Well hidden behind a big rock Caul had a clear vision of the road in front of him. Morning had come and gone setting the sun well above the mountains dwelling in the distance. He had spent most of the dawn preparing the road for his ambush. He himself could barely see where the dozen small holes were that he had dug to conceal the newest inventions of his guild. Only small parts of short fuses stuck out of the ground and could easily be mistaken for dead vegetation. He didn’t know how but the alchemists had managed to turn fireworks that amazed people everywhere into deadly weapons. And he didn’t even care too much as long as they held what he had been promised. "Just don't stand anywhere near them when the fuse reaches the inside", he had been told and sent off on his journey. That was not a problem for Caul, not in the slightest. He was called “fire starter” for a good reason. Suddenly a faint squeal of a carriage’s wheel brought him back into reality. Drawing further behind the stone to avoid any detection Caul concentrated on the task lying in front of him. As the carriage came into sight Caul smelled the stench of evil radiating from it. The driver seemed not to notice anything at all, but that didn’t amaze Caul at all. Normal people couldn’t smell the stench that made his stomach twist and turn in disgust. When the carriage drove over the prepared area Caul stuck his head out of the cover. Pitying the driver for his bad luck he concentrated on the fuses, igniting them all at once. Caul only had a second to duck behind the stone as the earth seemed to shake in its foundations and the sound of a hundred thunders made his ears ring like church bells on a Sunday. As splinters and parts of the carriage rained down all around him a malicious grin crept its way on Cauls face.
We are poets.
We find ourselves at 3am with overthinking minds
where writing becomes our solace.
We fall in love with language because we are the writers of words long forgotten.
We spend hours trying to describe poetically
the simplest things you could imagine
or we spend a few minutes trying to explain the meaning of life.
We have the darkest and most twisted minds,
filled with beauty and madness
We write so much that not writing makes us anxious
We are the dreamers in an awake world
the sufferers in a peaceful time.
We are poets,
and our fingers become the pen in which we write
as we pour out our souls onto the page of our hearts
We write until our words become us
and we write until moving a pen across paper
becomes our breathing.
She was looking professional, but barely so—like she'd forgotten about her presentation until just moments ago, and slapped on her socially acceptable attire. She spoke at the prospect with resolve and confidence and a little color flip book, each page moving the prospect further and further down her sales funnel, closer to the core. Closer to the close. Closer to payment for her commerce product. She pointed a finger and waved it to emphasize a point. The prospect nodded here-and-there. He had no need for her purchasable thing, but he wanted to encourage her, so he nodded, and acted interested.
In the moment that my friend told me that her views had changed, there was less judgement and more concern. I didn't jump straight to thinking that she was wrong, but rather I was worried about her wellbeing. She is young, naive, always has been. A year ago, she would have been me and I would have been her. You see, I was always the one with a sort of self-destructive streak inside of me. Sometimes it was never intentional, but it was a part of who I was. And after a few good years of living my life, having "fun", I was starting to realize that my views were wrong. I was stealing away the possibility of happiness for myself later on. And now a year later, my friend is doing the same thing. The only thing that has changed our lives is that I have found people in my life who support me in the right ways, while she has simply found one person who is leading her down paths she vowed never to visit. It is just sad, really, because I see myself in her. She has no clue how much she is going to miss those pieces of herself and how hard it will be to get parts of them back. She doesn't even realize she will lose some aspects of herself forever from this point of decision.