Orion
was finally invited to join the Wild Hunt. Oberon and Titania took pity on him,
tried to be helpful, but Cernunnos snubbed the visiting god as much as
possible.
The rose patch
by the fence grew better than any of the others. She smiled, sniffing deeply of
their funerary scent. She'd need to plant more bodies before she set up the
next garden.
Every snuggle and cuddle and play time is a living reverie.
With over twelve years together, we have plenty of times to remember.
Shilax was an ancient
dragon, covered in scars, with many generations of descendants. Regal, cruel,
and wise, it was always amazing to watch her frolic in valleys of spring
flowers.
"Time for more willow
water," I tell my tree. She's a great grandmother of a beauty, long
branches trailing in the stream behind my house. Every now and then, she lets
me take some of her tips to help make my other plants grow. What would I do
without her?
She sat behind them on the train, listening to them
complain about all the wrongs of society, and how unfair life was, and knew
they'd never known a moment of true struggle.
She touched one of her scars; passing through the crucible
was the only way to remove weakness.
She stared at their forest of concrete and glass, filled
with mindlessly milling creatures riding in their glass and metal conveyances.
They didn't understand the injustice that had been perpetrated upon the natural
world. She would teach them.
Found scrawled in the margins of A Slayer's Guide to
Dragon Hunting: NEVER go for the belly. Tough as oak, it is. But the wings are
vulnerable as you could ask.
Of course, then you have to deal with a grounded AND
pissed off dragon.
She counted their money twice, did the calculations for
gas, food, and the cost of admission. She looked at him, barely able to contain
her excitement. "We can head the aquarium this weekend."
They didn't have much money, just a fortune in
experiences.
I pull the braid tighter
around his throat. He sighs, arching his back, pulling against his restraints.
"Now the real fun begins."
He slammed the door and ran. No way the dragon could reach him
down here. He'd be safe, unseen, and could wait until it left. Distant roars
shook the stones, then came silence.
Then came the heated air, the slowly glowing rocks. He
would die in a sea of magma.
Elf kneels by the rose bushes. "I love the feel of
soil beneath my
hands. The touch of leaves against my face. The smell of blossoms on the
wind."
Dragon snorts, derisive. "Where are the flames and
death and crunchy bones?" "Could you at least try?"
"Neat dog! Does he do any tricks?"
I made eye contact with Conn. He snorted, disdainful,
and looked away. Humans were like this, assuming anything with four legs was
some simple pet. Ignorant. "He knows how to make you disappear." Conn
bared sharp fangs.
It's a long hunt. I need the correct vessel for this
spirit. She hasn't had a body in far too long, but we're both patient. We
browse car lots every day. I want something efficient, she wants something
muscle.
We only agree that a Plymouth Fury is
too obvious.
Embraced too young, right on the cusp of adolescence,
many other vampires thought she would be hampered by those youthful features.
Instead, she acted precious
and weak, letting the big strong men protect her, becoming a parasite under
their armor.
The tree had died long ago. Wind and rain have washed its
bark to the ground, exposing the cause of death. Burrows and tunnels of
the beetles that made a lacework of its wooden flesh. As beautiful in death as
in life.
They've run the man to ground, have him pinned at the
back of an alley. He kicks and yells, but my hellhounds simply growl and dodge.
When he sees me, he begs for help.
I simply laugh, and settle my hands on my pet's heads.
"Good boy. Good girl."
Their emotions pound me with a painful torrent. I
try to drink it in, plucking out the juiciest bits, but it comes too fast.
Better to just revel in the screams as my pack tears the people apart. I can
always relive the moment later.
Dungeon Delve
was supposed to be just a game. Click the mouse, move his rabbit toon, get
digital treasure. Then he saw it. The grand pattern. The microcosm mimicking
the macrocosm. He couldn't sleep. He had to know more. Surely there was more.
Dragon had a reputation
as a monster. She killed without remorse, burned towns for fun, ate whomever
annoyed her that day.
Elf watched her giggle and play with the kittens,
knowing no one would ever believe she had a soft side.
I'm an Unlikely.
