Encounters with The Wanderer: His Journey Back (short story)

       You are the strangest person I could have imagined to come across in this world. From what you've told me, you're trying to find someone you've never met, someone you don't even know is still alive. But I have encountered this wanderer of yours, although it was ages ago. I had just come out of hiding as a large group of powerful warriors had passed by and I did not want to find out whose side they were on. Back then I was staying just outside of New York city.

       I sensed him long before he arrived. At first I hid. When he arrived, he stopped and fell against a concrete wall. I risked a glance over at him and noticed he was overwhelmed with sorrow. His head was between his legs and a katana with an orange-red handle lay by his side. He sat there in silence for a long time, until, finally, he started crying.

       Once he stopped, I worked up the courage to approach him. “You there!” I called out with fabricated confidence. His head picked up and revealed the face of a teenager sent to war. The youth had been drained from his eyes and they themselves seemed on the verge of disappearing entirely. I fell to my compassion. “You alright?” I asked softly.

       “What the Hell do you think?” He snapped back. “Look around. Does this look like Paradise to you?”

       “Look, buddy, I don't know who in the Hell you think you are, but I came here to check up on you. No need to be an asshole.” My anger got the better of me, but I wouldn't know that until he got to his feet. “What's your problem anyways?”

       “My problem? My problem?” He yelled. Suddenly the power I had sensed in him began to pour forth. Fires raged in his eyes. “My problem is this world! This war! This utter failure!” He threw his fist hard against the concrete.

       “What is it your problem? Who are you?” I returned, the fear of his wrath beginning to take root.

       “My name,” he howled in furious agony, “is Kuna Zero.” Fires burst forth from the ground surrounding him and spun around him like a tornado. His left hand seized the katana by his side and its shining blade burst into orange-red flames. “My spirit is the Firecat.” He started getting to his feet. His skin ignited; the fires enveloped his whole being. “I am the coward! The child of Seth himself!”

       I stepped away from the flaming man without lifting my eyes from him. He seemed to look right through me and ceased to move entirely. Then he let out the most bone-chilling scream I have ever heard. A grand pillar of flame erupted from him that shot up into the grey clouds above.

       A breeze, not of my own doing, blew by me, whispering to me carefully. “One who has stumbled across this child of Fire, put distance between yourself and his pillar of flame. He will recover.”

       I spoke and let my winds carry them to her. “How can you be so sure? Demons for miles will flock to him because of this show of his. He'll be overwhelmed in moments.”

       The whisperer on the winds took no time to reply. “He is an old friend of mine, and he is the child of Fire. The demons may feel victorious, but his flames serve as a warning.” She paused. “I hate to leave him alone, but he must grow. The wanderer, as he will likely become, will return when the day of clouds is over.”

       “How do you know he'll return then?” I questioned on the winds as I watched your wanderer carefully.

       A grand breeze blew around me and said, “the day of clouds will be over when he returns, awakened from his fallen state.”

       “How long till then?”

       “I don't know.” The winds sighed. “But I hope it's soon... We need him...”

       That was the last I heard that voice on the winds. Sometimes I would send out a breeze to the source, but I've never gotten a reply. I don't know who she was, but I'm sure that you've already heard of her by now. I don't want to know about her, no. Let me finish my story.

       With the whisperer gone, I was left alone with him again and a new sea of questions. I sat and waited. Then, after a short eternity, his flames vanished in an instant of change. The wanderer within glanced at his blade, which had been extinguished, sighed, and followed the road north without so much of a word. I wanted to call out after him, but I let him go in silence. I suppose the day of clouds is not yet over. I guess you'll be going to find him once more. For the good of us all, I hope you find him awakened and ready to find the voice on the winds.

       Good luck on your journey, stranger. May we never have to meet again.

-Zero

Encounters with The Wanderer: The Forsaking (short story)

        I do not know who you are, young one, or why you are inquiring about the child of Fire. But I do not imagine this information to be dangerous, so I will tell you about my last encounter with Kuna Zero, or the Wanderer as you call him.

