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There is not a single day here in the village of Maroź. Night followed by constant night is all the townspeople know. Daytime is a myth, a legend at this point. Not a single soul alive has seen, or felt the sun on their face. Cold dreary days are all that we have to look forward too. Until the prophecy of old is fulfilled that is. The elders in our village have passed down this tale for decades. A young man on his 21st birthday will come into his magic and enter the spirit realm where he will stand the test against time. He is to save the Sun Goddess who has been lost to the spirit realm, a prisoner of the dark spectral world. She has been gone for so long, no one believes in her story anymore. The start of the end of this tale, begins now. The rain was beating so hard upon the ceiling, the wood slats couldn't squeeze tight enough for the moisture to not penetrate. The liquid, making its way down the posts, dropped onto Koulders face. Waking him for the tenth time that night. He just wanted to sleep past midnight and get his birthday over with. Ever since his mother passed away he has not had much motivation to enjoy these days. He decides to sit up and think. It was all he was good at anymore. It didn't get him very far nor did it get his mind off hard subjects. Trauma was his way of life, all he knew. All he would ever be. He would have laid back down and drifted off had it not been for a short rap on his door. Filled with a sense of anxiety at a social visit, Koulder made his way to the door. There stood a hooded figure drenched from the nights torrents. Koulder slammed the door shut and locked it. He didn't know who that was and he wasn't prepared to find out. He just wanted to go back to sleep. Another rap much louder then the first sent him throwing the door open and demanding the visitor state his business. The hood came down. There stood a woman of middle age, with long brown locks tied up in a bun. She stated she was cold wet and hungry and asked if Koulder could help her. Unable to turn the poor creature away he invited her in. Once inside the woman was no longer a mere woman. A sorceress, old and evil and of the spirit realm had just entered his domain, knowing very well who Koulder is and the prophecy he doesn't know, that's about to kick in. She attacks Koulder with his back to her, holding him by his neck against a wall. He doesn't know what to think everything happened so quickly. She is too strong to pry off of him and the evil dead stare in her eyes was all too much for him Koulder passed out from the anxiety of the situation. Waking up, Koulder is surrounded by a thick white fog. He is not in the dwelling he knows so well. Feeling full of energy all of a sudden, he gets up to investigate. As he stands he here's a woman scream. Wanting to investigate he heads to where he heard her. Flying ghostly apparitions appear left and right, Koulder is realizing he is in the spirit world that his master had warned him about. Go head to head with a Banshee and she could send you to the spirit world where it's hard to remember who and why you are while she she dines on your body in the waking world. Koulder was lucid enough to remember his masters words. His magic hadn't grown in him yet so he was unprotected in a hostile world. Reaching the area he heard the scream he is blinded by a light so bright he can't even comprehend what it is. Behind the light, the silhouette of a very beautiful and naked woman stood trembling. She sees Koulder and begs him to leave before the Tempest returned. An evil old banshee more powerful than the simple monster he has encountered. Seeing her standing there vulnerable broke something inside him. In just a short time Koulder, who has surely turned 21 by now, was rudely awoken by the angry leaking sky, attacked by a banshee and sent to a creepy land to come across a beautiful naked angel and she is terrified. Too much has happened to make him just turn away. Focusing and breathing, he can feel the power surge inside him. Something is awakening. He won't run. He will get his peace and rest. He will save this woman. Knowing the realm has a portal from past stories, Koulder and the mysterious woman set out to find it. Aware the tempest could catch them at any moments notice. Before the left he set a trap for the old banshee so she wouldn't be able to follow them. The bright woman told a story as old as time itself tho it felt like hours to her. She was kidnapped from her home in the sky. Forced to live in darkness so the banshee could have full domination in the dark. She was the Sun Goddess. Recognizing Koulder was the man to fulfil the prophecy, the bright lady touched his forehead. Power shot out of his head and into the sky above him, illuminating the space between them. He was the lamp to her light. Thru the portal she kills the banshee and together they bring the sun back to a world lost to the dark for way too long.
