Prophecy Unfulfilled

“Sorry, this is the end of the line.” 

I held the boy close. I tried to do that with the people who made it this far. It was the least I could do, even though this one was bleeding all over my cloak. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I continued. “None of this is your fault.”

The human body had so much blood, even tiny humans like this boy. It was leaking from his shirt and dropping onto the floor, forming a crimson pool on the ground.

“It’s their fault,” I said. “The rebel priests. Your false king.”

A bubble of blood sputtered out of the boy’s mouth as he tried to form words. “Someone…will…stop you,” he wheezed. “They….they said…the prophecy…”

“Yes, my brother. With his prophecies,” I said, trying not to let the frustration in my voice. The boy didn’t deserve my anger. He didn’t deserve death either, though it was coming for him anyway.

“They know no one can kill me, particularly not a child, no matter what my brother may say.”

The boy gasped as I gently slid the knife out of his chest. 

“But they still send more. Hanging onto that hope. As if my reign hasn’t improved the kingdom, the world.”

The boy tried to say something else, but choked on his final breath.  I waited to wipe my knife on my cloak until after his eyes glazed. 

“They send children to kill a god.”

The Lair

It was a quieter sort of life, I supposed. I allow myself a chuckle. “Quieter” was merely relative, wasn’t it. Yes, for most of the people on this planet, my life would be far from quiet. But compared to my old bouts with Ironsoul, breaking up the occasional bar fight between Juster and Bullhorn was very, very quiet.

An Emerald City

                It is hard being green and magical. People don’t really understand you. Instead, they threaten you; they want you gone from their community. Your friends don’t understand you either.  The older ones mock you as they sit comfortably in the alcoves and balconies of life. The younger ones falsely try to imitate you – follow you around, taking notes on your every word and deed.  Some of your friends are monsters; other are daredevils and space aliens, flying monkeys, animals. How can you live with that kind of situation?

                People just wanna see a show. They want to be entertained. How can you do that when hecklers criticize your every move?  How can you do that when they won’t let you fly and soar as you were meant to do? They give you a broom stick, ordering: “Sweep the floor, green thing.”

                You are meant to be a star, to soar into the heavens! Yet, they fight you every step of the way.  They hold you back because you’re not like them.  You’re different.  You do not want to be a  mere puppet on strings of their demands.  Fly for me!  Do magic for me! 

                So, you try to fly, and still you’re not their favorite. Someone always comes along with Raven hair and a beautiful voice from over the rainbow. You feel disconnected. All the adoring fans have gone to her, their “Pretty”.  Oh, on how you want to get her, their pretty!  My pretty.  I’ll get her, and her little dog too.  What’s its name? Frollo or Rollo or Ralph or Barkley. 

                You had a dream.  You wanted to build it all up. You wanted to establish a media empire. An emerald city to which all would flock. But no one understands.  They only see the times that things go wrong; the times when people get hurt on the set through no fault of your own.  You tried to be careful; you tried to avoid accidents and mishaps.  In this industry, no one wants to break a leg.

                Yet’s what’s done is done. She’s as good as dead.

                We might as well. She would have wanted this. She wanted to feed the masses in one way or another. This is the best way, at least at this time.

                Don’t be shy everyone.  Have another slice of Miss Piggy Ham Sandwich!

Classic Muppet Lines

Just because you haven’t found your talent yet, doesn’t mean you don’t have one. Kermit the frog

As long as there are singing frogs and joking bears, Swedish chefs and Boomerang fish, the world can’t be that bad of a place. KTF.

It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice. KTF.

Trying to understand the behavior of some people is like trying to smell the color nine. Beaker.

Don’t take life so seriously. It’s not like you’re gonna get out alive. KFT.

I think the best way to find happiness is to stop looking so hard. KTF

Style comes in all shapes and sizes. Therefore. the bigger you are, the more style you have! Miss Piggy

Sometimes I question my sanity. But the Unicorn and gummy bears told me I’m fine. The Muppets

There is a direct correlation between the level of happiness in ones life and the amount of silliness in it. The Muppets

Relationship tip for men: when a woman says: “Correct me if I’m wrong but…” DO NOT DO THIS!! IT’S A TRAP!! Do not, I repeat, do not correct that woman!!! Animal (allegedly)

Be thankful for the bad things in life. For they open your eyes to the good things you weren’t paying attention to before. KTF.

I haven’t lost all my marbles, but there’s definitely a hole in the bag. Animal

The voices are back… excellent!  Animal

I don’t always herdy dur mur flerpty floopin.  But when I do, I yer der shmer dor her der foomty, der shoopin flerty dur.  The Swedish Chef.

I don’t care what you think of me, unless you think I’m awesome. In which case you’re right. MP

Make your weird light shine bright, so the other weirdos know where to find you. Gonzo

My alone time is sometimes for your safety.  Animal.