        It was some time ago (although time seems broken in this desolate world), not long after he and the others had left to battle the tyrant god. He arrived alone and in great distress. His katana was drawn, but its flames extinguished. By his appearance alone, I deducted that something had gone horribly wrong. I called out to him and approached him, but upon seeing me, he fled deeper into the city. You see that I am an old man, and have been for a long time, but I am far from helpless. Calling upon my spirit's strength, I changed my form to that of an owl and quietly flew after him.

        He stopped not far from here, in a park that had been ravaged by Nightmares before the grey came. He stood before what had once been a flourishing maple tree and then fell to his knees and wept. When the teenager's tears had dried, he got back to his feet and pierced the tree with his blade. He turned to leave; however, the tree had burst into flames, as well as some of the grass that surrounded him. He let out a sigh and turned to face the black cat who had materialized in the fires on an outstretched branch.

        “Is this what you wish for, Kuna?” The spirit of fire asked.

        Kuna shook his head. “Of course not! But I can't be the hero you all need me to be!” He fell to his knees once more. “I'm not my father! Seth wins this time and there's nothing we can do about it!”

        “So you are giving up on this world you once called home? Will you reject all that you vowed to protect and forsake all those that you love so dearly? Will you simply turn away as each one of them falls one by one to the darkness, even though you might have had the strength to save them? Most of all, will you forsake me in this terrible grey, only to be lost within it yourself?” The spirit replied with a fiery wisdom. It is to be expected of the oldest children.

        Now, at this time, I had half a mind to intervene and tell the child that he was being foolish and should not abandon his flames, but then I sensed a power not much different from his own approaching downtown. I suppose he sensed it too, as he quickly got to his feet, looked around and faced his spirit for one final speech.

        “Old friend,” he said in solemn haste, “I am too weak, too cowardly, to fulfil the duty that you ask of me.” He sighed. “Find yourself an appropriate partner. Farewell.” The child burst through the flames and disappeared into the distant grey.

        As he ran, his spirit's voice resounded through all of Montreal. “Return, oh Wanderer, when the day of clouds is over!” Then everything went silent.

        That is the last I saw of Kuna or his spirit, but perhaps you would like to see the place where those very same flames wait for him?

        Yes? Very well. Follow me.

        It i quite beautiful, isn't it? Once the child had run off, his spirit sighed, jumped from the branch, and disappeared into the ground. Flames spread across the ground, even going beyond the boundaries of the park. Then they too were absorbed by the earth, and in what felt like mere moments, the radiant forest before us had formed. It is amazing what exuberant power the child of fire possesses.

        What's that? You wish to go in? No, we cannot. I have tried before. When I drew close, the flames erupted out at its border, blocking my path. Only those the spirit chooses can enter, like the child of wind. I do not know her name, I admit. Nor do I know where she had been hiding for so long. What did she look like?

        Well, she seemed to be about the age of Kuna at the time. She stood with a broken will within her and carried an aura of abandonment. Her hair was long and light brown. Somehow she still retained her color. At first she was bundled in winter clothing – for the snow had not yet vanished – but she quickly shed the unnecessary garments and was wearing blue jeans with a vibrant green top.

        She had been led to the forest by Anis, a spirit who has, since ancient times, served the Four nearly as diligently as the emanations themselves. It was only under her guidance that the child of wind entered the forest and has not emerged since. That is all I have to tell you, I am afraid, but if you search for the Wanderer, then there is little you can do but wander as well in hopes your paths cross. I do not know of any other survivors. Good luck, child, and farewell.

-Zero

Encounters with the Wanderer: The Walled City (short story and update)

       I don't understand your interest in this 'Wanderer', but I will recount the time I crossed paths with him.

       I had been watching the grey horizon from atop Old Quebec's walls when I sensed his presence. I didn't know what to make of it. He radiated power, but it felt empty, almost absent. I turned and headed towards the source of the strange power, only to find him sitting against the outer wall with his head down. I drew my weapon and let my thundering powers rage forth.

       “You there!” I cried out defensively. “Who are you and why have you come here?”