Though he was tall, quite fair in complexion, His cerulean gaze was lowered in humility, For he was filled with the shame of poverty; Viewed he himself as nowhere near perfection. Life was a stagnant river of constant rejection. Dismay gnawed at his sad soul in brutal enmity. Wealth he lacked, but rich he was in sagacity. In the company of peers, he feared humiliation. Yet, in the radiance of dawn he arose with hope, Laughed about the sole of his shoe gaping so wide. ‘Much to be grateful for' was his personal creed. His heart filled with faith that again he would cope, Face travails, shoulder challenges and never hide From anything, as God provided for his every need. Image: Fernando Photography (www.unsplash.com)
Once upon a time, amidst the gentle embrace of rolling hills and flourishing meadows, there existed a quaint little town where dreams bloomed like wildflowers in the springtime breeze. In this picturesque haven, resided a young man named Thomas, whose heart danced to the rhythm of nature's melody, and whose aspirations soared like kites against the boundless sky. Thomas was a soldier, serving his country with honour and bravery. He had been deployed to a faraway land, leaving behind his family and loved ones. It had been months since he had seen his parents, his siblings, and his sweetheart, Emily. Every day, Thomas would anticipate with bated breath the arrival of a letter from home, yearning to embrace the familiar voices and to bask in the tender warmth of their affection conveyed through ink-stained pages. Those letters became his lifeline, weaving a delicate thread that tethered him to the life he had bid farewell to. And then, one evening, as the sun descended in a blaze of fiery colours, casting the world in a surreal glow, a letter arrived, carrying with it the whispers of home and the embrace of loved ones from afar. With trembling hands, Thomas delicately tore open the envelope, his heart pounding with anticipation as he unfolded the precious parchment within. As his eyes scanned the graceful curves of his mother's handwriting, a wave of emotion crashed over him, stirring the depths of his soul. Tears welled up, blurring the lines of the heartfelt message that spoke of love, longing, and an unyielding sense of pride. In her words, he found solace amidst the vast expanse of distance, as she painted a portrait of home with every stroke of her pen. She reminisced of the warmth of his presence, the echoes of his laughter that once filled the empty spaces of their abode, and confessed how each passing day felt incomplete without his familiar embrace. And amidst her words, a flicker of hope burned brightly – a candle lit in the darkness, a silent prayer whispered on his behalf, illuminating the path that would one day lead him back into her loving arms Thomas clung to every word, each syllable a lifeline to the world he had left behind. With each sentence, memories unfurled like delicate petals, saturating his senses with the essence of home. He could almost taste his mother's freshly baked apple pie, warm and fragrant from the oven; hear his father's jovial laughter echoing through the halls, a comforting melody that resonated deep within his soul; and feel the gentle pressure of Emily's hand intertwined with his own, a tangible reminder of love's enduring embrace. In the intimacy of those written words, he found solace and sanctuary, the letter becoming a cherished portal that transcended time and space, whisking him away to the familiar comforts of home, if only for a fleeting moment. In response, Thomas dipped his pen into the inkwell, each stroke a testament to the emotions swirling within him. With each word carefully crafted, he poured his soul onto the parchment, laying bare his innermost thoughts and feelings. In the gentle dance of his handwriting, he shared the tapestry of his experiences – the camaraderie forged in the crucible of conflict, the whispered confessions beneath starlit skies, and the resilience that blossomed amidst the chaos of war. He spoke of the breathtaking landscapes that stretched before him, each vista a painting etched in the memory of his heart, and the indomitable spirit of humanity that flickered like a beacon in the darkest of nights. And as he penned his hopes for the future, he painted a portrait of a world bathed in the golden light of possibility, where peace reigned supreme and love knew no boundaries. As days melted into weeks, and weeks into months, the passage of time became a blur, each moment merging seamlessly into the next like colours blending on an artist's palette. Each sunrise whispered of new beginnings, while every sunset whispered of endings, weaving a tapestry of memories that stretched across the canvas of our lives. Thomas continued to exchange letters with his family, each one bringing him closer to his loved ones, even though they were physically miles apart. The letters became a lifeline not only for Thomas but also for his family, who eagerly awaited news of his well-being and clung to the hope of his safe return As the war's echoes began to fade, a letter arrived that shimmered with the promise of a new dawn. It bore the name of Emily, Thomas's beloved, whose words danced across the page with an effervescence that mirrored the joy in her heart. With each sentence, her excitement leapt off the parchment, painting the air with hues of love and anticipation. Thomas's heart, heavy with the weight of separation, now soared on wings of elation as he absorbed the news of their engagement. In that moment, time stood still, and the distance between them melted away into nothingness. His longing for Emily's
