Wylen walked away. His hands hurt, like A LOT. Wylen tried not to show it as he turned his back, he couldn’t show weakness. The people watched him, looking for signs of pain. A few of their eyes went to the blood dripping from his hands. Wylen walked straight away. His bleeding hands would make creating the blood portal easier. He smirked, at the thought, leave it to Wylen to make the most out of curses branded into his palms. 

The curses wouldn’t last, Wylen’s magic was already eating away at the roots of the curse. If only the strangers could feel the magic still thundering in Wylen’s blood. The strangers moved in closer as Wylen neared the Art Stone. Art was short for Arteusam, which was the name of the blood warlock that had created the stones. They used to emanate magic, but now they were just used as magical points to make portals and cast stronger curses.

Even with the enhanced magic of the Art Stone, the curses on Wylen’s palms were almost completely dissolved by his magic. If anything the stone was strengthening Wylen, more than the curse. 

The curse itself was meant to kill off the magic within Wylen, but that was not a simple task. The circle of warlocks tightened as he finally reached the Art Stone. He put one of his bloody hands against the 20 foot tall pillar of rock. Wylen felt the sigils carved into the stones surface, pulse with power under his hand. It took all of Wylen’s willpower to not scream from the pain of putting the cursed wound against the stone. Red blood streamed from his hand, filling in the indents in his stone.

“What do you think you are doing Wylen?” One of the warlocks asked, concern in his voice. “You are no longer a warlock.” Wylen stared at his reflection in the reflective Art Stone, he looked the exact same he had thousands of years ago. His reflection smiled, a devilish smile that made Wylen laugh.

The mocking in that last comment boiled Wylen’s blood with anger. How dare they do this! If they knew who he was! Wylen forgot about making a simple portal and escaping. He had to do something more grand. He had to show them. Wylen’s blood vibrated. Spilling from his hand, an impossible amount of blood, flowing over the stone, indenting the runes. The nearby warlocks raised their cut hands. But no curses could be muttered. Wylen had already put in place a silent curse, that bound their tongues. 

Magic poured from Wylen, filling up Arteusam’s Stone. Blood flowed, until the stone was a blood red statue. Runes glowing with a scarlet power.

Wylen Arteusam, claimed his stone, and the magic within. The warlocks with Arteusam that day were never heard of again. 

Can we talk without fighting?

Words spew from your mouth

Like fire

From a Dragon’s

.

I should stab your heart

Because you are doing

More damage 

Than good

.

But I can’t bring myself to do it

And I cut off your hands

Your claws no longer

Dig for my heart

.

But your flames

Lick my figure

Trying to burn me

But I am fireproof

.

You try to use your anger to burn me

And blame me

For allowing your anger to ruin things

But I know you don’t care

.

I know you don’t care about me

Your flames cannot burn me

And your claws can no longer hurt me

Because I no longer care about your opinion

.

I do honor you

For what you have done

But I do not respect

This fiery side of you

.

You are the Dragon

And I am the Knight

And you don’t know 

What damage you have done

.

And it is no longer a choice to stab your heart 

It is a responsibility

Don’t take it personally

But I can’t let your flames 

Destroy everything I love

Dragons should NOT be kept for pets. Sadly, Sandy was just realizing this. She held the small ball of flames in her hand and started panicking. The dragon was somewhere in the ball of flames. The cowhide gloves she was wearing grew hot, and to her horror, caught fire.

Crap.

She needed some water fast. She scanned her room. Everything was wood or cloth! A pail of water sat in the corner. Sandy was tied to her bedpost though! She panicked again, as her hands got dangerously hot. With a snap decision, Sandy said a prayer to her ancestors, and tossed the flaming baby dragon across the room. Sandy missed, by a lot. 

The baby dragon landed right at the foot of her book shelf. Sandy wasted no time tearing off the burning gloves, and working on the rope that tied her to the bed. She had tied herself in hope to keep her from running and showing her brother, who would undoubtedly force her to put it back into the cave she had pulled it from. Now everything was back firing. Sandy undid the knot and risked a glance at her bookshelf. It was… fine?

The dragon was gone, with a spike of fear, Sandy saw that the dragon had burned a hole through her floor to the ground floor of their home. Sandy grabbed the pail of water, and rushed downstair, taking the stairs five at a time, sloshing water all over her. She heard a scream, followed by.

“Sandy!” Sandy burst into the kitchen, flying through the swinging door. Pail of water held at the ready, she was soaked from head to toe, but the pail was still half full. Or half empty. 

