispering evil thought into Eustace's mind. Go to the blond girl, your wife will never know. One more trip to the opium den won't make that large of a difference. Take the money, you need it more than the man who worked for it.

"Marcel, you brought the pistols?" Eustace said, sharply turning away from the sight of his personal serpent.

Out of one of the saddle bags, Marcel provided a unadorned wooden box. Eustace reached out for it eagerly. "Give it to me!" he demanded sharply.

Marcel held the box close. "Eustace as a colleague I advise you not to go through with this. Absolute nothing good can come from this."

"Nonsense," Eustace said, his hand inching towards the box.

"As a friend I beg you to not proceed," Marcel continued, more passion in his voice. "You have done terrible things, Eustace, and that man has led you to them all. Do not give this man the satisfaction of blood on your hands."

Eustace tore the box from Marcel's hands. When he spoke again his voice held they warning of a hiss that a snake makes before he strikes. "That man has never done anything but tempt me to do wickedness. The only being who spends all his time causing others to sin is the devil. He belongs in hell, and that is where I plan to send him tonight."

"What if you loose?" Marcel cried, pleading, grasping at straws, anything to stop the sin of his friend.

"I will be sure I won't," Eustace said flatly. He held the box reverently in his hands as he sharply walked away. He walked in a slow steady march until he reached Cadmus. Eustace opened the box, and displayed the contents to the villain.

Cadmus reached inside the box and took out one of the guns. "These are nice," Cadmus said, rolling the words on his tongue. "Tell me, where did you get them?"

"That is no business of yours," Eustace said.

"Genuine dueling pistols," Cadmus commented as he loaded the gun. "I have only seen a few sets actually used. Most of the time men have them simply for show. Have you used these before?"

"No," Eustace answered. "you are the first."

"But not the last," Cadmus chuckled. His eyes drifted around lazily. "I couldn't help but over hear you and your friend talk," he said as Eustace gave him the box.

Eustace loaded his own pistol, ignoring the talk of his foe.

Cadmus leisurely threw one arm over Eustace shoulders. "He is going to try to stop you again," Cadmus whispered coolly. "You know how tight his scruples are. Perhaps you should stop him before he has a chance to stop you."

Eustace stared at the pistol in his hand. "What do you mean?"

"Can you not see what is right before you!" Cadmus cried, drawing Eustace close. "The reason I have such a hold on you is because I simply tell you your desires. I is the man whom you call a friend that you war against. He is always telling you what is right and wrong. Who is he to say what is wrong and right for you?" You see, it is not I who is your foe," Cadmus pointed at Marcel, who stood several feet away, "but him whom you should duel. "

Eustace looked up at Marcel. At the sight of his closest friend, his anger flared. He felt ever word which Cadmus had spoken to be absolute truth.

"These pistols only hold on bullet," Cadmus hissed into the ear of Eustace, "Why waste it on me?"

Eustace looked down at the pistol in his hand. He held it tightly. H raised the gun and aimed it at Marcel. He had such a compulsion to pull the trigger and let the bullet rear through the flesh of his 'friend.' He saw it all so clearly now. His finger brushed past the trigger, lying there, waiting.

Eustace took a deep breath and with a trembling hand lowered his gun.

"No," he said with a shuddering voice as he realized what he had nearly done. "I have come here for you."

Cadmus clicked his tongue against his teeth and jerked away from Eustace. "Very well then. " He stood facing away from Eustace. "Will you friend be the mediator?"

"No," Eustace said. "I barely got him to come. He wishes to have no part in this.

"Ten paces I assume then?"

Eustace faced back to back to Cadmus, the other mans shoulder blades brushing against his own.

"yes," Eustace answered, swallowing a lump which had suddenly formed in his throat.

"One..." Cadmus said, taking a casual step.

Eustace echoed him as he stretched one shaking leg in front of him. His knees trembled, threatening to fall under his weight.

"...two..." Cadmus said, a smile in his voice. "...three..."

Marcel's words and pleas ran through the mind of Eustace. As your college, as your friend, I beg of you...

"...four..." came the insistent counting of Cadmus.

Eustace could no longer see. His vision blurred till every shape and color ran together. Still, he put one foot in front of the other, feeling his way along.

"...five, six..."

What if you loose?! Marcel's question ran in Eustace's ears, and he heard his own mocking voice reply, I will be sure I won't.

"...seven..."

His heart thudded loudly. His breath came in short gasps.

"...eight..."

In a single motion Eustace whipped around and fired his pistol. The sound that issued from the gun flew madly in all directions, then was swallowed by the night. The figure of Cadmus froze in mid stride, and then crumpled.

Under the Old Oak Tree

In the late spring time,

Under the old oak tree,

A young boy pushings,

A girl on a wooden swing.

Right now they're only friends,

But this is not the end.

Under the old oak tree.

In the summer time,

Under the old oak tree,

A young man kisses,

A girl who is a beauty.

Right now they're only dating,

But if they just keep waiting,

Under the old oak tree.

In the autem time,

Under the old oak tree,

A man says, "I do."

The bride says, "I agree."

They are starting a new life,

The groom and his lovely wife.

Under the old oak tree.

In the winter time,

Under the old oak tree,

A man all alone,

Is praying on his knees.

'Cause his heart broke when she died.

All he wants to do is cry,

Under the old oak tree.

See what I mean, depressing. Most of my poems are like this. Makes me wonder if I'm depressing.

Hello world, I'm new.

This is a monumental event. This is a once in a life time happening. An occurrence so exciting and rare that years from now people will still be talking about it. What can this even be? Well, as much as I like stringing along the suspense, I will tell you . I will tell you about this amazing and astonishing thing. I will tell you before your head explodes with the acute anticipation to know what it is that could be so important.

I relish the thought of your joy when you discover the knowledge that will enlighten you to such a high extreme. So without farther ado I will tell you this most amazing, and exciting, and incredible thing that I can't wait to tell you. The very idea of telling you sends me in an excited tizzy, for it is one of those things that excites the teller in telling.

This feeling is epically sharp for me for I love to write stories and poems, and such things. Part of writing is having a reader at the other end, and the feed back is half the joy of writing. That is why I made this blog in the first place. I enjoy writing everything I write, but it still feels unfinished until someone reads it. Why bother writing it on paper at all and not just in your head if no one is ever going to read it?

Mostly I write fantasy, (not fairy tales, fantasy! Action fantasy!) though several of my short stories are real life or simply have supernatural touches. True fantasy takes a whole other world to exist in, (even if it is just our world with some changes,) and there isn't always time in a short story to explain a whole other world in which magic is real.

I also enjoy writing poems. Sometimes though, I will have a million ideas for poems, and at other times I am so devoid of inspiration that I could not write a poem even if it was a couplet that didn't have to rhyme. Sometimes they're about love, sometimes they're moral lessons, sometimes they're about life, sometimes they don't make sense, but mostly they're depressing.

Other post will be like this one. Me just rambling on about nothing. Or they could be a story from my life, or both where I use a story of my life to illustrate a thought I have.

Oh, you're probably wondering about amazing, monumental thing I was talking about earlier in this post. Riiiight. Almost forgot about it. It's my first blog post, on my first blog. This one.

Bye.