Living Nightmares

Living Nightmares

By day,
A haunted man I wander,
By night,
Twisted dreams and ideas I ponder.

Her hair swings from left to right,
Tormenting me in the dead of night.
I see nothing but her until I wake,
My beating heart does she take.
I follow her much like a dog,
Praising her like she is god.
And she sees this, deep within me,
A crazed love, forever to be.

By day,
A haunted man I wander,
By night,
Twisted dreams and ideas I ponder.

-Zero

One Year Anniversary

     Happy Holidays, or Merry Christmas to whoever might be reading this! It's Christmas eve where I am right now, but that's not what brought me here. Today marks the one year point since this blog was first made. I really don't know what led me to create a blog on Christmas eve, but I did! Well, here we are, one year after I started this poor thing. Things have changed immensely in my life, just as my writing has changed immensely since the beginning of the blog. Around this time last year, I would have probably been just exploring the art of story writing, as well as my own mind. I am still exploring my mind, of course, and my exploration of the art of story writing definitely has slowed recently. Something that has changed throughout the year, however, would be the dominant female figure in my life, who is reflected in stories. Over the past few months, it's been pretty consistent, but I remember the summer before the one just passed had a very different girl on my mind.
     I called her Kim in most stories. Her real name is Katherine and I assure you that no harm has come to her. She is actually attending the college beside my own, and is doing quite well, as usual. She's a strong girl and even though our paths may not cross as often as they used to, she'll always be a good friend of mine. She lost her position the following winter, right around February.
     This was the month of Marie-Lynn, you could say. Marie-Lynn was, in fact, a character based off no more than a character seen in a dream and an incredibly vague character at that. That was the month I met Brianna, who incidentally shared the flaming auburn hair and hazel eyes that Marie-Lynn has. This is when I began the Wanderer's Journal, which Brianna fell in love with. Things with Brianna were unstable and constantly mimicked a roller-coaster. This, of course, gave me plenty to write about in the Wanderer's Journal, but now that she seems so distant, I have nothing left to write. She lasted quite a while in this post of dominant female until the most recent one came along.
     The most recent is a girl with many titles, as you may have read. She is the girl in the leather jacket, as well as the daughter of Aphrodite. She is the night-eyed goddess, and the night itself. Most importantly though, she is the girl who sets me on fire. Ironically, her name is rarely different when she is mentioned in a story. I like to claim that this is because her name means "Queen" and that just happens to fit the character perfectly. I wouldn't seriously say that she is a queen herself though. If she were a queen, she would have an air of authority and she doesn't. No, Malika gives off warmth instead. She's an incredibly friendly girl and I'm still getting to know her. Whether or not I am obsessed with her does not matter really; she'll always be human. Over the progression of writing about her and talking to her, I dare say that I've come to realize that she is very far from that initial idea of a queen like personality. She cares for all, and for this, I am grateful. Anyways, I feel that I've gone on enough about these girls, back to the stories.
     My stories have changed dramatically, but they tend to adhere to the same rules. Nearly each and every one of them has death in it and, more often than not, there is at least one character who comes to a realization. If there isn't a realization, it seems, the character is seeing the result of another's sins. For example, in "Forbidden Fruit" Chris Jovel tries to protect Teia, who is innocent of any crimes, from the men who marched in. She dies and he blames himself, but ultimately, it is the corruption of hate that is to blame; their hate for him spread to her because she is with him.
    It seems too often as well, I see the lessons and realizations that I have drift their way or inspire my writings. It is quite fine with me, but I hope that soon I will be able to write like I did before. Anyways, I feel as if I've written enough, well, that and my laptop is dying. It is time for me to rest my eyes. Take care and enjoy the holidays!

-Zero

Green Flames

    The car door slams behind the angered teenage boy. He pulls out his dagger, reflecting the street lamp's light, causing it to give off a strange greenish glow. This boy feels wronged by another, but really he wronged himself. He won't know the truth until it's too late.

    He looks at the house that he just pulled up to. The front door is made mostly of glass, but the rest of the house has few windows. They shouldn't see him coming. Little does he know that they knew he was coming and prepared for it.

    He thinks that she's in there, being held prisoner by the guy who stole her away from him. She's really far out of his reach now, free from jealousy and revenge. This nameless teenage boy is known for his anger and for his tendencies to take revenge when he feels it is appropriate; he can hardly pronounce "self-control" without getting his tongue all tied up in knots. But there is nothing he does better than revenge, making him very dangerous. The others are prepared for this. 

     Sometimes the world seems so simple and direct, just like it did before this boy was 'wronged' by the others. It was warm out still. Actually, it was too hot out. He had her right where he wanted her, under his control. Her name is Mara and now she is free from his control. This angers him for he wanted to have her as his puppet. 

     What happened exactly, you ask? Well, it's quite simple, actually. Philip, the other boy, came and had a chat with Mara, who later became more aware of the world around her. Philip was her guardian angel, freeing her from the grips of Lucifer, the name of the angered boy. Flames dance around Lucifer, but no one seems to notice them. It is much like the screams of hate, so bold, yet unnoticed. In Lucifer's head, Philip came along and ruined his plans; Philip stole Mara from him. If Lucifer were to look at things logically, he would see that Philip stole nothing from him and that, truly, he never really cared for Mara. He's capable of seeing the truth, but he decides to see the angelic Philip in a darker light. Such is the nature of humans. 

     The glass door shatters and Lucifer enters the dark house. He looks around the empty house, finding nothing to take his anger out on. Mara is too far out of his reach; he'll never catch her now. The strings have been cut loose and the puppet becomes a real person, but the green glow of the eyes of a monster beyond our understanding watches her run. Jealousy, the green-eyed monster, follows her where-ever she may walk. 

     Lucifer yells in anger, throwing things throughout the house in a fit of rage. The flames around him turn green with jealousy and his mind continues to corrupt itself; his mind is soon lost forever. A figure appears in the doorway, radiating white light. Lucifer turns and stares at the figure with hate-filled eyes. A wicked smile goes across his face. "Why, hello Philip. I've been looking for you."
     "Lucifer, I know you're angry, but for the love of god calm down. Mara left ages ago. Do you not feel the cold of the world inside of your heart for all you've done? After all, you are alone with nothing but puppets. But that is how you would rather it, is it not? Such a strange existence." Philip says, never giving Lucifer a moment to cut in. "Are you not human as well?" 
      "The darkness within my heart cannot be seen by all, saintly Philip. Truth be told, I do not even feel the winter cold on my skin. A burning torment, I suppose, is all I feel. She was mine for the taking; she was my puppet! Surely you understand that when you steal other people's toys on the playground, you're bound to make enemies. I am human though. Humans never change; they're always thinking about what's best for them. You understand this, I know that. Let the fear consume you as my dagger pierces your soul." Lucifer replies back to the shining boy, being both cunning and brutal in his words. 
      "What you say might be true, but it would be true to only the heartless. I know that you intend on murdering me here, but if you do kill me here, the whole world will know. I revealed your burning green flames before I came here to confront you; there is no going back to your old ways. Darkness consumes the soul and fire burns the sanity away. Come with me and I will show you the light." Philip offers salvation to the jealous monster, Lucifer. The offer is ignored. 
     Lucifer comes at Philip with the dagger, sealing his own fate. Philip dodges the blade elegantly, but he cannot dodge the blade forever. Soon he will have to fight or die. What little truth that Lucifer knows understands this, so it pushes him to keep going. 
      "So you have chosen darkness... Very well, then I shall put out the green flames myself! Let the truth decide who is the victor of this battle!" Philip yells courageously and pulls out a dagger of his own. Philip's dagger is incredibly different from Lucifer's jagged blade, especially considering that it radiates white light instead of a green glow. "Jealousy has corrupted your mind far too much, Lucifer. You aren't thinking straight and this shall be your downfall." 
     Philip disarms Lucifer by shattering Lucifer's blade in a single strike. The angered teenage boy remains unharmed physically, but his mind suffers greatly. He never expected Philip to defeat him so easily. Lucifer throws away what little remained of his blade and waits for the end to come. It doesn't come.
    "Your fate is in your hands now, Lucifer. You can decide between life and death. I merely ask that you give up your pursuit for revenge in return for letting you live." Philip asks a gentle request of him. Lucifer considers his options and shakes his head at Philip, giving him another wicked smile.
    "No, you will not show me mercy, nor will you take my life. My fate is mine to decide and mine to decide alone. I choose death!" Lucifer yells, stealing the blade from Philip like a fool. The blade suddenly looses its white light and slowly cuts down the chest of Lucifer as he finds the place to stab. 
     "Perhaps soon you will see that never have I wronged you, but rather you wronged yourself." Philip ponders about Lucifer as he plunges the blade deep into his heart, something that had died years ago. His eyes go dark, but his mind goes crazy. Images flash through his head as if they were randomly chosen. The images stop on one specific sight. Before Lucifer's eyes stands Mara with a heart in her hands. It crumbles to bits and she frowns at it. Then she blows away the ashes and Lucifer dies. 

