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An exert from my writing for all of you!


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What follows is the opening to my book, Reverie of Change, available now.


Considering how much I love this community I decided to share this little clipping from it here, with all of you. I hope you enjoy what I've written here and have a wonder 4th of July!





Where the black midnight trees end, the dotted sky begins, and the man walks. It is only in these moments that he is at peace, that his mind rests and he is able to be existent. A man cloaked in black tatters wanders across hills of green grass swaying in the darkness, swaying black, invisible in the night. He stands now, chin high, eyes closed. The cool winds feel good, and their song is sweet. He is the one who brings. Without family, friend, or home, when he comes he always brings something with him, and always leaves it as he goes. It is a duty few understand, not even he grasps it, not completely; yet, it is needed, required, absolute. Without him, without what he brings, what would our world be, but purgatory?


A white streak crosses the sky and catches his eye. In the same instant, footsteps echo behind him in the grass, and he turns to face them, to face her. He now faces the woman. She has hair that sparkles like the night above, and deep purple eyes that let out a strange and eerie glow, the low light reflects off her pale skin, a light in the dark. She wears a long white cloak that hangs from her bulbous chest to her shins, stopping just high enough to avoid touching the grass and only revealing her pale shoulders. She is, in all that is nonsensical and illogical, beautiful and mysterious.


The man’s hood is blown back, his face revealed. He is tan, and his features sharp. With thin green eyes and dark blonde curls that cascade over his knife-like cheekbones and thick stubble, he wears torn and tattered black robes, the kind accustomed only to monks and vagabonds. Simply staring into her eyes, he waits for her to make a move, and soon enough, she does. Her arm raises, her slender finger pointing west. There, in the distance, he sees her intended mark, a village of fewer than twenty buildings. He begins towards it. The woman is gone, faded into the night with only a small light to signal her disappearance.


This had happened before, of course. She would often appear in the dead of night, under a crystal sky and without a word point him towards the direction of a place where his gift was needed. That was his life, and that would always be his life. He did not question this nor did he want to disrupt it. He was content doing as she ordered. As some would come to discover he was man of a curse, a changing curse. Whenever he appears, in whichever town he wanders into, a drastic change would be sparked, one that would alter the course of that place’s history forever.


The man did think, however. His feet carried him across the plains and hills to that little village sprinkled with the light of few torches and lanterns in the night, and his mind carried him deeper into thought. He thought about her, that woman and her beauty. How she had always been directing him. Even as a child she would appear to him, and to no one else. She would point out to him places and things, and he would go to them, interact with them, experience them, and then something would change.


Once, as a child she had pointed out a small cottage in his home village, and as he stepped towards it he heard lustrous moans coming from inside, the moans of a man and a woman locked in a forbidden embrace. The husband to the woman of that house would, every day, leave to hunt at the same time, and every night bring home food for the next day. It was his way of taking care of her, of their family. He did not know of her betrayal... Until that day, when a boy, directed by a strange woman approached the house. The young man felt a stirring inside him as he watched the woman bent over the table through a window in the back of the house, and he simply stayed there, waiting for change. Within ten minutes her husband burst through the door, already holding in his rough hand three skinned rabbits. That time was easily four hours before the husband would normally come home. As the boy would spend his life learning, he could bring change with him wherever he went, unable to control it, he was forced into the life of a wanderer.


He thought that maybe one day he would ask the woman who she was, why he caused change, and wondered what she might say to him. He had pondered it over dozens of times, and in his own way came to the conclusion that there were certain people and places in the world that need to change, that are not, in their current existence, headed towards anything except the exact way they already are, so she points out places where change is needed, where he is needed, and he follows. He did not, however, have an answer as to exactly why he was born with this strange gift, and if he would ever stop.

Little did the man know, this time it was different. This time, he would have answers. This time, he would change everything.




As the village neared, he decided to wait until day to enter the town, and began to make camp. He knelt, and from the gray bag that he had swung over his shoulder he grabbed a small folded stuffed pillow, and a blanket. With no fire, no light, and no bed, he simply laid there in the swaying grass and closed his eyes. It was comfortable, he thought, under the stars with the breeze gentle on his skin. His eyes drifted behind their lids to a place of comfort and rest, of dream.


The man dreamed of the woman, as he did every night, but she did not appear in the same way. Her face, hair, and eyes were of course the same, however she smiled, she moved her lips, even though they produced no sound, and she stayed with him. Despite not knowing her name, her place in the world, who or what she was, she was the only companion he'd ever had, and he had never even touched her. Despite this, he knew, and he had known this since he was a child, he loved her, and she loved him. This is why he did not question her, this is why he always followed her arm, this is why he felt so much comfort, despite sleeping in no bed, with no warmth, with no home. He loved her.


It is not a warm and fuzzy kind of love, or the thing of a budding couple, it is not the kind of love that youngsters feel the first time they kiss, nor is it the kind that old married couples feel the last time they lay together. It is not comforting, nor heart moving. It is a devout thing, that erases all indecision, and replaces it with resolve and the will to trust in one’s true love. This is what the man feels: Strength, given to him by the unique love he feels for the strange woman who has guided him since childhood, who has developed the curse and burden he carries, the burden of change. A burden, which he feels relief from only in his dreams.

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I wish my Daddy would write like this! I love love looooove reading stories like this! :) I really appreciate you sharing it, it's truly captured my interest and now I just want to read more of it ^^ its very well written! Again, a super duper extra BIIIIG thank you to you for sharing it. <3
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