Maybe you don’t need the whole world to love you, you know . Maybe you just need one person. KTF

Someday we’ll find it. KTF

The attitude you have as a parent is what your kids will learn from more than what you tell them. They don’t remember what you try to teach them. Do you remember what you are. Jim Henson

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye. MP

Every journey begins with a single hop. KTF

Today me will live in the moment unless it’s unpleasant in which case me will eat cookie. Cookie Monster

I believe in Snuffleupagus.  The Muppets

Here’s some simple advice: always be yourself, never take yourself too seriously. And beware of advice from experts, pigs and members of parliament. KTF

You’re all weirdos. Sam the Eagle

With good friends, you can’t lose.  KTF

A Rural Farmstead

What’s done is done, she’s as good as dead.

Nothing to do now, but lay down her sweet head.

Can’t ignore the children, crying to be fed.

Oh that I could go, and be taken in her stead.

That Death would take me, and then would I be led.

Away from all the others whose lives I may yet shred.

I fear the next full moon, when vision turns to red.

I cannot leave the ones who count upon my bread.

But remaining here, I fear, brings risk of more bloodshed.

Were there others near to this little homestead.

Someone who could raise these dear little ones instead.

Perhaps I’ll tell the oldest, and warn him what’s ahead.

I will ask for Daddy Time, when next I’m filled with dread.

When next the moon shines bright, and be locked inside the shed.

And as a final precaution, to protect these dearly bred.

I will teach him how to sharpen the old axe’s head.

Surely Sherlock Shouldn’t Steal

“What’s done is done. She’s as good as dead.”

“Well, of course she is, there’s a knife in her head.

But what I’m asking; what I want to now know

Is who delivered the cruel fatal blow?

The fact she is dead is not really the issue

Now, now, Mrs. Smith, here, please, use my tissue.”

Wipe those tears, the crocodile kind.

Don’t think your displays take you off of my mind.

He eyed the group and the guilt on each face

They all wanted her dead, it was such a disgrace.

Her millions of dollars is what brought them here.

Not love nor loyalty, nor familial cheer.

Their greed, it oozed from every pore.

And if there’s one thing he knew, what he learned to abhor.

Was avarice and… their phony pretense.

Pretending to mourn. They must thing I’m dense.

The millions in cash was stashed in large cases.

Each member watched it with lust on their faces.

That moment, he broke, he didn’t know why.

But he took out his gun and watched them all die.

He carried the cash in several loads.

And left them dead as he entered the road.

No one would know, no mystery to crack.

Because the greatest of detectives would never be back.

The Werewolves’ Dinner

Thomas’ breaths were short as he sprinted through the forest, weaving between trees, running faster than he ever had before—he was probably faster than Usain Bolt, adrenaline igniting his entire body.

Parker’s blond hair bounced beside him as they both ran. The full moon’s light flickered above them through the thick, pine trees. The rounded the hill, glancing back above the trees. A little hut at the bottom of the hill staring back, a tiny light blinking inside.

Parker bent over onto his knees as he gasped for air, wheezing. Thomas just focused on the white puffs of air escaping his lips, trying to steady his thundering heart. After a moment of heavy, labored breathing, he turned to Parker. “We… W-We have to go back.”

Parker’s head whipped up, eyes wide. “What are you talking about? We can’t!”

“But Camie! She’s stuck back in that house! We left her and—”

“What’s done is done. She’s as good as dead, we can’t go back.”

“But—”

“Do you want to die, too, Thomas?” Parker stood upright, tears filling the brim of his eyes. “We can’t. I want to help Camie too, but we can’t. She’s probably gone by now anyway. It’s a full moon and those were werewolves. She’s dead.”

Thomas frowned, wanting to scream and punch Parker, but deep down, he knew he was right. He glanced back at the hut. I’m sorry, Camie.

…

“So,” Camie mused, sitting cross-legged on the floor, “next, you want to knead the bread for five minutes. Then you will take the chicken meat and coat it in your ranch mixture.”

The wolves, all crouching beside her, watched as she placed the kneaded dough in a bowl before taking the chopped chicken and mixed it into the thick, ranch dressing, their saliva dripping onto the floor as they patiently waited.

“After that, you can put in your chopped vegetables into the chicken mixture too. Then, you take small clumps of your dough, roll it out into thin strips like this, see?” She leaned a little out of the way so all the wolves could get a clear view. “Then you just dump a little of the chicken into it, fold, tuck, tuck, and tuck, and then place it on the tray to cook.”

“Amazing,” one of the werewolves murmured.

“What was this delicious thing called again?”

Camie smiled over her shoulder at them. “Chicken pillows! My brother absolutely loves it so we make it all the time at home.”

The wolves pulled away from her a moment, conversing with themselves. “She makes food.”

“good food.”

“Good food that could last longer than one night.”

“She should stay. Stay as friend and cook.”

“Hmm, yes,” they all agreed.

They returned to Camie, who still sat happily on the floor. “We want you to stay and cook for us.”

She grinned, laughing. “My family would get very worried if I never came home, but…” She frowned, thinking to herself for a moment. “How about this? I come over every Sunday and meal prep for the week with you guys? That way you don’t need to eat anyone and I can still come and see you all.”

They all nodded vigorously. Camie smiled, clapping her hands together as she rose to her feet. “Perfect! This will be so much fun!”

