The wind blows my hair. I’m standing on the edge again. The edge of the living, of those who got to make it. I'm standing on the Field of Flowers. The flowers that sparkle in many different colors look up at me with pity and hate. It looks so different from the Field of the Dead. I look to the Field, to those who didn't get to make it. The bodies have already blended into the dark colors of the gr...

“Hand it over, now!”

We stand in a besieging storm; I clench the staff tightly in my hand.

"You're only making it worse," he tries to yell above the sound of the storm around us. "Hand it over!"

I look around; I can't see anything past the white clouds and the silhouette of the man that stands before me. The only scents I detect are of my own sweat and the moisture in the air.

The man in front of ...

I fall. It feels like an eternity. The pitch black that surrounds me slowly drains all the color from me. My pink cheeks, the red flowers embroidered on my wrinkled shirt. I try to hold onto the last bit of color that remains in my mind, the last bit of sanity.

But I still fall; the darkness swallows me whole.

Then I realize that this is what it feels like. My head feels empty, or rather, it fee...

The human soul changes the way our handwriting does over the years.

We learn the basics of it early on, and create our own unique alphabet.

We perfect it, our letters turn into full readable sentences, turn into letters.

We become comfortable with it, we are recognizable through the strokes we make on paper.

And it is when we've finally created our final draft, that we notice how much it differs ...

With the night comes darkness, but also stars

With every cry comes sadness, but also relief

With every fall comes failure, but also a lesson

In every bad thing, is a good thing hidden

Us humans focus on those bad things, since they are bigger than the good ones. As the darkness of the night is bigger than the stars. The darkness overshadows them; it makes them invisible. The stars are only visible...

It was a beautiful painting, called Warmth In The Ice, the illustrator used the inspiration of a girl who had fallen in ice and never swam back up. The painter worked with the light from the sun reflecting on the ice. She painted sun rays that had fallen with the girl in a big lake that surrounded them.

There was nothing else but ice and light.

I stood before it, trying to figure out how and why...

My mother spat the words in my face as I held my knife to her throat. I had her pinned to my bedroom wall, the paint of the walls surrounding us had faded over the years. I haven't been in this room for a while, haven't been near my mother, my enemy. I felt sorry for her, she was jealous of the love I shared with Luther. The love she can not feel for anyone anymore, after the passing of my father....