       He lifted his head and I saw nothing but dread in his face. I let my powers recede and stepped forth, hoping for an answer.

       “My name,” he said with an exhaustion greater than the desolate world's, “is Kuna Zero...” He paused and met my stare with eyes of swirling torment. “I am the Wanderer.”

       That was when I noticed an empty sheathe by his ragged side. “You had a blade. What happened to it?”

       He broke eye-contact and focused strongly on the grey horizon. “I lost it.” He said after a long silence.

       “So you're looking for it?” I asked. He stood up silently and walked past me into the walled city without so much as glancing at me. He was the first person I had come across in such a long time that I did not want to lose him so quickly. I ran up beside him and joined him in his walk through my desolate home.

       “You are alone here.” He noted with his eyes fixed on the grey horizon.

       “Yes.” I answered. “Even the demons left with the others. It was before the Fall. They haven't returned.”

       “They're dead. The sceptre of tyranny misses no one.” He said bitterly, referring to something I was unfamiliar with. I wanted to ask, but his tone told me it was best left unknown.

       I followed him to the spot I stood in when I first felt his presence. He overlooked the grey horizon with an aura of gloom surrounding him. His silence almost made him disappear into the grey. I stared at him as if a single blink of the eye would make him vanish forever. My gaze kept falling to his empty sheathe. He was a void greater than the grey itself.

       “What happened?” I broke the silence.

       He turned his head slightly towards me. “We failed...” His head dropped. His fists clenched.

       I felt compelled by my spirit to ask, “why do you wander?”

       He spun around and walked past me. “I'm running away...” He admitted as he came to a sudden halt a meter or so away.

       “From what?” I questioned further.

       “Myself.”

       Silence followed for a long while. We stood there as if turned to marble. He sighed heavily and turned towards me. His eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them, although it was nothing more than a speck of light, a lone star in the black sky.

       “I have to go.” He told me as his eyes grew distant. It was as if he was looking right through my soul.

       “Where will you go?” I questioned, worried that I would never come across another person again.

       “You are a spirit of lightning and thunder.” He stated in reply. Then he grabbed his empty sheathe with his right hand. “I was once of Fire. But I am lost in this grey...” He paused and let his fingers release. “And I must wander until I feel the light on my skin once more.”

       “So you go to find yourself?” I inquired.

       His gaze shifted to the sky and he shook his head. “'Return, oh Wanderer, when the day of clouds is over.'” He paused. “That was told to me by an old friend when I abandoned him.”

       “So you're waiting for all this to end?” I felt frustration boiling up within me at his perpetual inaction. He nodded solemnly. Lightning began to cackle out from my body, shocking the ground around his feet. He returned his gaze to me. Then I spoke. “Wanderer, I don't know you, nor do I know what lies in your past, but I can feel the great shadow of your power. It looms over that damned grey. Awaken your flames, damn it, and find a way to bring back the sun! Do not wait for fate to do it for you! Make your own fate!”

       His gaze fell away again. His fists tightened, his right brushing up against his sheathe. A breeze whispered by. “Farewell.” He said through his teeth. Then he spun around and walked away, blending with the surroundings like a ghost of days past.

       That is the last I ever saw or heard of him until you showed up. I wonder where he is now...

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      Above, as you must have noticed, is a short story based very heavily on the in-between of "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale" and "The Beginning of The End", when Kuna is wandering the world in self-imposed exile. I have written a few stories titled "Encounters with the Wanderer" which are all written from the perspective of someone outside of Kuna, who only hears what other people have said about him. 

       The reason I am posting this, however, is because I have decided to write "The Beginning of The End" for NaNoWriMo this year instead of a new novel. So, to get myself back into the novel's world (not that I ever truly left it), I will be typing up and posting the three short stories written so far every five days up until November 1st, when I can begin my novel once more.

       I am excited to begin NaNoWriMo, even though it does not mean a new novel for me to write. In fact, I am even more excited, as this novel is far more thought out and ingrained in me than any of the others have been. Moreover, "The Beginning of The End" very well may be the only novel that does not concern itself with love and romance. Considering it is technically my oldest novel (not including the lost version of "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale" from 2007), it is rather amusing to think that it is the change of pace from my usual style. 

