9/11 Short Stories

1

Lavishly, the moon pours light onto the trees. Decorated in the waning crescent these wispy slivers of green shiver under the winds cold curse. The tip tap footsteps of a mouse tinkle through the wood, bouncing from tree to tree. Walking through the thick silence there is a king, an emperor. Yet he is as silent as the trees, he leaves nothing but gentle whispers and delicate imprints in the ground. Only a fool would dare to find him, to disturb his solace. But fools have tried, fools who think they are endowed with wisdom and strength. Only to find that their delusions will get them nowhere. In the dark, lost, they simply lose all hope and straggle back to their homes. If they ever make it there they are marked as lost ones, those who tried but only return with darkness by their side.

The king forever patrols his kingdom, every shrub and tree and hill and rock and mountain explored and declared his. His to protect, his to feed from,

He was truth, truth that would blind you, truth that would kill you, truth that would be more brutal than an axe to an innocent babe. He was a way out from the mire and, like a drunken fool, I reached for him. As my hands lurched forward in a desperate grasp at hope, I stumbled; I fell. I had been so close, but a small piece of granite decided that my attempt was futile. My knee was bleeding, my face was pounding with blood and my hands were red and scraped. My king looked at my broken frame, he just stared at me, pitiful in the dirt and he slid away into the dark. I watched him leave, I watched his black shadow follow him like his ghost and I watched him appear again. The moon was red that night, and he stood in front of it. The sight took what little breath my lungs held and he stood with pride and power. I could feel him emanating something, something I hadn’t felt for a while. As I careened around the ground he took a second to