-Zero

"Freedom Love"

   My name is James Mendoza and I'm in a great relationship with my girlfriend, Ginette. She's not the best girl I could find, but I figured she'd do. That's how you do it, right? Anyways, in a week it is our one year anniversary. It's a gentle wonder and I often don't know how it has only been a year; I swear it feels like ten! Despite my teenage grey hairs, I'm fairly attractive. She, on the other hand, is not quite the same. She's alright, but she's not a queen, that's for sure. I'm in college and she's still trying high school, even though she's older than me. She skips out on almost all of her classes and spends most days high. It irritates me a bit, but what's the worst that it could bring?
     I'd love to say that I remember the first day that we met, but I really don't. I'm sure she's said it a thousand times, but chances are the tv was on and I wasn't paying attention. I don't know why, but she loves to bug me when I'm busy with more important stuff. Too often does she say "I love you," so I've taken a liking to replying with a small grunt. She doesn't seem to mind it too much, and occasionally slaps me playfully in response.
     We live together, but sleep in separate rooms. It irritates her, but I like it better this way so that she doesn't try to cuddle with me at night. I tend to keep my room locked, especially when I'm still awake. She doesn't seem to understand that school is much more important than her. It doesn't help that she thinks that I'm more important than her schooling. What sort of girl puts a guy first like that? Anyways, I'm totally happy in this relationship. It gives me everything I need except a mutual feeling of love, but who wants that anyways? I sure don't, not with her at least.
     I never lie to her, but for some reason she always believes me. I guess the fact that she's foolish isn't too new. She can hardly read a short story after all. I tend to have to explain myself a hundred times before she starts grasping what I mean, so I find myself avoiding conversation with her. If she greets me, I greet her back and disappear into my room.
     The world is different when I'm alone in my room. Suddenly I get the urge to write, but find nothing coming to mind. It has been like this for almost a year now and it drives me insane. It's almost as if Ginette has drained my creativity, but I can live with that; it's just my only passion in life, that's all. There are times when an idea flows into my mind, but runs out because Ginette happens to call out for me at that exact moment; there's no forgetting that she's there. I guess I could use a vacation from this life, but where would I go? I don't know anything else. Hell, I hardly know life.
    The colors of the world faded a while ago and I've gotten used to the colorless, joyless, world that I exist in. I was a novelist when the colors existed. I was even an artist! I painted pictures that had such vivid colors that even acid couldn't provide the same effect. But now, even those paintings seem dull and dead. I think all of my friends died or something.
     I haven't heard from any of my old friends since the beginning of this relationship. I stopped saying hi in the hallways because I don't really need them. Right? Isn't that the point of a relationship, to isolate yourself from the world just to make yourself lonely? I'm sure it is. That's probably why this relationship is going so well.
     Anyways, there's a reason I'm saying all of this. I'm thinking of giving one of my old stories to Ginette for our anniversary. It's something from the heart, a heart that I haven't heard beat in a while actually. I just have to read them over and figure out which one is best. I have a notebook with them scribbled down in it. I just found it too, so it's time to flip through it.
    I open the first page and see the title of my first story, "Love's Hero." I decide immediately that "Love's Hero" is not the right story and flip to the next one. "Freedom Love" is the next title and I go to flip past it, but something pulls me towards it. I wrote a lot of love stories back in the day, mostly about this one girl in my program. Oh god, she's so beautiful. I remember wanting her so much, but Ginette came along and it seemed like the easier path to take. Perhaps it was the shorter path too.
     I read through "Freedom Love" quickly, letting the words affect my emotions like they used to. I find myself in the mind of the main character, who had just realized that he was in love. He said it was crazy, and thought about throwing it away. Something stopped him. There was a crazier feeling that followed it and it's described as "freedom of the heart." But the two feelings are really the same, and I begin remembering how I felt when I wrote it.
     The story came straight from the heart, and I knew that whether or not she returns the feelings, love would still set him free. I remember dancing about my room, blasting love songs. This was before Ginette came along. Something changed inside of me that day. I felt so free; I felt like I was flying. I'm starting to think that I was in love back then. That's what I called it, after all, and I was much happier than I am now. Love makes you happy, right?
     I feel something churning inside of me, like a hurricane ocean. It's in my stomach like butterflies, in my heart like a beast, and in my mind like the confused man that I am. If I was in love then, what am I in now? What is keeping me bound to this girl? The beast inside of my heart wakes up and seems to reveal itself as something else, a gentle creature, a gentle feeling.
     I jump over to my desk as the colors slowly return to the world around me. I open my laptop and take a look into the "pictures" folder. I see the locked folder named "GIL" and open it immediately, putting the beautiful girl's name as the password. It works and the folder opens, revealing all of the sweet pictures that she sent me back in the day. In each one she's more beautiful and slowly the lively green in the pictures begins to come to life. A realization begins to wash over me as well, but I fear the truth and push it away.
     The realization beats me into submission with its persistence. I am in love, but not with Ginette. I've been blind for so long. How did I never notice the truth? I can't keep living like this! I have to tell the truth; I can't keep living a lie! I don't care what consequences will follow; I have to save myself from this endless pit of lies that I have fallen into! Maybe it's not too late for James Mendoza.

-Zero

Another Update

      It seems that I have been suffering from something that NanoWrimos call "the decembers." It's much like a sickness, but it affects your mind. I have not written anything creative since the last post of mine on the first of December. I feel as if writing that novel in the month of November drained me of my creative reserve. In an attempt to retain some creative writing in my life, I decided to edit that very same novel and publish it through CreateSpace. It is a self-publishing website and will allow me to sell the book online through it. I was hoping to finish the editing before the end of February, but if my friend, who currently has my printed off copy of the novel, takes too long to read it over, I fear that it might take longer than I wish. Anyhow, I will try to finish that as soon as possible, and once I do finish editing it, I will post the link to the CreateSpace website where you can purchase the novel.
     I will also try to post short stories here and there, hopefully finishing some stories that I never got around to finishing for different reasons, such as "Knife Life" and "Autumn" (which is an older one, I believe.)  I have about a month off from school, so I don't quite know how my writing will do. I tend to write more at school (seen by the amount of posts in September and October), but I do have more time for writing now. There are also a couple projects I have been thinking about starting, but I think I should finish my old ones first! The projects are recently inspired and include the following ideas: a boy who judges and loses, a criticism of a racist Quebec, and a short story adaptation of a music video (always fun.) The music video is Marianas Trench's "Haven't Had Enough." I actually analyzed the video with my friend the other night in an attempt to aid her with her essays. I find that it is very well put together, but I digress.
     Below you will find a poem that I pieced together from poetic bits I found in a notebook of mine (written by me). Perhaps poetry can pull me out of this dump, so to speak.
     Till next time, Kuna Zero.

