Remember the Heroes

Dark and dastardly deeds,
The demon planted his seeds,
Hapless innocents caught in the carnage,
Hopeless witnesses viewed the damage.

To see such bloody horror,
Leads to fits of terror,
To hear the screams of fear,
Results in echoes that do sear.

What kind of madness causes such actions?
I would argue none.
It is simply the behaviour of selfish factions,
That leads to the lifting of a gun.

Repugnant dishonour will taint their names,
Disgust will be aimed at their games,
Their minds are feeble, weak and cowardly,
Vengeance shall come for them unreserverdaly.

To those that fell we should mark respect,
To the silent heroes who tried to protect,
To the children that were sacrificed,
To every innocent that has lost life:

We will mourn you,
We will remember you,
We will clamber for your justice.


After a period of absence, which I apologise profusely for, I have returned to my nook. It appears that the scariest thing of all is ones own fragility. The body is in some aspects nothing more than a sack of easily destructible rotting parts. However, it is also something exceedingly complex by which devastating chemical reactions can cause agonising instances of torture for the individual trapped within.

The problem arises when the sheer terror of the physical manifestations of illness attacks ones mental ability to concentrate fully on any given task.

The trick, in my mind, is to keep on going.

Despite my recent incarceration in the dungeon of maddening illness (features of which include needles, bruises, spasms and cranium splitting pain) I have managed to chip away at my writing. In all honesty recent times have seen my enthusiasm outweighing my physical and mental ability but it is the passion for the craft that will always win out.

I hope you can bear with me until the end.

Incubus Attack

Another night, another nightmare. Waking sweating, tense and tight. Screaming into the darkness. The details gone, lost in a fog of fear and terror yet the feeling remained. A dark presence hanging over my bed torturing me, taunting me. I lay back down and stared at the ceiling. My body yearned to resume its rest, yet my mind maintained the dread. So it was I lay and waited for my dreams to take me and I hoped in earnest that they would not haunt and horrify me.