Ashes

Pretty things all turn to ashes

Chopped up, broken, rust and scratches

Everything must come to an end.

And seen through the glass

Only shadows now pass

Unaware of the loss of a friend.

Despair reaches icy fingers

Where hopeless thought lingers

Playing the songs of the dead.

Biting cold steel

Reminds I can feel

And the carpet dries in red.

Advertisements

The Unholy Harlot

She was a clever girl.  But lost and succumbed to the darkness inside her.

On the outside a shining smile, true Angelic being who lived to love.

Inside asking the mirror, “Am I beautiful?  Am I usuable?”

Undercover of darkness, she gave others the boost they needed to make it to the next day.  Dark silent deeds only Night could comprehend.

A toy.  A play thing.  Lovely enough to tarnish, ugly enough to hate.

Recklessly giving into the desires.  Recklessly bound to others, giving them what they wished as they wished it.

She was a broken, frustrated shard of glass.  Her sins innumerable to count.

Somehow undesired by all who would treat her right, twisted and broken – settling for less.  Always so much less.

The Perfect One never came.  He never rescued her from the tower.  The dragon was destroyed, but the castle remained in ruins.  Never to be lit up.

A perfect little church girl.  Mary’s twisted unholy little Lamb.  All the answers on the tip of her tongue.  The perfect Youth Pastor protege.

Eyes, sullen, dark, outlined in shame.  Afraid to cut, afraid to bleed.  Wishing the inside would finally die like her black soul.

It wasn’t that she was evil.  Tainted?  Indeed.  Abandoned to play in her own imagination.  Creating beautiful things outside the confines of Reality.

Playing night and day, learning how to grow up.  Inside wishing she could just die.  Death must be better than all this.  Jesus loved her even if the others didn’t, yes?

Selfish, all desiring the same thing.  Giving it away to them one by one.  But only to a point.  The perfect tease.  The perfect wish. Just a taste to keep them interested, until finally she was cast aside.

Letting Go

Last night I decided to drop one of my main characters from my series.

It’s not an easy decision, and frankly I wish I didn’t have to walk that path.

When my best friend of 9 years went her own way, the world we’d built together crashed with her.  An entire family of characters that belonged to her became Taboo, and my character was left an Orphan.  Sure, Farlaquin could have survived happily…  but at my current stage of Life his purpose is no longer necessary.
When a friend mentioned that we outgrow stories, I laughed at the thought.  Until yesterday.

Cutting him is easy.  Why is it so easy?
His existence can fade out of the book, and nobody will ever know who he was.

Rewriting, replotting, and reworking my series has been fun.  I’ve given it a whole new life.  Reading the old books to reap the plot pieces I need has been rewarding– but the new concept looks nothing like the old one.  It will have it’s similarities, but thankfully a great deal more maturity.

One of my characters is asking to go on a Grand adventure.  I just might let him.  In fact, maybe it’s time to let go of the old book and just start over altogether.
The High Prince of Eldegras takes a journey to see the world with his closest of friends.

So many possibilities.
And several hard decisions.

On the bright side, Lasgalad can go, and Celmaruen can have the High Princess.  That sounds like a great deal more fun anyway.

Farlaquin, I loved you deeply.  I’m sorry this has to be the way.  You’ll be back later.  Just not the same.  It’s time you grew to a new potential.  Your story is already coming together in my imagination, and it will be so much greater than it was before.