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A bottle, washed upon the shore in silent reverence

Not bright nor brilliant, but dull and greenish,

Molded smooth by the waves.

There was one difference, however, on this bottle from the sea

From its brothers and cousins and relative kin,

To set it apart from the rest.

This bottle had a story, as all bottles do, but this story shone

Like the sun upon the sea, caught in the ocean flow,

Twinkling and flickering with the waves.

A bit of parchment shouted from inside the bottle loud,

A hollow sort of panicked shout, screaming to be released,

To tell its story.

“Oh Traveller!” It devotedly spoke, “If you get this message,

Washed upon the earth, be it sandy beach or rock cove,

Or slimy bog.

May you listen to my story!  Let me tell it to you here!

I too am a traveller, or was, many a year,

But no, not anymore.

I was walking by the beach one day, blithe without a care

I spoke not, felt the sun upon my back and thought of nothing,

But the strong salt-air.

On the shore I saw a bottle, oddly green and worn, and wet

And lying in its center was a little piece of parchment,

A story of a traveller.

  Read more »

Once upon a beaten pawn, the King looked down with rage.

The Queen was caught, but bravely fought, to keep a steady wage.

The Knight was counting pennies, and the Bishop pinching dimes.

The Rook was working sideways and not keeping with the times.

The fifteenth square was covered, with brave men brushed aside.

The King and Queen were fleeing, to the place where they abide.

A pawn was hooked in battle, with a knight upon his steed.

The pawn then beat him quickly to fulfill his evil deed.

The Rook, now moving forward, tried in vain to halt the crook.

Eight-by-eight the pawns drew upward, filling every nook.

The king was stepping one and one, the queen was gliding long.

The pawn was catching up, leading forth a cruel throng.

The jail was dense with dead-men, none of them with mourners. Read more »

David Houston sat with his legs up on the railing of his cabin, looking out over the stars through the invisible FlexiShield between him and the cold unknown.  Unperceivably to him, the black abyss sped by him at the incredible speed of 50 light minutes per hour.  With no nearby planets, and no friction to act on the craft, there was no way he could identify the movement.  Houston was thinking.  Thinking about why he was here, and the Big Leap Forward and how that had affected the world.  He also thought about the rest of the survivors, and how he became one.  He thought back to five years ago, when it all began.

Dr. David Houston was a revered bio-scientist who studied the ways to alter human DNA, the affects and products.  One of his famous lab experiments was the great feat of growing a dog that could swim without getting wet, by crossing an otter and a Labrador.  He had gone on discovering new ways of combining different animals until the public had decided that genetic engineering should be illegalized, and he was forced to move his operation into his basement.  One day, while working, a young inspiring scientist, Clark Williams, came to call, and shared a new idea he had had with the doctor.  He had discovered that by using the proteins in a human’s DNA, you could make the DNA stronger, and more flawless.  Also, he concluded, you could also change the DNA so that the human can live longer. Read more »

"All men to arms!" 

The cry drifted over the silent fort, carried by the stillness, crisp despite the morning fog.  Will woke from a dreamless sleep, the morning still groggy in his eyes.  The shout came again, this time jolting him from his dormant state.  He swung out of his hard, uncomfortable cot, and threw on a few dingy garments.  He grabbed his flintlock, and hurried from the closet sized room.  All around him, men were doing the same thing, most looking even more like walking sleep.  A tall muscular general with a crisp uniform shouted to get to the western point.  Will ran through the narrow stone walkways, hoping he met no one going the other way, but all seemed to be moving to the same place.    Men flowed onto the vast point of stone used as a firing tower.  Hundreds of small holes were cut into the thick walls, each about a half foot wide.  Larger holes were built in too, but large cannons loomed out of them, primed and ready to be lit at the perfect moment.  Will ran to one of the gun slits and peered through at the surrounding landscape.  With what little view he had, he could see hundreds upon hundreds of stiff paced men with pristine red uniforms.    Read more »

            I stood at the window, watching the red taillights disappear.  They faded, and in nature’s subtle way of adding insult to injury, the skies opened up and I let go a tear.  Stifling my lachrymose, I stood up, determined to be strong.  Only a year they had told me, and then they would come back.  I just had to endure one year of solitude…  An entire year.  I didn’t even really understand why they were leaving or what for.  Sure, they had told me that they had to go across the border, and it was too dangerous for me to go, but I felt like that wasn’t the whole story.