Whether good or bad, if there's an outside chance of something happening, it
will probably happen to me. Find a lotto ticket on the ground with a hundred
dollar win? Me. Walk in on a drug deal in a public bathroom and get shot at?
Definitely me.
They'd sought me, speaking praises, kind words upon my
lips. Verdant
mother was my favorite. They were surprised when I ate one of them. Had they
truly blinded themselves to the duality of Nature? I'd need to taste another to
know for sure.
"I'm grounded," Dragon complained.
Elf arched a brow. "What did you do this
time?"
"Apparently when I fly, I
just can't curb the instinct to hunt and light things on fire."
"And?"
She sighed. "And I apparently burned down the Dryad
delegation, and now they want war."
Smoke stacks
belched their poison into the air. Machines hummed and churned, devouring
resources endlessly. Lights burned constantly, banishing night. Weak creatures
scurried back and forth between their hovels and the factories, never
questioning, but never content.
Elsewhere
was unhappy. She had no sense of purpose, nothing to keep her from
everchanging.
Elsewhen fell in love with her immediately. He finally
had a reason to share himself.
They mated, and the material plane was never the same.
The Trickster gods met on very rare occasions. They
traded stories of how they treated their human wards, of the farces they
created, of the folly they
used to teach lessons.
Raven and Loki tied, having teamed up to swing an
election.
Humor is very subjective. Just being in a different mood
can affect what you find funny. And you can't exactly explain the joke:
someone either gets it or they don't. However, I'd kill to know why my cat
thinks I'd laugh about a mouse in my shoe. Every day.
I talk to animals. People say I'm crazy, but they just
don't understand: animals always answer
with the truth. Even the most psycho of cats won't lie. No flattery, no
prevarications, no judgment.
Although, it gets hard hearing how tasty you look.
Everyone thinks they've suffered the worst, that they've
been through hell. They
count themselves lucky to have survived such pain, that they'll never have to
again.
But I see their past trauma, and know it is nothing
compared to mine. It's time to teach them true pain.
"Just focus your intent,"
they say.
"Breath deep and concentrate," they say.
"Prepare the altar and wait outside," they
say.
"Go sweep the hearth and make dinner," they
say.
"Are you still here?" they say.
Dragon and Elf walk the city, disguised as mortals.
Sometimes it's just plain fun to see how the humans live.
"Renounce
meat!" someone shouts. "It's murder and cruel and unhealthy."
Dragon gave Elf a sidelong glance. "But plants
aren't good hunting."
The indoctrination is everywhere. Don't stray from
the life you're told to live. Don't look for the unusual or unexplained. Don't
think, don't be yourself. Obey. Consume.
She's a goddess, but they don't see her. She'll teach
them of war and rebirth.
"Look at the flock of
dragons!" I smiled to hear the little girl's excitement. She was young,
innocent, pointing at the winged silhouettes in the sky. Her mother gasped, on
the verge of screaming.
I knelt by the child and whispered, "We're called a
flight."
She crouches over his helpless form, knife to his
throat. "How did you get past my guard?" he whispers, heart racing.
Her smile deepens. "There's this mistaken belief
that royalty just live off their people." She slices his throat. "Queens
will FIGHT for them."
"What is that?" he asked, pointing at the
little silver and crystal affair at the side of my altar.
"It was originally a salt cellar.
Now I use it as part of my blessings." I lift the little spoon, sprinkle
it across the candles. "Arsenic is more useful these days."
I love the blood of the vanquished. Can't get enough of
it. The flavor is always familiar,
yet eternally unique. Some still hold hope, others terror, and some very few
hold rage. I like those the most, cherish the fury even as I take what is
theirs.
I've cracked their circle of protection. The stink of
their pathetic offering fills the air. I growl, rounding on the cowering coven.
"You don't understand. Fools. If you want to control a powerful demon, you
must sacrifice
something that MATTERS to you."
Giants get cocky when they've got an elf trapped, and I
cower, letting them think they've beat me. They laugh, taunt, and never see Jupiter
behind them. The corgi lunges, rips out their heels, and they collapse.
I rise and taunt them. "He's a titan-killer, you
know."