     But that is enough for tonight. Until next time,

-Zero

  

When I'm Gone (Poem)

Is distance too hard for us?

The me you met

Would scream 'no'.

The me I am

Would accept defeat.

I knew we'd come to this.

But still I shake,

Wanting to scream,

Trying to fight it:

This incomplete end.

Why can't we be strong enough?

Just hold me

When I'm here.

I'll love you

When I'm gone.

Every kiss feels like the last.

A moment of passion,

Overshadowed by difficulty,

Another reason not to,

Another goodbye to bear.

I want to protest this fate.

But I can barely breathe.

Take away my breath.

I don't need it.

Why must Love feel like Death?

-Zero

To My Next Love, (Poem and update)

I don't believe in “The One.”

But I do believe in Love,

That it comes and goes like the seasons,

and Life itself.

Late at night,

When I am left to my yearning,

I look at the stars

And wonder if you are too.

I used to see you everywhere,

In every passerby on the street,

And in a friend lonelier than I am,

Who I just want to see happy.

Now everything is empty,

Like somehow I drained the possibility from them:

A vampire sucking his prey dry,

Excess leading to lacking.

But all these poems,

And all my novels,

Cannot show me the future,

Or give me the Love I yearn for.

I'm hopeless.

The world is so big,

And my programming set to wander,

As if no bond can face distance.

And I wonder how or why

The last I've loved

Have found Love again,

As I get lost amongst words.

I loved Love for so long.

Now I just want the bond,

Those soft, caring arms wrapped around me.

I'm sick of waking up alone.

I thought myself unfit for Love,

That I was more broken than others,

That forgiveness was a myth,

But an end showed me a beginning.

Sometimes I want to summon you,

With these words of black ink,

So maybe they might be useful...

And maybe, just maybe, I could hold you.

But for all my tears and prayers,

That won't happen.

My dying imagination knows it,

So I stop pretending it will.

A final note to you:

I will love you without end,

Because there is no end to grief,

And Love is the best we can do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had initially decided not to post this poem, not due to its length, but due to the fact that it feels so personal. However, I am a poet and do nothing except expose myself to the world in hopes that I am not alone in how I feel. Art, after all, all comes from a subjective source, and yet finds its own cultural and social meaning outside of that initial perception. 

As for this poem, it was written at the beginning of the month in one of my infrequent emotional moods often triggered by various forms of art and expressions of emotion, predominantly Love. There is something truly beautiful that I recognize in it, and I have wished for it for some time. A day does not go by when I do not find myself thinking of it, but at the same time, I recognize that Life is far more than simply Love, and that there is much I must do with my own person before it truly becomes reasonable to truly enter into the pursuit of Love, which, as described above, may be described as conflicted, as there is the yearning, but also the rejection of possibility around me.

Lastly, the month of November is approaching quickly and I have planned to take part in NaNoWriMo once more. This year, however, I have yet to have any sort of inspiration quite like years past and have been contemplating either continuing older unfinished first drafts, or continuing the rewrite of "The Beginning of The End" instead of working on a new project. If something strikes me before November begins, I very well may post an update about my plans for the month. We will see. Until next time,

-Zero

NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month - Nanowrimo.org

The Touch and The Thought (poem)

The world spins about,

Reality faces the Dream,

The close friend versus

The beautiful stranger.

Convince me

Love and Reality are one,

Or let the other win:

Love as powerful imagination.

Teach me

To let my heart beat for Real,

Or let it lie still:

Love lies in the brain.

Show me

The loving touch of another,

Her warmth filling my soul,

Her fingers running through my hair.

Dream's touch is cold,

Like that of a ghost,

But she promises everything

With her distant gaze.

It's strange

To think them at odds.

Like Fire and Ice,

Opposites but not quite equals.

The coldest cold

Is that which lacks heat.

The hottest heat

Is the most extreme abundance.

I have always loved Fire,

And hated nothingness,

So somehow...

The Real outweighs the Dream.

-Zero