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Single Tear

If a single tear were to fall from my eye,
Let it be from our eternal good-bye.
One kiss, it seems, is all I need,
To be trapped in an eternal glee.

But the truth is too hard to see,
Knowing him, I'll be forgotten soon.
He took you from me,
And now I am alone, as the single tear falls.

-Zero

Dreams of a Fickle Teenager

November 23rd 2010 - Night of the First Dream

     Last night I was tasked with a dream that threw my mind into chaos again. It wasn't like the other ones. No, this one had no conflict. It was strange. I'm so used to having people conflict in my dreams, that I guess I never thought that there might be one without conflict. Ironically, this dream has screwed me up more than the ones before it. In my past entries, you'll notice that everything tends to stay the same; same people, same places, same conflicts. I've gotten used to the routine. Last night broke that routine, introducing new people, places, and conflicts. Now the conflicts are within me. I dreamt of my ex, who will be referred to as "B" to avoid the possibility of anyone actually figuring out who she is. Before I scribble down the dream in this notebook, I should probably give more background information.

    It all happened over the summer, right before school started. Things had been crazy, what with my inability to stick to one girl for longer than a week or so, and I commonly found myself at the local youth center. That's where I met B. She was cute, and I had seen her months before, but assumed she was with her boyfriend. This time, it was obvious that she was with her sisters and without a boyfriend. I'm starting to wonder if it would have been better if I had just walked away and never came back. But I didn't and here we are getting ready to describe a dream that has fucked me up even more. Anyways, B and I started dating, after, of course, I had broken through the icy walls of her heart. I never intended to hurt her, but I knew I would. Even before we dated, I knew. Maybe that should have been incentive to stop my pursuit of the poor girl, but I continued nonetheless, never taking a moment to think things over. Ironically, she would become one of my longest lasting girlfriends. She was sweet, nice and caring. I don't quite understand what caused me to become so distant from her, though. It happened one day, never letting me return and protect the thing we had. The more distant I grew, the more questions about the relationship I had. My friends, who I have learned are not as honest as they might think, inspired these questions. The relationship was thrown into turmoil and on our one month, I broke it off. I immediately hated myself for it, knowing that she would cry when she would get home. I knew that I became "like the rest" and that my life has just changed forever. The youth center became her place, only because she had more time for it than I did. Besides, she got there first. I stopped going, granting her the freedom of not seeing me everyday. The next time I went, she was found crying outside. I, of course, got yelled at by her sisters, who thought that I did something to B. I didn't though, and it kills me to know that my presence alone made her cry. I'm not heartless, just misguided. 

     Last night, I dreamt of B. She was crying. She was alone. I remember looking around, only to find an endless darkness surrounding us. I felt the urge to go over towards her, but I thought that I was the cause. I was torn between the two options. If I was the reason, was it my place to try and comfort her? Could I comfort her? The tears burn down her cheeks and suddenly I'm cradling her in my arms. "What happened?" I ask her, worried for her well-being. She stays quiet and continues crying. I bring her closer, holding her right next to my heart. We sit, rocking gently. I wasn't sure why she was crying, and found myself thinking that he new boyfriend had just broken up with her. I begin pitying her a little, only to find myself crying along with her, feeling her loss as my own. We hold each other in the caring embrace and find ourselves almost mocking a moment that we shared while we were together. That's when my alarm went off, waking me back up. 

     It's weird to have a dream like that. Seeming so short, but feeling so long. I'm starting to question myself. 

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I thought that I would try a different type of story. First person, but through the format of a dream journal that he actually expects someone to read. I figured I'd use a date that was from when I was still in high school, just to give a larger sense of the past. Anyways, I really ought to be back to the editing of my completed Nanowrimo novel (yes, still bragging) "Love: A Chaotic Insanity." 

-Zero

Victory is Mine!

Tonight I finally reached the end of my nanowrimo, barely passing the 50,000 word minimum with a mere 50,134 words! I'm in my celebration mode, despite all of the homework I should get to doing. This is my time to brag, I suppose. In celebration of completing the novel, you will find the second chapter following this update. I'm just happy that I can finally forget about having to deal with writers block. That and I actually completed a draft of a novel, which is something really new to me. Let's just say that it is an "epic" feeling. If you really want to make sure I wrote it, you can go check out my profile on nanowrimo.org. Just look up "KunaZero" and you should find me easily. Anyways, to that chapter I promised you!

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Love: A Chaotic Insanity

Chapter 2: Chaos Ensues

           The night-eyed goddess has been the only thing that I have been able to focus on for sometime. Despite my reading of the Iliad and the Odyssey over the summer (several times each actually), I have not been able to escape her grasp. Now that my first class of the year happens to be based entirely on the Iliad, the connection is starting to grow between it and the night goddess. This is dangerous. If she becomes so intertwined with something so important to me, I will never rid myself of this torment without ridding myself of the incredible stories of Homer. Yes, it is a torment. Perhaps I have not shown you enough of how much these dreams of the night-eyed goddess twist and mess with my mind. Consider now, for a mere moment, not being able to rid yourself of a repeating aspect of your dreams. Be it fear, horror, or love, eventually you really do not want to see it anymore. In my case, it is all three. I fear her infinite wrath if I ever anger her, lust for her without her lusting for me, and there is a certain horror to not being able to shake her. She controls me, and there is nothing I can do about it.

           But sometimes it's alright around her. When she acknowledges my existence, I find myself bearing a smile that I adore quite a bit. She shows me that I truly am real, not just a figment of someone's imagination. Perhaps I am, however, and a figment of her imagination at that. Currently my entire existence revolves around her, the night-eyed goddess. I remember the first day I saw her, but that is a story for another time. I remember spending my times off in the endless pine trees of the surrounding forest, a place I have not been able to visit for many years. She was all that I could think of, even surrounded by the endless expanse of the world. Never once did I ever forget her. You may find her cruel, ice-cold, and evil, but to me she is the very aspect of perfection. There is no way that anyone could ever reach such a level of beauty that she, the night goddess, did. She was all I dreamed about, back in those days. Still she remains as the only thing that dares enter my dreams, but now there is a looming shadow enshrouding her. I wish I could dream that one wondrous dream again, the dream of a wishing reality.

           “Back to the concept of Achilles' rage. Anyone know what importance it has in the story?” Thrasher asks to the class, sending my hand into the air above my head, which breaks the dream-cloud that hangs over my head. She gives a hesitant look at me, unwilling to deal with another outburst, but is given no other choice considering I am the only one who dared answering. “Yes, Mister Izbor?”

           “Achilles is the bringer of grief in the Iliad. Whoever his endless rage is directed at suffers great grief. At the beginning of the poem, the target of his rage is the army, who did not stand up for him when Agamemnon dishonored him.” She stares at me with an astonished look on her face, slowly nodding her head. Mitchell pats me on the back, and the mirror reappears in front of me, reflecting the image of the night-eyed goddess.

