Starship.

The city was a dome.
The last man on Earth lived in a dome in the ocean. The ocean was vast and wide. The man’s name was Wilderec Dandor and he was a Martian. He had flown over a million miles to land on a rock and found no one left alive. Wilderec’s starship crash-landed in Roswell, New Mexico. He had found their movies; their archives; had seen their last moments on Earth before the starship crumbled from exhaustion, the exhaustion of seeing far too many nights alone, afraid, and ashamed. The shame burned inside of him. It was the year 3000, according to a computer calendar on the wall in someone’s office in Roswell. He had seen their last moments and it was a sad, fiendish thing that rose up from the deepest darkest fears of the midnight sky and the midnight sky roared and flesh changed to gold and red as well as the sunsets. The man’s name was Wilderec and he was alone, tired and alone, tired and alone. He abandoned Roswell, and walked a long time. Sought refuge in an abandoned villa off the coast of Miami; Miami was one of the first to go; dust and dust had turned to rubble. Rubble turned to nothing, the flesh turned to fire and fire burned and the fire was of flesh and nothing was left. He was exhausted. The exhaustion came from gathering firewood to warm the house and he dropped the firewood by the front door and trooped inside, his mind pondering over what happened. He had gotten a message from Earth from a space station near Jupiter. His people had gone past Jupiter and Neptune and Terra Firma. They had gone past those planets and had never returned-Wilderec decided not to follow them. He sighed and rubbed his face warily. He was exhausted and the exhaustion was his alone. He puttered about the house, fixing things; made pottery from clay in the backyard. He had thought about making a garden-the garden would be full of radishes; carrots; onions; peppers. The peppers were the most difficult to hoe. The garden was going to be plentiful. It was spring. Wilderec had been living here for three weeks. End over end, he had lived here, walking up and down the streets, trying to find someone left alive. No one. The houses were abandoned. No dogs barked anywhere. The abandonment came from somewhere deep within the core of the earth and the core of the earth was bitter and filled with venom and the animals were gone except for the birds. The birds flew in the sky and it was a mystery they survived he didn’t understand how the birds survived and none of the other animals did. Wilderec pondered how he was going to survive. His starship was crashed. It was burned to smithereens after he went through the Earth’s atmosphere and was ejected from his starship and the starship was dead.

Renaissance Man.

Renaissance Man

In the course of our history,
Nothing has ever been as remarkable as the
Feat of
Self-recognition. Self-reliance. At the foot,
At the top of it all,
The temptation of burdening clouds
Shines down upon the world.
Light is self-resilience.
The secret is life’s
Temptation,
The bitter feud,
The encumbrance of it.
The sore spot on the groin.
She went to the bottle house late one night.
Her eyes are fiercely burning.
They spin midnight oils in dark
Spaces;
They spin darkness in rags.

I cry solidly in stones.
I break myself.
I am broken. My heart is
Turned to stone.
We fear nothing.
Old as time.
Old as time in continuum.
Old as rivers that beat,
Supportive,
The heart and dusk of. Night.

We speak-
Turn dials on old clocks.
We jump docks. We steal clocks.
The music whispers from sad spinning tales,
Mood has turned sour.

The cheese.
Is.
Forever
Into it.

DRAGONBANE.

Sebastian Monteserrio’s feet pounded through the forest, glancing behind him as he did so. The werewolves were coming fast. He had tried to steal one of the relics back from them and they were angry about it. They were also hungry. What did I get myself into? he asked himself. His demon lover, Alira Thornbane-Monteserrio, told him about a spell a long time ago, a spell that broke through the barriers between magic and man. He was not gifted in magic like his brother. He was only a loner, a Dark Knight, an agent. All he could do was deliver messages. What do I do now? He thought, grimacing. His hands flew to the hilt of his sword but Damsel had taken the Sword of Thorn again. She was the youngest Monteserrio and had it worse because she possessed greater magic, with or without a relic. The Power of the Six made him sick to his stomach. He wished the relics would disappear along with the story of Merlin and it made him feel bad to think about his beloved creator but he did and that was all he could do. The pain pounded at his mind, the constant pain of wondering who he was and what he was and why they believed so strongly that the world was created by a man with a staff. It was simply ridiculous. It was insane. It was…nothing. Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. The werewolves stopped crying. The wind whistled through the trees and it was dark and still around him. He couldn’t see ten feet in front of him. He couldn’t see ten feet behind him. All he could see was darkness. I am a Dark Knight, he thought, grimacing. I am supposed to put myself above that. Above everything. He realized how crazy that sounded. A Dark Knight? Ha! He had left Crandek back at the monument and had not seen him since. He had seen a few Dark Knights here and there and figured they had decided he wasn’t worth it, that he was just another stupid human. Many Dark Wizards worked with the Dark Knights. At least, he thought so.