Warrick propped up the soft pillows behind his granny's head as she lay like a gaunt specter of her previous spirited self in her deathbed. And deathbed it was indeed. At nineteen, Warrick knew death when it looked him in the face. He had become all too familiar with it when his mother had wasted away from cancer of the stomach two years ago. “My boy,” Kathy wheezed, fondly squeezing Warrick's hand with the last of her strength. “I'm so sorry you're burdened with me,” she added, tears flooding her faded eyes. Guilt overwhelmed her frail body, making her curl even further into herself. She was grateful that the agony that wracked every part of her broken body seemed suspended for now. “You're not a burden, Granny!” Warrick said , looking into the old woman's watery eyes. He was afraid to sit on the bed for fear of causing her any discomfort or hurt. “You were there for me when Mom passed away, and you've always looked after me even before that, so this is nothing. I can never repay you, so don't think or say you're burdensome to me. You're my blessing.” His words nearly undid the old woman's hold on her emotions. “I'm going to prepare supper now, all right? I managed to borrow a can of peas from Brian's mom. We've still got carrots and potatoes, so I'll make us a stew. I think there's enough rice left for one pot,” Warrick said, hating the fact that they were truly living on the edge of poverty. “Since this terminal illness struck down my granny,” Warrick said to Brian later that night, “I've had to become caregiver, cook, house cleaner and nurse. You know my dad abandoned us when I was only eight, and my mom slaved all her life as a domestic worker to provide for us,” Warrick added. Brian was his school mate; they were more like brothers than friends. “With your granny becoming ill, looking after her fell on you. You can't even look for a job 'cause your granny needs constant care,” Brian commiserated. “Is there any hope for her recovery?” “None. At our last hospital visit, her doctor told me to ‘make her as comfortable as possible' here at home. How can anyone who's dying so slowly ever be comfortable?” Warrick asked, covering his face with his hands, his shoulders hunched forward. “It's bad, bro. I don't know if I could've handled this, to be honest,” Brian said. He reached out to give Warrick's shoulder a long squeeze before going home. Kathy had heard the conversation between the two boys. By some quirk of the night or fay life, their hushed words had reached her clearly as she lay statue-still, imprisoned by her bed. She felt some remnant of fury trying to bubble up from her breast, anger that she had become this weak when before she had been energetic, industrious and a whirlwind of movement. Being this incapacitated often made her feel wrathful, but she swiftly smothered the emotion. It would only bring on the vicious barbs of pain. Her medication sat on her bedside table, within easy reach. Warrick is truly thoughtful, she thought, then she started to cry softly. He doesn't deserve to have his life placed on hold because of me, the bitter thought flitted through her mind, superseding the twisting, torturous pangs running amok throughout her body. As the last rays of the setting sun peeped through a chink in her bedroom curtains, Kathy slowly, painfully, sat up in bed. She reached for the morphine pills. With immense determination, she poured all the pills into her cupped hand. Closing her eyes, she prayed one final time. Forgive me, God. I know I'm damning my soul forever, but I would rather do that than have Warrick sacrifice another day of his young life. With a trembling hand, Kathy gripped the glass of water. She looked lovingly at her bedroom, at the knickknacks on her dresser, the antique wooden wardrobe her husband had made himself ages ago, her rocking chair next to the small, round reading table on which a novel waited for her to finish reading it for probably the twentieth time. She smiled wanly as she recalled the joy she had experienced upon first reading the book; that happiness had only increased with all the other subsequent readings. 'Gone with the Wind', by Margaret Mitchell. I have no regrets, except one. I'll be leaving Warrick sole alone in this cruel world. May he forgive me. Closing her eyes again, tears seeping from under her closed eyelids, Kathy brought the pills to her mouth. A warm, soft touch arrested her cupped hand. Kathy's eyes flew open in surprise, only to see Warrick standing in front of her. His cheeks were moist with his trailing tears. The forlorn look on his face broke her heart anew. “Granny, this isn't the way. God will ease our suffering. We only need to hold on to our faith and believe in His mercy,” Warrick whispered before carefully enfolding the tiny, fragile frame of the old woman in his strong, youthful arms. “My sweet, sweet angel,” Kathy breathed softly.
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