           “That's right... Now, can anyone else tell me who suffers the greatest grief in the poem?” I slide out of reality again, loosing interest as soon as the subject strays from the great rage of Achilles, the raging lion. The greatest sufferer of Achilles' rage is Hector, the gentle protector of Troy. But this is only after Hector kills Patroclus, Achilles' lover, as I like to call him. The worst part is that Hector is only the one who struck the final blow; he is innocent. Patroclus was stripped of his armor first by Apollo, and then struck by some other soldier before Hector comes and finishes him off. The gentle protector isn't really the killer of Patroclus, Apollo is. But Achilles doesn't know this and tears Hector apart, showing no care for the warrior's code after defeating the gentle protector in battle, and abuses the body publicly around the walls of Troy so that they could all see.

           The reflection of the night-eyes watch me from the mirror, sending chills down my spine. I meet them with my own, but quickly bounce around what else I can see through the mirror. Her smooth night skin, dark flowing locks, and her night-eyes are all that I can see through the mirror. She is the beautiful moonlight night that couples wish they could share. Never before have I ever laid eyes on something so beautiful and so wonderful. Soon I will find see her, the beautiful night, in the moonlit world after the sun falls beneath the horizon. I can't wait. Surely her beauty will be multiplied ten-fold. And to think that the night I cannot wait to see is so close.

I begin to smile at her through the mirror. She instantly looks away and puts away the mirror. I look down at my hands and think about the fires that dance around her again. There has to be a way to be more like them. I imagine thousands of flames dancing in the palm of my hand, but they are still out of reach. Slowly, they come closer, bringing a new sort of madness with them. “Hey, Styr. What you looking at your hands for, dude?

           My shifting eyes run up to find Mitchell looking at me from where Zilia was seemingly moments ago. “It's nothing, don't worry about it.” I look around the room. “Hey, where did everyone go?”

Laughing a little, he replies, “the bell rang, man. Come on, let's get out of here!” He grabs his stuff off of my desk and turns around. His head looks over his shoulder saying, “you've started sleeping with your eyes open!”

           I laugh along with him, thinking he's insane. I wasn't sleeping, was I? I reach out and grab my pencil, along with a little black notebook that I use to write down story ideas in. Perhaps I've forgotten to mention my deepest passion in life (besides Zilia), and that is writing. Writing is the only thing I seem to be able to do well, besides screwing up, of course. I've tried writing novels, but I haven't been able to get enough inspiration for them yet. I've been hoping that Zilia will inspire one. So far, I've had no luck. Everything just seems a little too crazy to write down as a story. “Let's go.”

           My unstable chair falls back as I stand up. It hits the ground with a resonating thud and I'm back to think about how Zilia hit the tree because of me. How could I let that happen to her? What if she doesn't want to meet up in the moonlight after that? Maybe I should talk to her. No. That's insane. Even if I did have a chance, going up to her and asking that wouldn't be a smart idea.

Mitchell and I exit the room quickly, disliking classrooms so much that we often compare it with hell. Too often do I say that my dried blood-red hair is even scared to stay in the room alone. That's how much we dislike it there. The only good thing about it, and it's not something I plan on telling Mitchell, is the fact that Zilia is in it. It's almost as if hell and heaven came together.

“Dude, I'm starting to think I should have read the Iliad with you over the summer. You're going to destroy that class with your marks.” Mitchell says to me. I smile at him and nod, happy that I can finally seem like the smart kid in the class.

“If you ever end up reading it, you should probably skip book 2. It is the most boring and useless thing I have ever seen. It's like a catalogue of all the different people involved in the war. Too boring!” I laugh, mostly because it's true. Most, if not all, of book 2 is spent talking about where different groups fighting in the wars come from and how many ships they have. We really do not care who has fifty ships and who has forty; it's just not information that we would bother remembering.

He laughs. “Got it. Book 2 is so boring I'll probably die.” Not what I said, but it's close enough. Whatever stops him from attempting to read that boring book. Even I found it too boring, and that's saying something considering one day I sat down and read the dictionary. Did you know that... Never mind. I don't even remember myself. It's the sort of thing that you read and forget that you were alive while reading it. I really recommend reading it. After you finish it, you'll feel very alive!

“Pretty much. So are you going to need me to help you with your homework?” I say, half-laughing. “You know I can't do it for you. Thrasher has had me for the past couple years, so she knows exactly how I write.”

My trusted companion looks at me and says, “damn it! I was so hoping to do that again!” We both laugh a most jolly laugh, knowing that I have never actually done his homework before. The joke is an ongoing joke picked up a few years back when the teacher accused us of sharing answers, when we really just wrote the same thing. We almost were failed, but they had no way to prove it, considering we were in different classes at the same time. It's freaky sometimes, how much we think alike. But there are things that we differ immensely, such as our views of Zilia. To me, she's a deathless goddess, and the night itself. To him, she's nothing but a, excuse my language, “stuck up bitch”. As he just so elegantly put it as he goes on about the tree incident.

“Seriously, dude, why did you go help her? I know you like her and everything, but it would have been so funny to watch her fall on her ass!” My eyes bounce around the hallway, watching all of the people pass us by. They quickly look at him to give him a look that says “it's something else.”

My mouth picks up and says, “It's weird. That branch shouldn't have broken because she got closer to the trunk, but farther... It doesn't make any sense.” This thought just occurred to me. Why did the branch only break when she started to get close to me? Was the tree somehow trying to show me something? “I know I must sound insane, but I think something broke the branch on purpose.”

“Yeah, gravity.” Mitchell tells me, laughing as he walks away. “I've got to go meet up with a friend of mine, Krystal. She's a really cool girl, and I think you should meet her. Maybe she'll put some brains back into your head.”

I laugh at that idea. “Good luck with that! Have fun, man! I think I'm going to go climb that tree!” He waves me off, and I walk out into the courtyard in a curious stride. I'm hoping to get some information about this mysterious, but wonderful, tree. When I arrive, the sun comes out from behind some grey clouds and shines down on the area, bringing a vibrant life back to the area. It's beautiful here, it really is. It's like nothing in the world could ever take away its beauty. No wonder I saw it in my dream. I must have known that Zilia would want to burn it. Dreams are interesting like that, but before I digress, I should get to the matter at hand.

I search the area carefully for the branch that broke off of the tree, but it's no where to be found. Quickly, as if the tree itself were to run away if I didn't, I climb it and look around. I find the spot that I stood when I held Zilia's hand, and look around to find that no branches around have been broken off. They all stand there as if it never happened, and they don't look like they're going to break any time soon either. “The hell?” I mutter to myself.

I climb back down and stumble back into the school, forsaking the beautiful feeling that being around that tree gives me. How could I ever let her burn it, but how could I ever deny her what she wants? Right now the question wouldn't be “what should I do,” but more “what can I do?” I am her faithful follower, am I not? Would Hector dare go against Zeus's will? I know Achilles would; the raging lion knows no master. Achilles does not know control, or respect. That is why he is so dangerous. Hector, however, knows his place, and keeps himself under check most of the time. Hector has the power of thoughts. But still, I am torn between which one I would rather be.

I pull out the note that was slipped into my pocket without me noticing by Zilia earlier and read it over again, repeating some of the words out loud. “Foolish... Trivial... Moron... Power... Zilia... Surpass... Echo... Forever...”

“Hey what's that you're reading?” A strangely familiar voice says from behind me, almost peering over my shoulder. In my shock, I quickly shove the paper in my pocket, and turn around with a big innocent smile on my face.

“Oh hey, Bridge.” I say, pretending like I didn't just over react instead of lying and saying “nothing.” Before me stands a Gothic looking girl, sporting a dark style that surely went out of style before it was even invented. I really have no idea how that style ever came in style. It really is just downright depressing. I thought people had enough problems in their lives.

