Tigertarkla In Your Place

A walk through my mind, oh, we're jogging now, wait is that a couch, I'm going to lie down for a bit


(The following is a flash fiction piece I did for one of the main characters in the novel I am writing. This piece really helped me get a feel for the character)

And the Lord said unto Michael: ‘Go, bind Samyaza and his associates who have united themselves with women…And when their sons have slain one another, and they have seen the destruction of their beloved ones, bind them fast for seventy generations in the valleys of the earth… they shall be led off to the abyss of fire and to the torment and the prison in which they shall be confined forever. – Enoch 10:11-14

There are days when all I am is hate, and memories, horrible, haunting memories. Of brothers, broad of shoulder, strong of back, locked in battle, fighting for lies offered up to them on gilded silver plates. Of a woman with soft brown eyes, sandy skin and full rose petal lips. Her small hand wrapped in mine, with our fingers intertwined. Of perfection, gazing up at me from the silver stillness of the water’s edge. Of blood, bright red, spilling from a son’s wounds, eyes devoid of the life they once held, empty and glazed over. Of a fearless mother guiding her child in his first steps as frightened people look on, whispering of Heaven’s wrath. Of an angry unforgiving God slowly disappearing as I fall from his sight. Of a small hut washed away, broken upon distant hills and a symbol of a false promise arcing its way across the sky. Of a brown-haired woman turning away with disgust and fear in her eyes. Of children’s corpses lying scattered across a battlefield of regret, the howling of mother’s sorrow filling the air. Of a lover’s kiss, sweet, gentle, tentative, caressing my lips for the first time. Of a broken woman, lying like rags in my arms as Azreal, death’s angel, looks on, pity in his eyes. No amount of tears will bring breath back into the chest of my beloved. Of angels, fallen, wretched and deformed, cast out of heaven by a loving god for loving wrong. Of a child’s embrace, warm and pudgy, and a sloppy kiss placed upon an offered cheek. Of a daughter’s smile, brighter than any sunbeam, her laugh sweeter than any bell, purple flowers woven into her straw colored hair, as she skips next to me. Of warmth, as we all lay knotted together, heads resting on bellies, heads resting on shoulders, wrapped in the protection of happiness and love as I weave a tale of creation with my words. Memories that follow me through the day, and whisper in my ears at night. They fill me with regret, sorrow, longing, and anger. I wear them like a cloak, feelings woven tightly together to form a pattern of hate. Some days all I can be is a wretched being, wearing this coat of hatred, carrying memories that stoop my shoulders and strain my back. Some days though, I wear these like badges of honor, wield them like swords. I use them to rail against a god who has made me who I am, a god who has named me Samyaza.


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