            I had to continue to be strong.  I had to live by myself, and I couldn’t afford being weak.  At that moment I realized what I had to do.  I had to help.  I couldn’t just wait here for my parents to do whatever it was they had left for.  I would find out the reason, and I would figure out how to do it so it wouldn’t take so long.  I had to get ready.  I would fight if needed; I just wanted my parents back…

           A dream of my childhood, an apparition of my mind, something humankind has searched for and sought after for many years; finally brought to life.  The flight of a bird, the ability or the knowledge of it pulses through our veins.  Stop, and think.  You can feel it.  The strong movements you would make to flap, flap, flap your way up into the sky.  It’s almost as if we were meant to fly.  Finally flying, what an achievement, what a feeling.  It is par with eating after a lifetime of hunger, scratching after a lifetime of itch.  The sounds, the sights, the smells, they fill my head; pique my senses.  Their strength is overpowering, and nearly too strong for me to stay in the air.  Yet somehow, I manage to stay up, flapping my wings as if in my dreams.  In not paying attention, I have come across a forest, and curve into the air to narrowly avoid the oncoming army of pines.  I go soaring over their tops, watching the waving sea of green below, and smelling their sweet odor.  I have always wanted to be above the sea, and look at its vast expanse across the landscape.  Yet again I regain my senses, and before me is a mountain peaking into the sky, with snow at its precipice, cold and haunting.  No way to avoid it.  As I near it, I can’t help but think that this is my last thought.  And I’m falling… Falling… Falling… I wake up, and then close my eyes and smile, knowing tomorrow night will bring another fantasy.

I spoke.  My words floated across the water as if on the wings of a bird, and Clark raised his head and looked in my direction.  There was nothing he could do; he had no choice but to listen.  My words like a Siren’s drew his mind toward me.  I stopped.  Clark stared at me in horror.  “I told you not to do that!” he shouted across the lake.  “If you’re going to talk, then don’t use your, like, Siren call.”  I wanted to listen to him, but it was easy to become addicted to the power.  Just as Tolkien’s ring changed those who got near it, so the power changed me.

            This new power I had developed recently.  It was the product of speech and ambition.  A mixture I had created a week ago in my lab.  Although my friends embraced my ability of making the spells and potions, they did not necessarily support my use of them.  They were frightened by their power.  They knew not what the powers could do, and they knew they could corrupt.  But there was nothing they could do to stop me from using them. Read more »

From rock to dust, stone to sand,

From boulder washed to grains.

The crashing waves are calmed and softened,

And roll ‘cross His own hand.

The nat’ral way of life is all,

But somehow we work to void it.

We light the fires, and sound the horn,

But there’s something that we miss.

Silence.  We miss the silence.

We miss the flowing spring so clear.

The potent love of nature’s kindness;

The calmness of the sea.

Yet somewhere, somehow lost in thought,

The Devil makes a plan.

To rid the world of good and love,

With evil, hate and smog.

If only silence, happiness,

Could fill the world again,

And the rocks we grind to dust,

Will refill the beach with sand.

A host of hell, by candlelight,

A devil lost at night.

Comes out to play, and steal away,

The souls of those of right.

One brave man was lost,

His life outwheighed his cost.

He came upon this Devil's pawn,

To hell, he know he'd crossed.

"I'll give you life," the devil said,

"For you know well, you're dead."

"If you give me, what you can't see,"

"Your soul to keep your head."

The brave man stood, and thought there,

His mind was twisting hard.

He said, "I'll take your offer" Read more »

The river winds, the gristmill grinds, the blacksmith strikes his stone,

Through the trees, within a breeze, a knight comes all alone.

With sword as bright as silver, and a shield forged out of steel,

The man comes ever softly, in a breeze he cannot feel.

A tower high, rose like a spire, to peak into the light,

While all below, where reapers sow, was forever in the night.

An evil turn, an ash filled urn, centuries come to pass,

Cities burn, and people learn to not build walls with glass.

But while among, these times to come, the river travels forth,

Winding through, the ages new, yet never south nor north.

Time is made, will be forgot, and never more be found,

The knight rides on, throughout the woods, and never makes a sound.

The river winds, the gristmill grinds, the blacksmith strikes his stone,

Through the trees, within a breeze, a knight comes all alone.