“Hey, freak.” She says to me slightly aggressively. Ever since I stopped coming around as often, for my own reasons, her and her friends have become increasingly aggressive. “Have you been avoiding us, your friends again?” Oh god. Not this again.

“I thought I already explained that to you. I can't avoid you, because in order to avoid you, I'd have to have some idea as to where you will be. And I don't.” I reply with a burning rage boiling underneath my skin. The constant annoyance of that group of friends is always present. It has actually gotten to the point that I have stopped going out of my way to talk to them anymore. I've gone out and made new friends, better friends. I moved on. I don't know why they can't accept that.

“Quit lying to me, Styr. You're a freak and a creep. Last I heard you were stalking that girl.” I shoot her a concerned glance.

“What girl?” There's no way someone knows about me and Zilia. Not even Mitchell knows, and he knows everything about me.

“Some girl named Wendy. Oh wait... that's right. You went out into the woods with her and killed her!” Now she was going too far. This is the exact reason that I don't talk to them anymore. I tell them the truth as I see it and they warp it to their will. It drives me insane.

“I. Did. Not. Kill. Her!” I yell at Bridge, ready to tear her head off. Liars are the worst of people, stealing the truth from the world and replacing it with something that is a fabrication of their imagination. She shoots me a victorious smile and a thought goes through my head. “Did you just come over here to piss me off?”

Her god-forsaken smile remains there for a moment, and then breaks to allow her to speak. “No, I came here to try and convince my old friend to wake up and realize that he belongs with us, his friends.”

“I have friends, other friends.” I say coldly, no longer caring about her feelings. They need to hear the truth. I don't need them anymore. I had hung out with them when I felt that I belonged with them. I was wrong. It's rare that I manage to get a girlfriend, and every single time they managed to ruin my relationship by judging her. They interrogated me each time, asking things like “why are you going out with her?” and “eww, what's wrong with her face?” They do not see deep enough in any person, yet think that they do. Perhaps my greatest madness comes from their hypocrisy. I will never judge another man who gets the urge to tear someone apart for angering him consistently for years. I understand. They don't.

“Oh yeah?” She replies, clearly offended. “So tell me, where are your friends right now?” I shrug at her.

“I don't know where they all are.” I say, making it sound like there are too many to keep track of. “But I do know that Mitchell went to go meet up with some girl he knows.”

“Oh yes, Mitchell. I heard you were hanging out with him since you dropped us. Tell me, what's it like hanging out with that idiot?” The anger boils even greater beneath my skin. The great rage of Achilles begins to wash over me. She has no place to insult him. He has done her no harm, nor has he ever met her.

“You don't even know him, you bitch. He probably has a higher IQ than you do.” Fires engulf my mind, burning all trace of sense and respect in it. I'm losing control. I'm scared. Losing control is far too dangerous. I have to leave. I have to get away.

“What?” She screams at me, beginning to hit me in the chest and shoulder. The pain fades quicker than it comes, but each strike attempts to invoke my rage to battle. “What was that? Did you just say what I thought you said?” I don't know what in the world compels me to nod my head in response, but I nod. “Hey guys, come here! We're going to show little Styr what he gets for ditching us!”

I turn to get away, but two of her larger male friends block my path. I'm surrounded in seconds, with the rage attempting to break free. This isn't good! Someone is going to get badly hurt. It could be me... Or it could be one of them. “Let me through!” I hopelessly yell at them, warning them without them even knowing.

“Or else what?” The larger one of them says to me, smiling like the Grinch who stole Christmas. I go to speak but a fist strikes me in the stomach before I could warn him. There is something strange about me, something feral. Achilles begins to break through the front lines of my skin, forcing Hector to retreat back into the protective walls. Another fist comes to strike me in the stomach, but I somehow dodge it and return with three quick, but powerful, punches to the larger guy's stomach. “Son of a bitch...” He says as he bends over in pain.

I attempt to run past him, but the other one blocks my way. “You think I'm going to just let you get away with that, Styr? We've danced before, and I've never lost.” A punch is thrown at where my face used to be, but in seconds I had already moved around him, dashing for the sanctuary of the grand tree. Unmatched in speed, I reach the grand tree in no time at all. But they will not give up until it's over. Not only that, but chances are they grabbed some more buddies of theirs to get me hard. I look around, trying to find a place to hide. Why did I come here?

I dance up the tree because my life might depend on it. Up and up I go, until I can go no more. Hidden among the lively green leaves of the grand tree, I wait. They'll be here soon, I just know it. My heart races with the adrenaline, and the fear of letting the beast out again. It was self-defence, so it's alright. Right? I take a moment to catch my breath, feeling my chest rise and sink like it had the first time I came here. I'm at peace. Everything is going to be alright. I poke my head out of the leaves to look around the area. I can see the doors of the school fly open as several large boys come out with a group of all too familiar girls. They're here.

“Find him!” Bridge orders the others, yet again asserting her dominance when there should be none. “I want him to see the error of his ways!” A cruel laugh emits from her body, and I realize that the black that she wears is not an expression of her sadness, but merely a symbol of her evil. Chills go down my spine with this thought. Something bad is about to happen.

The school's doors are slowly pushed open, and Mitchell walks through. No! He has the worst timing in the world to go looking for me. “Uhh... You guys see Styr?” He asks them nicely, totally oblivious to the danger he is in.

An evil grin stretches across Bridge's face. I can feel it. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” She turns around, facing the largest of her group. “You two! Guard the door!” Mitchell stands there like a deer in the headlights, confused and not sure whether or not he should move. Run you idiot, run! He stands still, unable to hear my warnings. God damn it! What the hell am I supposed to do now? I'm going to get us both killed if I act, or I'll deal some serious damage to them, and if I stay here, he'll suffer for something I did. I have to do something. I am no Agamemnon!

“Is that a no?” He replies to Bridge, realizing that he's in trouble. Right now he's probably praying for something, or someone, to save him. I don't think anyone besides me is going to save him right now, and even then I might not be able to save him. But I can't just sit back and watch! I look around the tree and try to find something I could use to fend them off with, like a branch or something that I could swing around at them. I spent a lot of time practising with swords over the course of my childhood, but I'm probably very rusty. Still though, it's probably better than trying to face them head on. Come on, there's got to be something up here! I take a peak out of the safety of the trees to find that Mitchell, my honest friend, is surrounded by the group of angry teenagers.

“Hey morons!” I yell out at the group without thinking. My body moves as it pleases and carries me down from the tree, seemingly dropping out of nowhere. They look at me with immense hatred, but I can sense a certain awe in the way that they look at me. “I'm right here. There's no need to bring him into this.”

“Styr?” Mitchell yells from inside of the consuming circle, still trapped by their large numbers.

“It's alright Mitchell. Go inside and forget all about this. It'll all be okay.” I tell him, hoping they'll let him go. Hector guides me, telling me to avoid conflict; my friend comes first. I do as Hector says, but it seems that Bridge has other ideas.

“Well then, it seems that Styr's a heroic one. Why don't we show him what we do to heroes, eh fellas?” The group moves towards me like an army marching into battle. I can survive this. I just hope Mitchell does. A great fear washes over me, the same fear that washes over Hector before his final fight with Achilles, a fight he inevitably loses. “Oh no, Mitchell. You're staying right here so that he can see you suffer.”

Suddenly I shift from Hector to Achilles and feel the burning rage that sends me to protect my friend with all of my might. I will show them not to cross me. My dried blood-red hair waves in the gust of wind that blows from the south. Above me, in the expanse of branches, rustling can be heard. A single branch falls from the tree and lands right beside me. I look at it, and realize it shares the shape of my ideal sword, a broad sword. I bend down and pick it up, then charge into battle.