Her brother stood with a wooden dough roller, trying to flatten the ball of flames that skirted around the dining table, catching it on fire. Sandy upended her water on the ball of flames as soon as it slowed. Steam filled the room. 

A high pitched wail rose from the baby dragon as it cried on the table. Followed by a deeper roar that came from the sky outside, and shook the foundations of their house. 

You know that feeling

After all your parents 

Friends go home

And you can finally gorge yourself

On the leftover sweets

.

Or like waiting in a line

On a hot summer day

A handful of sweaty coins

Held in your 8-year old palm

Waiting to get a popsicle from the ice cream truck

.

Or sitting at the edge

Of your kitchen counter

As your mom puts the cookies

In the oven

And hands you the leftover cookie dough

.

Don’t forget about the things

That are sweet to your mind

And not just your tongue

.

Like the first time you heard that song

That made you want to dance

And keep dancing until

The party ended

But the song was still playing in your head

.

Or the smell of the orange

As you took a bite

Even though its half peeled

And the juice

Streams sticky down your face

.

Or the feel of a hand

Uncomfortably warm

But only because

It’s wrapped in yours

And you hold on tighter

.

The feeling is absurdly sweet

And never loses its bite

A timeless quality

That lives on in memories

A sweet tooth

I stood, breaking the ropes that had been tying me down. I smelled something on the air that was familiar, a creamy flowery scent that filled my brain and made it hard to think. With a grunt of effort, I bent the metal of the chains that were supposed to keep me chained to the floor. The scent filled my brain, making my thoughts… slow. 

I coughed, hacking up whatever was floating in my lungs. Flower petals blew out of my mouth. They were pink, and bloody. My vision was starting to fail, I fumbled with the pouch on my jumpsuit’s chest, and pulled out a small bag of teeth. Each tooth was a slightly different shade of white. I had to get one of them in, even a blank one would get this scent out of my head. With shaking fingers and a pounding headache I took out any tooth I could pinch with my fingers. I closed my eyes to stop from hacking up more flower petals, and put the tooth in my mouth. It spread its roots and almost immediately, the headache faded, and the pink tinge on my vision was wiped clean. 

I was on the ground, but I couldn’t remember falling. I stood up again, and leaned down to bite the chain off my waist. The tooth that had just installed itself, cut the steel easily. I gained my footing and finally started to process the situation. I was keenly aware of the tooth in my mouth, changing my body. 

Honestly I had never done this before. I had seen it done many times by my colleagues as they prepared for acts of impossible endurance or strength. I didn’t know it would feel so… normal. I had to focus on the task at hand. With my newly steady hand I tucked the pouch of teeth back into my jumpsuit, and then had the mind to call up Jenna. 

I took out my phone and dialed the number in a matter of seconds. I stood awkwardly in the locked steel room as the phone rang. She picked up after four rings.

“Kellen?” A feminine voice asked. Relief flooded me and I started talking, words spilling out of my mouth. Except they weren’t in English! I was speaking in a different language! I panicked, my words coming out quicker. Words that I didn’t even understand. Then the door to the room opened, and before I could turn, something hard hit me hard on the back of the head. The last thing I remember was the tooth flying out of my mouth. 

It tasted like gravel
Ground between my teeth
The pain merely a distraction
From the thing hurting me most

It felt like a knife through my chest
Aimed for my heart
But hitting my lungs
Making it hard to breath sometimes

It smells like smoke
And I can feel the heat 
Coming from the words
That fly from your mouths

I see your minds
Working like machines
Not realizing you are humans
And that we all do things differently

You see me
And see the opposite of me
Looking for reasons
To convict my actions

You want reasons to pick me apart
And show that I can’t love
You want to rip it
Straight from my chest

So you aimed for my heart
And hit my lungs
But I don't blame you
Because I don't even have my heart

My heart was traded for someone else's

Can’t you see
That when you aim for my heart
You’re only putting me in pain
And her heart at risk

And that is unacceptable
You can stab me a thousand times
But I won’t let you stab this heart that isn’t mine
And you can’t make me give it back

Your heat filled
Dagger shaped words
Cannot dent the heart
And all your doing is causing me pain

Fun fact
Pain is progress
And soon the pain will be easy to deal with
And so I am warning you

That my words can be hotter
And sharper than you’re thinking

Because your machine minds
Can’t see the pain you're causing
And so I will have to make you feel the pain of regret
Because you are doing something wrong

This is an empty threat
Coming from my invincible heart

I breathed in slowly, and guess what. It smelled like smoke again. Anger rose in me, and my desire to restart rose again. Why couldn’t I create something positive! Why couldn’t I vanish! I opened my eyes, and looked at the room around me, trapped. 3 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, a combined kitchen, dining room, and living room, the circumference of the interior of my house was just under 120 steps. I wondered what would happen if I broke out? What would happen if I opened my window and snuck out in the middle of the night? 