And that is the story how a pack of fifteen werewolves befriended a human girl, who lived to tell the tale. And anyone that didn’t believe her? Well, they got a firsthand experience of making chicken pillows.

Mark my Words

I walk through the decimated village, thinking of all the lives lost. Luckily, I don’t see any bodies on the main road, I’m not sure I could handle anymore bodies. The little huts are burnt and smoldering, the smoke rising to the already grey sky. I look down at the black ground and see the scorch marks of where the blaze began. Kenta and her men continue to walk in front of me, looking for survivors. The soldiers pick up wood and burnt cloth, and toss it unceremoniously into one of the makeshift piles. I walk toward one of the houses that still stands. There are no walls and barely a roof. It’s held up by the four wooden posts, one at each corner. There is a burnt cloth covering where the doorway should be. I pull the cloth aside and step in. What I see makes my knees weak.

The Taste of Blood

The memory burned like a wound in the pit of Jason’s stomach. No matter how much he drank he couldn’t shake the taste of bile. The taste of death. The taste of blood lingered. The man next to him was talking. All he could hear was a thunderous heartbeat in his ears. How were his hands their usual pale hue, where was the red? By the valor gods, where was the red. He choked back another drink. The taste of blood remained.

And the hunger remained. He tore into his third turkey leg but the hunger still clamored for more. It clamored for flesh. It clamored for blood. Blast it his hands were shaking. It wasn’t his fault. Blast it all it wasn’t his fault. He did everything he could. He didn’t want to kill that man. It wasn’t his fault. And yet, the taste of blood remained. It had been a long time since he cried, but tears burned at the edges of his eyes.

“I said, are you alright, mate?” Jason looked up to see the barkeep talking to him.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Last night was a turbulent night for all of us. Lady Fate is fickle. And last night she had a wonderful time ruining everything. No shame in being a little shook up. Many of us lost someone last night.”

“Aye. I lost someone, too. “ Jason spoke softly. He supposed that himself counted as someone. Blast it all he had been safe in the fey wild. He was free there. He found freedom much as a thirsting man views a fresh water spring. And now he found himself stranded in a desert.

“What was their name?” The bartender asked.

“Jason. A werewolf took him.” The bartender paused.  The taste of blood burned in the back of Jason’s throat.

“I’m sorry mate. I don’t have to words for that. Jaer over there lost a brother to the same thing last night.” The bartender gestured to a slumped over man in the back. Long grey hair fell over a scarred and weathered face. Jason shivered. He could see the brothers face in Jaer’s. Guilt seized Jason’s throat. He could see Jaer’s brother dying. He could taste his blood. The fresh memory tore into Jason’s mind.

“Before he succumbed to the drink he was talking of forming a posse to slay the beast. You should join him.” Bound paused. He should just confess right now. Perhaps a silver tipped crossbow bolt could make the taste of blood vanish.

“I can’t join the group. But tell them to get their weapons silvered. Thats not an old wives’ tale. They’ll be useless otherwise. The wolf will be more powerful on a full moon. If they can’t get a silver weapon, they should use holy water. It’s made from silver and will do in a pinch.”

“Right knowledgeable you are. How do you know all this?”

Because it was me. Bound choked down the words.

“I have made it a purpose of mine to hunt the evil beasts that walk the land.” The bartender paused. He seemed to be mulling over his words.

“I reckon that’s an important job. Now more than ever. Thank you for doing that. Tell you what, your meal’s on me tonight, and I have a handful of coins to help get you where you’re going.”

Jason couldn’t accept his kindess. The taste of blood wouldn’t let him. “No, don’t thank me. And I won’t take your money. Thank you. But I can’t” The man was right. The world needed people to slay monsters. What good would dying to a posse be?

He remembered the words Brunor had told him “Don’t fear death, boy. No use fearing what you can’t change. And don’t fear the death of your loved ones. No use fearing what you can’t change. Travel alone, it saves you from relying on someone, or growing complacent with sentiment. Fight well. Protect yourself. Bring down terror on whatever small corner of evil you can, and then die well.”

Someday he would answer for his sins. But before that he intended to even the scales in whatever way he could. He didn’t want to come back here. He knew being a werewolf could hurt someone. And it already had. And someday, he would die for that sin. Someday Jaer would find him. Someday he would slip up fighting something. Didn’t matter how. But blast it all he would make sure he wasn’t going out alone. He would enter the nine hells clutching a dozen other monsters. And the thought of turning himself in? What good would rotting in a prison cell be?

He would construct his own prison cell. If he was to right what he had done he couldn’t let anyone else get hurt. He would forge bindings around his life. He had to stop trying to drown out the taste of blood. He would use it. It could serve as a reminder. He would be wrapped in iron bands of discipline, bound just as surely as he was in a prison cell.

“What’s your name?” The bartender asked.

He wasn’t Jason anymore. Jason was dead. He was something else. He was a werewolf in the process of creating his own bounds. A thought occurred to him.

“My name is bound.”

He paid his tab and left. The taste of blood remained.