“The hell?” I hear one of them scream as they notice that I am actually running at them at full speed. I begin to strike them down with the sturdy replacement for a sword. I am Achilles as he cuts through the Trojan army, raging at the death of Patroclus. In no time at all, I reach the large boy I had punched earlier. He catches the stick and holds onto it, despite the expression of pain that shoots across his face on impact. I loose my grip on it and he takes it from me.

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Looks like the poor hero has reached the end of his journey.” He lifts the sword in the air, and prepares to strike. “Any last words?”

“Not. Yet.” I say beginning to dance around him, taking the form of a flaming rage. I lose my mind and strike nonstop until he collapses to the floor like the ones before him. The flames erupt in my mind, and I can feel them stretch across my body. I bend down and pick up my sword.

I look up and see nobody left standing, but Mitchell and Bridge. “How... did... you...?” She barely gets out in her limitless fear. I stare at her hatefully.

“There is no getting in between me and my dearest friend. There is a lot you do not know about me, Bridge. And it is going to stay that way.” I twitch slightly and let out a howl. “I am a freak. Be afraid.”

She goes to run and Mitchell lets her go, after seeming like he considered stopping her. He turns and smiles at me. “Jesus! That was intense! Where'd you learn how to do that?” He congratulates me, patting me on the back. I shrug at him as the flames recede and the gentle protector comes back out from the walls to hold off Achilles once more.

“I don't actually know.” I laugh it off as if it was nothing, when secretly I'm really just afraid to find out what caused that. “Come on, let's get out of here before they wake up.” In a matter of days some people will start hearing about this, but luckily for me, no one would believe it. One scrawny kid taking on all of these guys? Hardly possible. And that's just how I like to keep it.

-Zero

Love: A Chaotic Insanity - First 13 or so pages

The world bounces around as if someone was shaking it. The forbidden beauty walks through the door, glowing like an angel. Her elegant red dress flows like lava, hot destructive lava, and instantly my heart is off to the races. There she is. I think to myself. Right there in front of me. Say something you idiot! I yell at myself without much luck and find myself speechless as she stands over me. In a flash her back faces me, her beautiful night-skin contrasting the fresh blood-red of her dress.

Zilia, descendant of the gods, sits down in front of me. The class room glows from the light that she radiates. My lungs freeze to ice, but my heart races on without them. Paralysed I sit there, watching the ever-flowing locks of night that fall from her head dance in the slight breeze. I never understood why they are always dancing, even when there is no wind. Her dark locks dance with each other, never inviting anything else to join them in their elegant dance.

“Zilia!” A voice cries out from the doorway. It is unfamiliar, but female. A distressed and lost female by the sounds of it, stumbling through the endless darkness that comes when the night-eyed girl is not around.

The night-eyed girl ignores the call for her, and stares straight ahead of her. I lean over a bit, but not enough for her to notice for I am terrified of talking to her, and try to get a peak of what she is looking at. A grand tree stands off in the distance, feeling thousands of miles away yet closer than anything else at the same time. The goddess of the night stares at it unrelentingly, and as I reach to touch her shoulder out of sheer impulse, it bursts into flames.

“Yes, Styr?” She says to me, asking what I wanted but not expecting an answer. My mouth opens to reply, but my lungs are frozen, unaffected by my burning heart. If only I could overcome this barrier. My hand reclines like an injured animal. I sit back down into my seat, thinking about what to say, if I can manage to say anything.

“The Fire...” I strain to push out of my lungs that were frozen by the night. I mentally pat myself on the back, and feel happy that I managed to get any words out at all. But now I stand at a standstill. If she doesn't answer back, what should I do? What can I do? Not even with my chaotic blood-red hair can I keep myself sane around her. I become mad, obsessed, dangerous. But I would never hurt her, so the only question is who am I really dangerous to?

“Don't worry about that, oh grey-eyed one. The lively green angers me, turns me burning hot inside. So I destroyed it.” Her eyes remain locked on the murderous fire that burns on the grand tree. It rages and rages, but the tree somehow keeps itself alive. Zilia's dress ignites like fire, no longer being only crimson red, but orange and yellow as well.

“Are you sure you want to do th-” I almost finish my sentence before her black eyes are upon mine and I'm frozen to stone. I can't move, trapped forever in her cold eternal embrace. The night goddess shakes her head at me and mouths some words to me. Do. Not. Doubt. Me.

My heart tries to break free, rushing to escape the icy embrace of a goddess. It pulls me towards the grand tree, which burns ferociously, but no scars are formed. The tree seems to be immune to Zilia's tricks, and one part of me is actually curious enough to tempt the wrath of the goddess just to go see what makes this tree so strong. But I would never make it there. The night-eyes disappear as quick as they appeared, sending me into a state of confusion. Where did she go?

“Do not disobey me, Styr, and all will be as you wish.” Her voice whispers into my ear, like a deafening wind that some people try to block out. But not me. I embrace her controlling voice, seeing as her voice is the only connection I have to her. A flame erupts across my body, burning me severely. The pain is unbearable and I try to drop and try to put it out, but I can't move. I can just stand there and burn as Zilia, the night-eyed goddess, watches me with entertained eyes.

“Wake up, Styr! We're almost there!” Reality says, knocking down my doors of imagination and forcing me to rejoin the 'real world' with everyone else. The fires fade away and the night-eyed goddess fades from my vision. Confused, I am not sure whether or not I'd rather have stayed asleep.

“Shit, already?” I ask Michael, surprised that the bus ride to school felt so short compared to most days. He nods, with his little brown Mohawk cutting through the air in front of him. Michael’s a punk, essentially. He spends most time listening to heavy rock music and playing guitar in his leather jacket. He hates authority and he especially hates the so called 'popular' kids. The only problem with this is that Zilia is one of those 'popular' kids, but he respects me enough not to judge her. In front of me at least.

“Yeah, man. You slept through the whole ride. Welcome to grade twelve.” He laughs, expecting me to fail the year due to my obsession with dreaming. Everyone's allowed to have dreams right? Why can't I follow mine? I barely passed grade eleven because I slept through so many classes. It was so bad that after a while the teachers would just leave me there and wake me up when school was over. I don't believe any of them quite liked this, but I'm sure they preferred it over me being loud and obnoxious like I was before the dreams began.

“Don't worry, man. I got this. How hard can it be?” I ask him, cursing myself in the process. Of course I have to screw myself over at the beginning of the year. Doing it at the end just isn't enough fun. You're fluent in sarcasm, right? Good. I hate it when people don't quite get it. Sometimes, however, it leads to some pretty good jokes. Mostly blond jokes, but don't worry about it, the blonds around here don't really get them too much. I don't know what it is, but they have a tendency here to get concussions a lot. It's very rare to find an intelligent person around here to begin with, yet alone specify hair color.

“You are so screwed, buddy. But good luck. Maybe you should invest in sleeping more at home.” He suggests, just trying to be a good friend, despite doubting me so soon. I nod at him, knowing that it won't help. Something about these dreams tell me that the solution to them is not hidden in how much I sleep, but more how I act on them in reality. It is sort of like that one thing that you know you have to do, but can't decide to do it anyways. I guess I'm trapped by the night goddess. “And maybe a good haircut, too.”

My hair drops down in front of my face, covering half of it in a bloody mess. He's right, I do need a haircut. People already stare at my hair enough as it is. The last thing I need are 'Jesus from hell' jokes. “You're right, come on. Let's get of this goddamned yellow submarine.”

