Buffer

… Is someone following me?

I think I can see them in the corner of my eye, they stalk me like a jackal.

The sound of my pounding heart overrides me, making me move into the alleyway.

I can’t stand it anymore, “Leave me alone!” I cry out.

As I back up to the wall; the streetlight over me begins to screech, covering me in ever-brightening fluorescence before it finally buffers into a ghostlight.

It’s dark now, and I am paralyzed with fear.

I can see a shadow on the wall, I begin to make out its face.

It’s me.

I feel my hand touch mine.

Silence.

Depart

Most of Austin’s memory had/had/had just started to depart.

Natasha has been beginning to fade,

Austin wanted them back -- A love now lost. 

Austin dared of resurrection. 

The thing is; 

Growing hope can’t be impartial.

The revival shattered, 

The art from the protest lies tragically sorrow in the dark.

Austin getting silent. 

Weeping scattering ashes. 

Hurting overnight. 

And the witchcraft witnessed.

Love wasn’t enough.

The Four Horsemen traveling en route to Austin’s house.

The Black Angels appeared and cut, crushed, scarred, divided, wired and carried Austin into The Forge of Blackstar.

Repose

Szymon walks her pilgrimage among the silver desert. Her follower, Alun, following her in her footsteps.

She stops for a moment to rest on a boulder, dark shadows sink deep below her eyes and her face has only gotten older. She sits in silence.

Alun enquires to Szymon; “We’ve been walking for so long now, Szymon. What lies ahead for us? For you?” Szymon, unmoving, replies “Pain, Torment, Misery, and then finally, Death.”  She rests her temple on her hands. "That's what's waiting for us in the end of our jouney."

Alun pauses to reflect on this response. “... So why?” he musters, “What’s the point?” Szymon then finally turns to Alun, looking at him directly; their eyes meeting, she speaks firm yet humbly: “Because it is my faith, it is my virtue, and it is my destiny. I must follow this path, for I know it to be good and true.”

The two sit in silence.

Couple

I had finally returned home. I stepped up to the door and I already got hit with

the waft of Penny’s cooking. I think it's a stew? Certainly smells savory. I open the door into our condo and step in.

“I got your papers, Penny.” I brought home a magazine she wanted.

She was over in the kitchen, standing over the oven and stirring something in the pot. I’m sure it’s this meat and potato stew she tried to make a while back, I hope she gets it right this time.

“Hm? Oh, just put them on the table!” and I did just that.

“You’re making that stew again?” I walked up and hugged her, “Y’know, I

would’ve preferred a wife that was a little bit better at cooking...”

She smiles, “We can always go back to *your* cooking if you don’t like mine, Joe.”

“Uh huh, yeah, like we’re doing that.” The both of us chuckle a little.

“...Are you doing anything different this time?” I ask. It definitely looked better, I felt a little bad for saying she wasn’t a good cook.

“I’m actually trying to stick to the recipe this time, I’m hoping it turns out better.”

I look over into the pot; a boiling brown broth with chunks of meat and potatoes floating around. Already looks much better than the weird beige it was last time.

“Oooh. Looks better already!” She seemed to glow a little more when I said that, I’m glad that she’s in my life.

Slip Born

I drive in my old town; my home, the lake I used to live by.
It’s comforting to me — nauseating, it’s pulling me apart. The view is sereine.
I drive around in circles for hours, watching as daylight coasts into the orange night as I circle the crystal lake.
I, numbed and mindful, time the moment I let off the pedal, and allow for my car to decide for itself as it coasts into cyan sea.
In the moment of truth, I slip into subspace.

The Stranger

The Stranger (Strange-Babe)

[...] Oddly, there exists an objective sense of morality in Over-World. Through either inherit rules that are embroidered into the fabric of existence or through the injection of a being beyond us, Good and Evil are tangible forces that are at play within the wider game of the universe. Nothing is more evident of this than the continued existence of the Stranger. -- Across all world faiths and cultures there exists this idea of the reincarnating avatar, or a virtuous figure that embodies goodwill. While the Stranger varies from incarnation to incarnation, they all follow three unifying traits: A) They only act in the interest of the people, (though what this means can vary), B) They will appear suddenly and at a time when he is needed and/or called upon, and C) No matter what, they are always destined to accomplish their “mission”. [...] 

-- Quote from Alexander Treshkenov.

Capabilities:

Composure — ???

Action — ???

Malice to Righteousness — ???

Perception — ???

Vigour — ???

Culture — ???

lever love void man

There is a man out there, somewhere in the void.

Every waking moment he works, pushing a blue, chalky lever.

Moving forward, pushing forward, moving the wheel of time.

A perpetual, repetitive life. A job with no foreseen end.

It makes him tired, it makes him exhausted, a never ending labour.

There’s nothing else for him here though, in this realm of non-existence.

There is a purpose to the work, a meaning to the lever.

It is the hand-crank of reality, the pendulum of time.

And to cease this activity would bring reality to an end.

Therefore the wheel has an excuse for being a justified labour;

For without a worker to tend to it, a volunteer for the void,

All of reality would plunge into a sort of non-existence.

He had a life once, a human life. Below the void.

A life where he breathed in a normal air, working a human labour.

But that life was long ago, a life that already came to an end.

He now works in the abyss, breathing in an air of non-existence.

Restrained to his duties, occupied by the blue chalky lever.

Tending to its needs, tending to the engine of dust and time.

This is not a punishment, mind you. He was never chained to the void.

He does this by his own volition, his own inflicted labour.

Choosing to abide by his duty, he’s happy to prolong his time

Stuck here in the inky abyss, in the house of the lever.

As grueling the work may be, with no sight of any end,

He is happy to do it, for the alternative is non-existence.

Sometimes he slips, and in an instant; everything freezes in time.

When he does so, he apologizes profusely, apologizing to a void.

He stammers back to work, resuming back into his labour.

Although no one else seemed to have noticed the moment of non-existence,

It felt as if to the man, he had brought reality to its end.

So he continues to push the blue chalk lever.

He runs the machine. To no break, to no end.

He circles the machine. Commiting to the chalky blue lever.

He pushes the machine. Drenched in sweat, and alone in the void.

He accompanies the machine. Abiding to his labour.

He surrounds the machine. Denying the people below their non-existence.

He cares for the machine. Tending to his wheel of time.