What would happen if I just walked out my front door? From there I could sprint to a car, and considering my parents were always preoccupied, I could probably escape. Then came the question of where to go. I couldn’t leave mentally, and currently that was the root of my problem. I couldn’t daydream away, the stress my parents were forcing upon me was crippling my creative mind. If I escaped I would go up the canyon, I would stay alone, and blast my brother’s songs.

And I would hurt, because he isn’t here to listen with me anymore. And now it’s working. I am sitting in the passenger seat of our small truck. The conversation is slow, my brother finding time to make comments when he isn’t focusing on switching gears, and driving the decaying truck. The windows are down, and we listen to the wind and the music blasts from speakers crammed behind the seats. Anklets and bracelets wreath my brothers left wrist, and a dozen more are wrapped around the gear shift. I grin. I am wearing a short sleeve orange shirt, and shorts. I feel the wind make me cold, but I force myself to not shiver. 

My brother is wearing a white shirt, faded and worn. He is also wearing uncomfortably short shorts. His hair is long and its kept back by a trucker hat, and his skin is more tan than I can ever dream of getting. He is relaxed and comfortable.

I smell the air of the mountains, as we climb up the roads deeper in the canyon. My brother is now telling me about his friends, and what not to do when I get friends like his. I feel the joy in hearing him talk. He tells me to stop being dramatic, and to be practical. 

I stammer with my question. “What are we supposed to do when the parents are wrong?” He has to know the answer, he just has to.

And then I smell smoke, with an uncomfortable jolt I am ripped from my daydreaming to wake up on the hardwood floor of my house, tears spilling from my eyes, because I was trapped

I think I saw it
In the reflection
Of the puddle on the ground
I also saw it
In the reflection
Of her eyes

Now I see it in the setting sun
And I feel it warming my skin

I turn fast
And I think faster
But I can’t ever grab it

I see it in mirrors sometimes
Hints of it clinging to my figure
From the amount of exposure
I have experienced

I don’t know exactly what it is
And why I see it so often now

I think it’s Sunshine
I think it’s a form of light
That comes from people
From the people that make you smile

The people that can brighten a room
With their presence
The people that everybody loves
Because they love everybody

The people that care without limits
The people that inspire poems and stories
The kind of person that leaves you feeling
Like the luckiest person in the world

I envy their influence
But know I could never be one of them
No matter how much Sunshine I absorb
It won’t make me one of them

All I am doing is stealing light
And it feels like I might
Be burning up
How do I cool down?

But I am afraid 
I’ve taken too much
I am afraid I will damage the light
I thought for a long time I should step back

Then I learned more
I thought about the cost 
Of being personified Sunshine
I looked at the deals offered
And realized
It wasn't for me

For those who help 
Without asking for help
Often find it hard
To open up about their problems

And I thought because
They glowed so bright
That they didn’t fight
Their own battles

I thought the light meant
That they didn’t have to vent
But really the light was a distraction
For the world and for themselves
So they didn’t have to focus on their own trials

I’ve seen the dark side of Sunshine
And I’m fine being Starlight

I will take away the light
containing it in stars
to allow the darkness to show
Because I now know
That no one should be forced to be Sunshine

So when I look in the mirror 
and see the Sunshine I've stolen
glowing off my figure
I won’t feel bad
Because even Sunshine 
Needs to see the darkness sometimes

Can I keep doing this?
Can I keep writing these?

Do you ever create
Something
You don’t really
Connect with

But you just hope others do?

Like singing a song
You don’t know the words to
Can you hear that it’s fake?

Can you hear that I don’t usually write poetry?
Can you hear my struggle?
Can you hear my desperation
To be like the others

Can you hear it giving away my lies?
What is more honest?
Detecting a lie
They knew you would detect
Or believing they wouldn't lie
To you

I don’t know
I just know I struggle to make things rhyme
I want you to hear the lies
I want you to know I’m trying
To be one of you

But I don’t want to be one of you…

You see
I’ve gotten distracted by what I’ve heard
Distracted by the things whispered into my ears
My job is not to please you
It’s to prove myself

And sometimes it’s really
Hard
To remember this

So I repeat in my head 
That what I hear
Is not what I must make others hear
That I don’t have to pass on 
The voice of the masses

Sure I’m just one voice
But who says I have to sing the same song 
you are all singing?