“It's too early in the morning for bad Beatles jokes.” He replies, laughing at me as he stands up and walks out into the empty aisle. “You coming?” I grab my leather single strap bag and slide out into the aisle after a quick look out of the window. Off in the distance I can see that familiar green, like the grand tree, hidden in the crowd heading into our crappy high school. I mentally freeze and think about it as I walk down the empty aisle and off of the bus. The husky thing drives away shortly after I get off, leaving a dust cloud behind it, enveloping me in it.

My sight is limited because of the dust cloud, but I walk towards the school. I know exactly where it is because I've walked this path a thousand times at least at this point. Even more if you consider I do it twice a day, and this is my fourth year at the school. I make my way out of the dust cloud without much trouble and find myself alone outside of the school. How did I lose Michael so quickly? I pat some dust out of my 'needs to be cut' hair, and some crimson locks of hair fall down with it, forming a strange pattern on the ground. I look at it, thinking it looks cool, but quickly kick it away as I rush off to class.

I burst through the door of room 127, rushing to the seat right beside Michael. “What happened to you?” He whispers as I sit down, already wanting to sleep on the desk. I look around the oddly familiar room and find nothing too familiar. I probably had class in here before a few years back. I shrug at Michael and take a notebook out of my bag. “Finally taking notes?”

I shake my head at him. “Working on a story.” I tell him quietly, so that the teacher doesn't hear us talking. Despite all of our efforts to assure that we are not heard, Ms. Thrasher seems to pick up on it and gives us a dirty look. Our eyes meet and I realize that she is about to give us trouble for talking in her class, but she's quickly cut short from her rampage of terror by someone opening the door. Score! I think to myself. Someone who's later than I am!

The world bounces around as if someone was shaking it. The forbidden beauty walks through the door, glowing like an angel. Her elegant red dress flows like lava, hot destructive lava, and instantly my heart is off to the races. There she is. I think to myself. I must be going crazy.

“Did you notice that shaking?” I quick turn and ask Michael, never letting my eyes leave the goddess. He shoots me a 'are you insane' look, and shakes his head. I really am insane, especially when it has to do with Zilia. “Must have been my imagination acting up again.” The worst part is that my imagination messes with my reality on a daily basis and I'm not always sure when it does. It's kind of like dreaming with your eyes open, but without realizing it and you also tend to look more insane. Much more insane.

“Dude, you really gotta sleep more, but dream less. Frig, your dreams are making their way into reality. Careful.” Michael, the voice of reason, says as he laughs. “You don't want them to become nightmares.” The truth-teller continues, warning me of my own downfalls.

“I'll try, thanks.” The night-eyed girl repeats her motions from the dream, sending me into a twisted version of reality embraced by insanity. She begins to glow, bringing the dream into an all-too real state. Something inside of me understands and knows that the goddess's glow is fake, fabricated. It's all in my head. I cannot forget that .

Locks of night fall from her head, enveloping her shoulders and neck in a smooth and seemingly endlessly deep darkness. The starless night-sky of her eyes stares through the wall of the classroom, as if the grand tree can be seen on the other side of it. I lean over, trapped by the laws of the dream world. Nothing of interest rests before her godly eyes, and my arms extends itself to touch her shoulder. Still trapped, I almost reach her smooth night-skin with my hand, but I freeze as a voice is heard.

“Alright, class. Take out a notebook. We'll be covering The Iliad today. Tell me, who is the main hero of the Iliad?” Our professor says, breaking me free from the dream. I withdraw from my position, retreating from my attempt to seize a touch from the sacred goddess. “Styr? How about you?”

Quickly my grey, indecisive, eyes flash to meet the professor's eyes. The raincloud eyes quickly shift away from Thrasher's eyes, trying to take as much sights in as possible. “Achilles, the raging lion, and Hector, the gentle protector.” She gives me a confused look, and shakes her head.

“No, Styr. One hero, not two. Choose one.” Her demanding voice echoes through the room and my eyes bounce away from hers, leading back to the night in red that rests in front of me. A small pocket mirror materializes in Zilia's hand, reflecting the world at an angle.

My mind returns to the task at hand and I shrug, without lifting my eyes from the mirror. Slowly the gaze of the mirror slides from the fiery red of the dress to the smooth night that composes Zilia, the goddess. “I can't choose between them, miss. The Iliad begins with Achilles, the raging lion, and ends with Hector, the breaker of horses.”

The teacher nods at me. “You're right. But, you know that almost the entire collection focuses on Achilles, right? Hector is a secondary character, and I'll show you why.” She imposes her ideas on the class, silencing me, the individual who won't agree. My hand shoots up, as if it had a mind of its own.

“Am I not allowed to have an opinion of my own without being told I am wrong? Makes me wonder if you'll be teaching us conformity through practising it.” I reply boldly, flames seemingly bursting from my mouth. A blurred feeling overtakes me, numbing my care for the people around me.

“Excuse me, Mister Izbor, but if you have a problem with how, and what, I teach, you can leave.” Professor Thrasher tells me in an offended voice. The darkness in front of me fades slightly, allowing the fresh blood-red to come through instead. My books collect themselves and replace themselves in my bag.

Michael nudges me. “What are you doing?” He exclaims, but keeps the volume under a whisper. I shake off his nudge, and go to answer him, but find myself distracted by something else. Eyes as dark as night stare at me from the reflected version of the world. A goddess is watching me. I freeze, frozen by her icy stare.

“Sorry, miss. I won't do it again.” The words slip out of my mouth like a snake slithering through the desert sands. The blurred feeling fades, being replaced by the intense beating of my forgotten heart. The eyes of the night control me, sending me into a passive state. The thumping becomes all I can hear, and Zilia is all that occupies my mind. I am trapped once more by this goddess's spell. I feel the fire raging in the distance, started by the icy glare of the fiery night. It attempts to destroy the grand tree, I feel it trying. But I know somehow that the fire will not destroy the tree, much like rain will not kill the fire. To kill either, one must suffocate the source.

The goddess who torments my dreams, and my reality now, enforces her power over me by keeping me silent for the rest of the class. Time seemed to fly by, for it felt like mere seconds before the one hour that was left was over. I think the bell has already rung, considering most of the class is flowing out of the room like the drops of water that form a waterfall. Coming back to reality, I sent my bag over my shoulder and took off, slipping through the crowd.

My hand slips into my pocket, mimicking the snake-like words that I could not control. A paper, unfamiliar in its being, touches the curious fingertips of my rough but sometimes soft skin. What is this paper? Where did it come from? I question myself as I slowly wrap a finger around the paper. I consider taking it out of my pocket, and find the decision harder to make. What if something on the paper is more twisted than my own dreams? What if it is real, and not a fabrication of my imagination like so many other things are? What then?

Dear Styr, foolish mortal boy,
There is something I had intended to tell you, many years ago, but never got around to it. I, myself, am far too busy to be bothered with such trivial things most of the time. You are very lucky that I took the time to write this letter and slip it into your pocket when you weren't paying attention to anything like the moron that you are. Never forget that I am always in power, and you'll do fine with my proposition. My name is Zilia, as you know, much like a devout follower would know the name of his god. I suppose this is the same idea, except for the fact that I surpass the gods and that you are less than a devout follower. If you wish to speak to me, and have my voice echo through your mind forever, meet me in the moonlight of the coming full moon. You will know where to meet me. Your dreams will tell you enough.

The letter stopped my heart, and quickly found its way back into my pocket. The full moon, when is it? The last time I saw the moon was a year before tonight, for many people dare not enter the night anymore. It has been no more than an hour since last I saw Zilia. What caused such a sudden change in the state of things? I'm obsessed, and I know it. But she does too. It seems like my dreams are somehow known to the goddess of the night, revealing a power I did not think she had before.

“Styr!” Michael yells at me from down the hall as I stand outside of my classroom in a trance. I slip the note into my pocket and try to snap myself out of my deep abyss of thought about Zilia, the goddess of night. Just the thought that she would slip me a message in her own handwriting surprises me. Who am I to receive her attention? Lower than a “devout follower” as she put it, and she is greater than the gods themselves. It's insane to believe I have any chance with this girl. I don't. This is all just some twisted torment that I have subjected myself to. Those dreams...

“Yeah?” I say, sounding as relaxed as possible. The less he knows, the better it will be.

“Zilia... She...” My dearest friend begins to say, sounding scared to tell me what he had intended to. My heart begins to race with the thought that something might have happened to her. I wish my friend had the courage of a lion like Achilles, and a blinding rage that would allow me to continue along with my business in peace.

“What happened? Tell me!” I reply, suddenly feeling panicked. If she's dead, I'll never see her in the moonlight like the note promised. My mind sprints like a panicked deer, bounding all over the place, looking for peace.

“I can't say... Come with me...” He says quietly after attempting to tell me multiple times unsuccessfully. Slowly, he walks away. I follow hesitantly, afraid to come across a mangled body of a fallen goddess. An image of Zilia's divine body appears in my head, slowly twisting around itself, breaking bones and spraying blood that is the same color as her dress. Her body snaps in half, revealing nothing but her disgusting insides. Her face begins to twist and turn now, but smiles at me like a god-forsaken devil. The fallen goddess's jaw slowly opens, and continues to open until it cannot open anymore. Her smile rips apart, making her twisted face an even more twisted sight. Her tongue hangs from her jaw like she is some sort of undead creature. Her beauty is destroyed.

“There she is.” Michael tells me, pointing up at something. I'm afraid to look, but I quickly take a look around the area and realized that I followed him outside. A grand tree stands in front of me, resting in the middle of a lush meadow. The leaves of the grand tree bear many shades in the beautiful sunlight. For a moment I forget entirely about Zilia, remembering nothing about the image of her attempting to burn this very same tree. I feel at peace for once, and happy. No longer do I feel tormented or lonely. There's a presence here, something bringing me the most relaxing peace. My ever-shifting eyes slow in their panicked sprint, and my crazy heart regains its sanity. My chest rises and shrinks slowly, each breath becoming an embraced pathway to life. But this beautiful innocent bliss of mine cannot last. My eyes find Zilia's image in the tree, looking down at the ground both fearfully and hatefully.

“You there!” She yells at us from the grand tree. Her voice hatred and anger, attacking the tree by screaming at us. “Get me down from here! I'll have this tree burned to the ground!”

I yell back up, currently feeling comfortable with the position I find myself in. “How did you get up there?” I have a feeling Michael is holding back an incredible laughing fit. If I were him, I wouldn't hold it back. But if I were to laugh, she would destroy me in moments.

“I don't know. I just did.” She replies rudely, and makes a motion for us to come closer. “Let me get down already, you damned tree.” The night stands in the grand tree, stopped in its tracks by the ever-growing trunk. I approach the tree, with my heart beating like a madman's drum. I stare into the golden-brown trunk and I easily find a way to climb up into the grand tree's endless branches. The bark of the tree is soft to the touch, and warm as well. I couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to burn it. Then I remember the night goddess, the night-eyed girl who hates the tree with all of her being. She wants to burn the tree, something we could never replace. The peace is far too good for the night goddess.

“Give me your hand.” I tell the goddess after some consideration about how I am going to get her down. The night's hand stretches out to me, seeming to burn on contact with the sun. I reach out my own pale-yellow hand and touch her distant hand. The goddess's hands are ice-cold, almost freezing my hands on contact. But the contact itself brings me a heart rush, setting me on fire, her freezing fire. The contact empowers me, giving me the belief that I can fly. Obviously I can't, but I sure as hell believe I can. I absorb this wonderful energy that comes from the contact with the night-eyed goddess. I attempt to consume as much as possible, slowly pulling her closer to me so I can escort her down from the grand tree. She doesn't belong up here.

The night grunts and slowly comes closer, snaking her way off of the branch that she stands on so angrily. As she snakes her way across the branch, that held her as if just to wait for the perfect moment to strike, a small crack can be heard from the branch. I reach back and grab another branch to stabilize myself first and get ready to either drop the goddess, or save the night. I await for the snap of the branch impatiently, and wonder which one of the mighty heroes of the Iliad I would most closely represent at this point. If the branch breaks, will I become a raging lion, or a gentle protector?

The strong, ever-lasting, tree branch snaps under the weight of the night and sends the night-eyed girl plummeting to the ground. A scream pierces my ear, reminding me of the screech made from dragging nails down a chalkboard. An almost overwhelming pull tugs at my arm, and I almost let go of the night-eyed goddess. She swings like the end of a flail does when someone attempts to kill someone with it, and strikes the tree with a loud thud. The goddess gives out a groan of pain, but as I look down at her, I see how little she fits in here. The beautiful green grass, the soft brown trunk, the shining sunlight, it's all contrasting against her fresh blood-red dress and her own dark complexion. She's like a vampire, shrinking away from daylight, but thriving in the darkness that comes after the sun rests over the horizon. She is the night. So what does that make me? I am not dark, but I'm not exactly light either. I'm not a hero, but I'm not a villain either. What am I? Who am I?

My grey eyes go to stare into hers, but not once do her eyes ever look at mine. Her night-eyes reject mine, but I await for them to accept mine nonetheless. The rainclouds that occupy my eyes stir and change impatiently, waiting for something to happen. Should I let her drop from here? Or should I pull her back up into the grand tree that she would like to see burned? I don't know what to do. It's as if there is nothing I can do, as if I am useless right now.

“Well are you going to let me drop now? I can almost touch the ground.” Zilia interrupts my thoughts, deciding for me. Hector it is. I nod at her and slowly reach down, putting her divine feet on the ground softly so that they would not be hurt. “That's a boy. Now, I will see you in class.” She says coldly before walking away angrily. Fires dance around her as if they follow her rage, worshipping her like I do. Perhaps if I were to become fire, I would be able to get closer to this mysterious and divine night-eyed girl. But how do I become fire?

“Well that was funny as shit!” Michael bursts into laughter after the night is far out of ear-shot. “She doesn't know how she got up into the tree? What the hell did she do in the past hour?” The honest one laughs excessively taking great pleasure in the goddess's suffering. I laugh along with him, but I don't mention anything about my most recent dream about Zilia. I stand there, in the grand tree, the same exact one from the dream and realize maybe she really doesn't know how she got there. Maybe there's something about the tree that tricked her into getting into it. I know I must sound insane, talking about the tree as if it was human. I spoke about the fires as if they were, so I guess it's only fair.

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Here's the new introduction from my nanowrimo, which is currently at about 43 thousand words, beating "The Beginning of The End" at last! I recently found myself unable to write like I have been for the story the past few weeks. Ironically, the second week, not the fourth, is thought to be the hardest. Well, I have never really been one to experience the same difficulties as some people. Anyways, you'll notice that it's a bit longer and for some reason the whole post is double spaced (I have no idea how that happened. Damn copy pasting from openoffice!) Recently my life has once again found itself crazy, what with school and all. Essays left, right, and center, disturbing my creative writing. Nanowrimo's doing a good enough job at that. I'm hoping I can get it done sooner than the 30th so that I can focus more on my school work. I'm notorious when it comes to finishing school work. I honestly have no idea how I do it all in time. I guess with all of my usual writing, essays don't really seem all too difficult. Finding secondary sources on "The Crucible" still sucks though. Anyways, I'm going to hop off and get back to writing... Or sleeping... Which ever comes first. Take care!

-Zero